Falling For Alaska

Chapter Eleven: A Dinner Party From Hell

a/n. since trafficcop wanted an update and i kindareallyfeel bad for not updating for such a while *sigh*

you know, i think i'm also shipping #charter duh, carter and chase all the way boom. 

such a crappy chapter, blah

*cries in shame* 

_____

Apparently, my father was going full out on this whole "kiss Carter's fat puffy ass" operation-- as far as inviting the fat man to dinner and wait, it gets even better! -- yours truly will be in presence, a nice apology later in hand as all three of us will toast to happy, no-jail, good Chase days!

Something truly out of a fairytale, huh? 

Maybe afterwards, we can all dance to Joy Division and throw around the confetti, singing and laughing in happiness you only see in a movie!

Yeah, pretty sure my father was high on LSD when he came up with this idea. Sure, I kinda understood where my father was coming from about apologizing and realizing that "there was apparently more to live than sleeping with women" (a little hypocritical, really), but treating the man to a dinner? Like isn't Carter fat enough? How is feeding him a nice fat turkey going to help the poor man? Hell, he might even pass out from that high of a cholesterol!

And believe me when I say this-- but I wasn't going to be the one carrying his limp five hundred pound body to the hospital. 

Yet, my father, apparently under his plastic sex toy/wife's instruction, went along with the idea because what blonde bimbo wants, blonde bimbo gets. 

A good for nothing b**ch, I seethed, staring down with a vehemence the suit my father had ordered me to wear. The suit, despite being rather out of place compared to my usual attire, made me look like a freaking tool, which naturally, was probably what my father wanted. Because nothing says I'm Sorry than looking like a try-hard. 

I grimaced. Maybe I could just call this off, call in sick (despite the fact that it was summer) and spend the day with Sam, maybe say a simple, but concise F*ck Off to my father, and then, everything would be just peachy.

Maybe I'd even introduce a new underage blonde for him to spend his nights with. One that could actually cook, preferably, as from experience, I could throughly say that my father's current personal bitch was certainly lacking in the cooking department. Seriously though, in all honesty, the one time she attempted to make a cake to celebrate my father coming home from some business trip in Taiwan, she ended up burning up half the kitchen and in the process, destroying one of my father's most precious paintings (of what-- a freaking painting of boobs but apparently that's okay as long as it's"art"). And what did my father do when he came home to that? 

God, he simply laughed and said, "Oh honey, everyone makes mistakes!" and boom, everything was forgotten. Like hell, why wasn't my father like this with me?

No, when I screwed up, it was all "You good-for-nothing son! Why can't you do anything right?" 

I guess since I didn't put out or wasn't of the opposite gender/had boobs, I didn't have as much leeway when it came to messing up. 

With a  frown on my face, I briefly checked the time-- four thirty, an hour before the dinner was supposed to start. 

I supposed it coudn't possibly be that bad, although the sight of Carter squeezing in a pair of slacks and a dress shirt would surely be scarring.

But hey, any opportunity to demean my father's blonde toy would be taken-- after all, she was sure to be in attendence, perhaps she'd even shamelessly flirt with Carter a bit (at least until she'd realize that Carter wasn't swimming in money). The best part was that my father would just have to suck up whatever comments or complaints that he'd surely normally address, because hell, my father never let his family appear as "less than perfect" around others.