retrieve a tissue to blow her nose. “Now then, enough of this gloomy stuff, eh?”
Jack nodded, feeling remorse and melancholy. “Yeah.”
“So, Sam has a steady girl, does he?” Shonda asked, returning to her seat. “How about you, son, has anyone caught your eye?”
Caught like a bass on a hook.
“Not really. Besides, with this gimp leg of mine, who'd bother?”
“You know,” she said, the pontificating look back in her eye, “in some ways, your injury will be a blessing to you.”
Jack's dark eyebrows drew together. “What? I got half my thigh blown off. What the hell kind of blessing is that?”
“Watch your mouth,” Shonda scolded in a mild tone, “or I'll replace your coffee creamer with soap.”
Oh, I remember that all too well.
“What I mean is, only shallow girls would be put off by something silly like that.”
“Okay.” Jack replied, sounding unconvinced, still missing the point his mother was trying to convey.
Shonda shook her head indulgently. “You men are all the same, needing things pointed out for you. Honey, you'll have less fluff to wade through to find the right woman now. You're handsome and intelligent. The women will line up down the block just to talk to you. Now they will all be quality girls for you to choose from.”
Though Jack grinned, he felt dull.
Mom, you don't know the half of it.
Internally, his mind repeated the negative litany he found impossible to dispel.
No woman in her right mind would put up with what's wrong with me.
* * *
When Shonda decided to retire to bed, the throbbing pulse of Jack's damaged thigh caused him too much pain for sleep. Using the cup of sweet, milky coffee warming his hands as an excuse to remained reclined at the dinner table, he'd bid his mother goodnight. His aching leg propped on the kitchen chair beside him, he hoped to reduce the intense pressure with the elevation as he took a sip and closed his eyes, savoring the rich complexity of flavors.
Such simple things can bring such great pleasures.
A soft 'clack' of slippers on the linoleum brought Jack back to reality. He opened his eyes to watch the approaching figure. The dark form grew in clarity the closer it came to the light flooding through the doorway.
“Hi, Dad, how's it going?” he asked, trying to be nice.
“Well enough, I suppose,” Malcom grumbled. “Say, where were you this evening? Sundays are always busy at the church and I could've used your help with some preparations.”
“I went to see my buddies, remember?” Jack said. “You took the message even.”
“Oh, right. I guess I forgot. How did it go?” Malcom asked, seeming genuinely curious.
Though Jack didn't exactly appreciate the quizzing, expecting his father's judgment and condescension, Malcolm seemed more conversational, so Jack decided to go with it.
Don't be sensitive, man. People talk about their day and I guess we are now, too. Huh, this should be interesting.
“It was fine. We went to Dave & Buster's and shot some pool. Ray was a bit of a smart mouth, but he always is. I'll be glad when he ships out to Europe.”
Even an ocean away is too close for me.
“You don't sound like you like the guy,” Malcolm noted.
“Yeah, but we have history, you know? Sam can be rather… sarcastic too, but he's a bit better. His new girlfriend seems to be having a positive influence on him too, so that's cool.”
His father regarded him in askance. “Tell me again why you wanted to meet up with these, so called
friends,
of yours?”
Jack chuckled and sipped his coffee. “Aw, they're a bit crude and uncouth, but they're alright. They really had my back when I needed it. Besides, Mike's like the brother I never had, never mind he's a skinny white kid with red hair and ugly glasses.”
Malcom made a disgusted noise, drawing Jack's attention back to him. The older man's mouth was set in a grim line, his molars grinding, his eyes narrowed.
“What?” Jack demanded.
What did I say now?
“I suppose you
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