“Yeah, okay. Can I come back here?”
“What are you gonna tell your dad?”
“Well I’m imagining this won’t go well so we’ll need some space.”
“But if he asks?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just say I’m going out and not to worry.”
Bishop nods. “Okay. I’ll be here for you.”
“I know.” I lean in and kiss him softly. “Thank you for being my support. I need it.”
“You got this, babe.”
“Time for me to be a man.”
He grins. “You’re already a man. Trust me.”
Twenty minutes later,I pull up in front of my dad’s house in my rental car. Nervous doesn’t begin to describe what I’m feeling right now. I shut the car off and walk inside. He’s already sitting in his normal spot at the kitchen table reading the paper and drinking coffee. When he looks up, he’s happy for a moment, but it quickly fades when he realizes something is wrong.
“Tristan. Why are you home? Is something wrong?”
I nod, feeling my eyes tear up. I don’t want to disappoint him but I have to. “Yeah, something’s wrong.”
He puts his paper down. “What happened?”
“I flunked out, dad. They put me on academic suspension.”
His jaw twitches. “I see.”
“I tried. I just couldn’t do it.” I exhale slowly. “I’m not going back.”
Dad nods, gazing down at the table. “So now what?”
“I’ll get a job and start building a career for myself.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out. I’m smart. Just not school smart.”
“Of course you’re smart.”
“I’m sorry, dad. I didn’t want to disappoint you. I hated it from day one, but I made it almost two years because of you.”
“You’ve been suffering for two years?”
“Yeah. I know how much it means to you, but it’s just not for me.”
He stands and moves in front of the French doors leading outside. “I am disappointed. I worry about how you’ll make a place for yourself in the world. I don’t want you to get stuck in low paying jobs with no future.”
“I know. I might have to start at the bottom, but I’ll work my way up. Lots of people have done okay without degrees, dad.”
“Lots of people like Bishop?” He turns and looks at me with his arms crossed over his chest. “Is that who you’re comparing yourself to?”
“No. I don’t think I’m like him at all. I think I’m like you.”
“What does that mean?”
