Overdosed on Love

Chapter 27: What to be Grateful For

Hunter

I didn't like Thanksgiving.

I hadn't had a reason to like Thanksgiving for many years. After my brother had died I didn't have much to be thankful for.

My dad always managed to suck the life out the day despite the amazing meal my mom would make. It wasn't something I was really looking forward to.

I picked up my phone, with my fingers over Max's name. I was tempted to call her and maybe even invite her for dinner, but I remembered that she was out of town and I got frustrated.

I got a phone call from Tyler instead.

"You didn't forget anything at my house," I told him, he usually forgot something and called for me to bring it over to him.

"That's not why I'm calling, I wanted to make sure you were okay," Tyler sounded seriously worried about me, a feeling he didn't exhibit frequently. Mainly it was because Tyler wasn't much of a serious person.

"I'm fine?" I was confused. This much level of concern from Tyler was worrying.

"Okay, cool, because my mom says that if you want to come over for dinner, you're more than welcome to come," and at that it hit me why Tyler was calling.

"Bro, you don't have to worry for me, my dad's not in a mood," I told him. I appreciated his concern. "If I left here to go have thanksgiving dinner with your family then he'd be in a mood, but he's been chill right now." My mom had been doing her absolute best to stay on his good side.

"Okay, well text me if anything changes," Tyler said, and I heard his mom calling him downstairs. "I gotta go."

"Bye, man, Happy Thanksgiving," I told him.

"You too," he hung up, and I heard my dad shouting from downstairs.

"Come down here, Hunter!" He yelled. There never seemed to be a time where he wasn't raising his voice to me.

Heading downstairs I found him watching TV. If it wasn't the news it was usually ESPN with him. Anything that was a sport he'd watch it. I didn't watch much TV because of him.

"You called?" I asked him. He wasn't in his business suits and ties for once.

"How's school?" He asked without looking at me.

"Fine," I muttered. Realizing he was looking for a report as opposed to an actual conversation. I didn't know why I acted surprised. I knew this was the way it was.

"I don't want one-word responses, Hunter. Going to basketball practice means nothing if you don't keep your grades up," he looked at me seriously and I frowned.

"I know that, and they're fine. I've got mainly B's and like, a C—"

"You have a C?"

Shit, I should've lied, I thought too late to myself.

"It's really no big deal," I began to say, but I had triggered the lecture.

"If I was in your place," he began. "I would be so grateful for my youth, I'd be spending every waking moment perfecting my talent on the court, and when I'm off it, you know what I'd be doing?"

"Hitting the books?" I asked as if I hadn't heard this speech a million times before.

"I'd be hitting the books," my dad slammed his hand on the coffee table in a way that made me want to flinch, but I controlled myself. "You disappoint me with how you take your circumstances for granted, Hunter. Reasons like this is why you'll never live up to your brother. Now he knew how balance school and athletics. Straight A's and an absolute prodigy on the court." My dad shook his head and stared at the TV, not focusing what was on it, but more of what he was thinking.