No Strings

“Brody—” Ben begins.

At the same time, I say, “I don’t care if your dad doesn’t mind.”

Ben’s eyes meet mine. “I’m sure you have better things to do than have a teenager tagging along.”

“Not really. Plus, I enjoy Brody’s company, and he knows the city. He can show me where the store is and carry my bags for me.”

“Can I go?” Brody asks.

Ben groans. “Fine.” He pulls something out from his desk and hands it to Brody—his phone. “You’re still grounded. This is only to be used if I call you or you have an emergency.” He looks at me. “I should be off around six. I’ll come by and get him on my way up.”

“Sounds good. Try not to work too hard, Benji.” With a smirk that I know is sure to drive him nuts, I gather my purse and walk out of his office with Brody laughing as he follows.

I grab a can of tomato sauce and hand it to Brody. “Wanna invite your dad for dinner?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not speaking to him,” he says, sounding very much like the surly teenager he is.

“You spoke to him during lunch.”

He rolls his eyes. “That was about Batman. Besides, he’d say no anyway. He works twenty-four seven. He won’t really be by to get me at six. More like nine or ten. I have a key, though, so I can go home any time. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You sound like you hate his job, yet you told me you want to work there.”

He glances at me and shrugs. “I figure if I’m there to help, he won’t have to work so much. There’ll be two people doing the work instead of one.”

Oh boy, I’d bet Ben has no idea how his son feels.

Brody’s phone rings from his pocket, but he ignores it, continuing to push the buggy down the aisle.

“I think your phone has rang a dozen times since we left your dad’s office. It’s not your dad calling, is it?” I grab some dough for the pizza we’re going to make and drop it into the buggy.

“No. It’s my mom.”

“Ahh. So, I take it, you’re not speaking to her either?” Until now, I haven’t heard a single word about his mom.

Brody fidgets, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “We got into it…” His eyes drop to his feet. “I got in trouble at school… and I…” He clears his throat, still refusing to look at me. “I don’t get along with Ted… He’s a dick.” He lifts his head, and something about the way he looks at me makes my chest tighten. “She had enough of my shit, so my dad moved home and moved me in with him.”

I ignore his foul language. “Okay, that explains why you’re not talking to her…” We’ll get back to that later. There’s obviously more to that situation. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re giving your dad a hard time.” I toss a container of cherry tomatoes at him, and he sets it in the buggy.

“He only asked me to move in with him because my mom made him. Can we get mushrooms? I love mushrooms on pizza.”

“Sure.” I snag a container and hand it to him. “I don’t think anyone can make your dad do anything he doesn’t want to do.” I’ve only known him for barely a minute, and I can already tell that about him.

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “He doesn’t even want to live here.”

“Yet, he is living here… So why are you trying to push him away?”

“I’m not.” He scoffs.

“Yes, you are.” I stop in the middle of the produce section and look at Brody. “I was raised in a foster home, so I’ve seen it a million times. The smoking, the skipping, the attitude… You’re pushing your dad to see if he’ll stick or run.”

“He never stays!” Brody barks. “He always leaves. Might as well get it over with now.”

Ding. Ding. Ding.

“And then where will you go? Back to your mom’s?”

He blanches, as if he hadn’t thought of that.

“I’m not going back there. I’d rather live on the streets.”

Whoa, okay then…

“You’d rather live on the streets than live with your mom?”

“Than live with Ted,” he spits.

“Who’s Ted? Your stepdad?”

“My mom’s fiancé. I hate him.”

“Okay, so you hate him, and you don’t want to live with your mom. That leaves your dad. Do you want to live with your dad?”

“Yeah, but he’s going to leave. I’m telling you… he always does.”

“One thing I’ve learned from being in foster care is that we can’t control others. We can only control ourselves. Maybe your dad’s here for good…” He opens his mouth to argue, so I raise my hand to stop him. “Maybes he’s not. But while he’s here, maybe you should try to give him the benefit of the doubt… get to know him, let him see the good in you instead of trying to push him away. Maybe he’ll prove you wrong and stick around.”