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“That’s assurip turning my wrist numb, despite how deadly close he is “For one, that you deserve any of my respect at all”

“I pay for this house,” he says “I paid for that sandwich you just made I paid for the bread, the peanut butter, the very clothes you’ve got on your ungrateful ass I paid for that shed you live in I paid for that coae” His grip tightens to the point that it’s painful I don’t so much as flinch “I think I deserve at least the minimal amount of respect a breadwinner deserves, who makes the life you live possible”

“Did you look at it?”

His eyes twitch with confusion “Huh?”

“My painting In your garage Did you look at it?”

Carl’s grip on my wrist loosens, yet he keeps hold of it “The hell does that matter if I looked at it or not? ‘Course I looked at it It’s the only da you can see”

“I ”

“Who the hell you think you are, boy? Mozart? I don’t give a shit what the painting is You had no damned business—”

“Mozart is a composer And the point is, if you had bothered to open your tiny eyes …” Suddenly, whatever point I was about to er picture “If you had bothered to ever open your eyes, or your heart, to who I am, who your stepson is … If you had learned to embrace my ‘arty’ side you can’t stand, we could have had a shot of developing a real relationship I could have been calling you ‘Dad’ for years” My eyes harden “Andmy hand”

There is a precious ht now, Carl and me, wheremoment, Carl sees a life he could have had with e with a smile Where he pushes me to join Art clubs, then raises hell up at the school when theto the Arts He sees a less angry version of himself, a version who visitsto knowat school

A version of Carl who could have been here for me, even nohen my heart is at its weakest