#p030

The weekend had taken its toll on him. Returning home from the Pride activities, it was all Sam could do to shower and fall into bed, sleeping through his normal wake time. For once he was fine with staying in bed. It was a little past nine when he dragged himself out of bed and into his morning routine, switching out coffee for cold green tea because he already felt out of sorts, no need to make it worse.

Refreshed and dressed he picked up his phone and prepared to make the call to his father. It’d been a week or so since they last spoke. After the surprise voicemail from his mother, Sam wasn't exactly eager to reach out, but considering the radio silence last month for Mother’s Day ignoring was out of the question.

He sat in one of stools at the island counter and dialed his father’s cell. It was easier to call his phone than run the risk of dialing the house and having to speak to his mother.

“Hey Pop,” he greeted once he heard the rumbling ‘Sammy’ on the other end. “Happy Father’s Day.”

“Thanks, boy. Glad to hear from you.”

Oliver had a way of saying much without saying much at all, and the pebble of guilt that settled in Sam’s stomach at the dial tone was growing to stone sized, no matter the layers of complications that went into how and why he felt the way he did when it came to his mother.

And it unfortunately, at times, bled into the relationship with his father. 

“I’ll be home this weekend. Me and Harley are flying out.”

Still, he could hear the smile in his father’s voice when he spoke next, breaking up the tiny bit of earlier tension. “It’ll be good to see you boys. Your Mama and me, we’re lookin’ forward to having everybody together.”

Sam hated that, even after all these years, his initial instinct was to read his father’s tone, to gauge the state of home and his parents’ relationship from what Oliver did--and didn’t--say. Nevermind that his mother hadn't wandered off on one of her ‘trips’ in years, or that his parents’ marriage seemed, for the most part, to have calmed down from those periods of tumultuous upheaval, for whichever reasons.

For Sam, it was impossible to shake the expectation that Lisa would leave again. His indifference to it was staggering. Most times, the strongest feelings he had was irritation. At his father's obliviousness. With Harley’s naivete. And his own damn guilt with keeping his mother at a distance.

The chasm was of her own creation thanks to the in and out game played for years but Sam didn’t know how to repair it, or if it even could be fixed. It made for plenty of awkward family encounters. But deep down, he knew he wasn’t built for ignoring his parents for long.

Even now, just hearing his father’s voice brought on a fresh wave of feelings, comforting in its familiarity, making him feel like a few days back in Fort Worth would be bearable. Could be good for him. Even if it were only to get his truck and go.

“Yeah. Be nice for a few days. Gonna take the truck back.”

The snort he knew was coming was loud over the phone and Sam couldn't help but smile at his father’s predictable reaction. “Well that junk heap’s still here, takin’ up space. Went and checked up on it a few times just to make sure it hadn’t fallen apart.”

“Uh huh,” Sam replied, knowingly, a hint of amusement in his tone since he was sure Oliver had, despite his well documented annoyance, probably drove the Bronco around, just to keep it running in good condition while Sam was away. “Thanks for that, Pop. I know she’s in good hands. Doing anything special today?”

“Me and your mama's going out to dinner. Said she’s saving up her cooking for when you boys get here. Already got me running all over to three different grocery stores, like the money we save in deals ain’t going straight to the gas tank.”

Sam laughed at the familiarity of it all. His mother never met a grocery sale she didn’t like and his father played the role of grumbling partner in crime to the letter. Sam used to love Sunday afternoons spent with Lisa armed with a grocery list and an old coin purse packed with coupons on her lap while she meticulously plotted out the day’s schedule, like General Houston over battle plans.

Back then, Sam was her number two, sitting in the front passenger seat of the family truck, Sunday sales paper in hand and reading out the deals. Later, he realized it was her way of helping him with dyslexia and the frustration that came along with reading aloud.

There was a tightness in his chest, recalling that memory and he tamped down on the feeling in favor of drifting back to the present phone conversation. “Well, I know Harley’s gonna love that. But I won’t keep you long. Just wanted to call and wish you a good day. Enjoy the night out.” The pause was brief, long enough just to pinch the bridge of his nose in an attempt to quell the headache that loomed at the edge of his eyesight. “Tell everyone I said hello.”