“Releasing sperm into the vagina of a twenty-four-year-old does not a father make,” I say, somewhat bitterly. “I didn’t know I had it in me to become a father again.”Ī loud burst of disbelieving laughter escapes my mouth. He shrugs, and a smug smile takes over his already irritating expression. When I refuse to acknowledge his performance, he eventually sighs and drops his elbows to the table. He thinks I’ll eventually give in and tell him what he wants to hear, but he hasn’t been around me enough in the last two years to know that I’m not that girl anymore. His fingers drum the sides of his coffee cup as he watches me silently for several beats. And once again, I’m forced to be his audience. It’s only been five minutes since he sat down, and he’s already turned his side of the booth into his stage. I look at him and wonder if the regret I see in his eyes is a result of disappointing me or if he’s simply acting again. My back meets the booth behind me and I fold my arms across my chest.
“What am I supposed to say?” I mumble, resembling a bratty child, rather than the eighteen-year-old adult that I am. I stab the hollow part of an ice cube with my straw, imagining that it’s his head. “Fallon?” He clears his throat and tries to soften his words, but they still come at me like knives. His voice causes my grip to tighten around the glass in hopes that it stays in my hand and doesn’t actually end up against the side of his skull. I’m a little shocked, but it’s happening,” he says.
There are napkins on the table, but not the good kind that could soak up a lot of blood.
The potential for a nice big THUD is there. I wonder what kind of sound it would make if I were to smash this glass against the side of his head.
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