The Father

Chapter 2

Trish and Lena are in a shouting match that I can hear from inside my office. Something about an outfit, a pair of shorts, at least from what I can gather. But it's making me angry, whatever it's about.

I can't concentrate and I think about just packing my shit up and going into the office. I'd rather not because it's my day off. After some thought I go down to where they are in the living room.

"What's the problem?"

Lena points at Trish quickly. She's been crying, but looks more angry than anything else. I stare at her, look at her shorts, and roll my eyes.

"You're not wearing those out of this house, Trish."

She groans loudly.

"You always side with her, dad! This is fucking ridiculous. I'm seventeen years old."

That attitude is a mixture of both Lena and I and she has always been this way, ever since she could talk. I never expected having a teenage girl would be easy, but having a boy was a hell of a lot easier.

"Hey, watch your mouth. And I don't always side with your mother. I do when she's right. And right now, I think she's definitely going to be right. Turn around, let me see."

She hesitates, then turns. I widen my eyes and grab her by the shoulders to turn her back around.

"Oh, absolutely not. Your ass is hanging out. Where did you even get those?"

"Katherine gave them to her, Michael."

Katherine.

I roll my eyes, but am not surprised. It looks like something she would wear and I wonder why in the hell she would give them to Trish. Maybe she outgrew them, but that doesn't make any sense. They've got to be about the same size, though I'm not an expert on the clothing sizes of either girl.

"I really like them. Why can't you two just let me be myself?"

"You can be yourself all you want once you move out," Lena shouts.

"Yeah, I plan to."

They both begin yelling at each other again and I shout at them to stop it.

"Alright. I'm going to go to the office, I have some shit I need to work on, and I can't do it here. By the time I get home, this needs to be finished and done with. Patricia, you are not wearing those out of the house, end of discussion."

I quickly look to Lena.

"And Helena, christ, she's seventeen. Talk to her, don't yell at her. I'm sick of all the god damn yelling. I can't concentrate in this fucking house."

"Dad, all you do is cuss and then you tell me not to!"

"Because I'm an adult! And I'm your father. You know I don't care if you say some words, but "fuck" isn't one of them. So knock it off or I'll take your phone and your car away."

It's cut and dry and she doesn't say another word because she knows I'm serious. I go back up to my office, gather my things quickly, don't bother saying goodbye, and light a cigarette as soon as I have pulled out of the driveway.

I stop and get something to eat, a sandwich from a little deli shop in Soho, then make my way to the office. My partner isn't here and I'm thankful, because I don't want to have to explain why I'm here on my day off. Not that I really have any days off, I'm almost always working, always busy, always being called in.

And this case has been a big one with a lot of media coverage, something I don't much care for, because it means there are eyes on us. Twenty murders so far, he kills the males, rapes the females, but doesn't bother the children if there are any in the home. We've got almost nothing to go on and it's beginning to drive me crazy. I've always been good at leaving my day at the door when I get home, but not with this one. It's heavy on my mind, weighing down on me and invading me.