Lessons On Love

14: Heartbeats Or Footsteps

Chapter 14: Heartbeats Or Footsteps?

             My dad didn’t bother hiding the annoyance and irritation on his face when he came home and found Marshall lounging around our house after Diana insisted he stayed for dinner. “You again,” he grumbled. “Do I have to put a barbwire fence around my house for you to stop coming around?”
            “For your daughter sir,” Marshall replied smugly, “I’d crawl across ten miles of broken glass just to see her.”

            I rolled my eyes at him, but apparently my dad got a good laugh out of his remark. “Really now?” He chuckled. “Because I’d love to see a demonstration.”

            I turned to face Marshall from where I had been reading my script in the living room, personally interested in what he would say next but unfortunately, Diana decided to peek in from the kitchen at that moment and relieve Marshall from a likely ill-fated future.

            “Oh you’re back!” Giggling like a love struck 14 year old, Diana rushed up to my dad before laying a kiss on his cheek. She even popped back her leg the way they do in those romantic comedies I watch every once in a while. They never make any logical sense to me, but when I’m having a really bad day I like to pop one in the DVD player and criticize the director and the actors for doing a bad job. Typically it makes me feel better. “I hope the traffic wasn’t too bad. Did you get Marshall something for his eye like I asked?”

            “Like what? A box of man-the-hell-up? Diana, that kind of thing fades with time. There’s nothing you could do about it medicine wise. Just suck it up and stop getting into fights with people. But seriously, whoever gave him that black eye did a really good number on him.” Then he knowingly – and rather openly – winked at me. “I’d say it was a job well done.”

            “Don’t encourage her,” Diana muttered, sparing me a glance. “Anyways, dinner is almost ready so come help me set the table up, okay sweetie-pie?” 

            I watched in absolute disgust as my dad rested his hand on her behind. “Okay sweetie-pie,” he cooed back and I almost – if only my nails were longer – scratched my ears off because I felt so vandalized. Why did they have to do that? Why did they have to do that in front of me?!

            To my dismay, it only gets worse during dinnertime, and it takes every nerve and willpower inside of me not to do the exact opposite of eating at the table. It was like Diana was hell bent on grossing me out, and I couldn’t eat my salad in peace even if I was blind because of that annoying coo she did every time she leaned in to spoon-feed my dad.

            “Here you go sweetie-pie. Say ahh~”

            My dad chuckled. “No it’s okay sweetie-pie. Really!”

            “Oh come on. Just one more bite.”

            “He said it’s okay!” I shouted, slamming my fork down. “Don’t you see he’s got arms?! He can do it himself!!”

            Everyone at the table stopped mid-action to stare at me. Even Marshall, who had been sitting quietly beside me devouring Diana’s hearty meal – which I easily passed up for something that wouldn’t clog my arteries – looked up in surprise at my random outburst. “Why are you always so angry?” He murmured, but looked away when I shot him a glare.

            I cleared my throat after, stole Marshall’s fork, and in one of my best acting performances, played out the scene I witnessed throughout dinner. “Here you go sweetie-pie, say ahh!” I waved the forked meat in front of Marshall’s face but he kept his mouth shut, shifting his gaze uncomfortably from me to my dad.