Fiction Friday Part 3: The Fighter

This is Part Three of a story I’m working on for our Fearless Fiction Femmes Fatales group (our name keeps getting longer and more exciting). If you want to catch up, here’s Part One and Part Two. You can also read my first stab at “fiction” that was more like me working through PTSD since I almost wanted to kill my then-autistic son while giving him a bath. 

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“Peter. For God’s sake. Just tell him we can’t come this year.”

Jennifer Wong stood in the threshold of her husband’s home office with her arms crossed. This was really starting to piss her off.

Peter sat at his desk. It was 11 o’clock, Sunday, and he was still wearing his pajamas and robe. Not being in a suit was somehow impeding his ability to effectively fend off his wife. This sort of thing never would’ve happened at work.

“It’s just. . . ” he began, already unable to compose a sentence, “Why are we even having this discussion? I mean, it’s just a kindergarten graduation. Who really cares about graduating from kindergarten?”

“Are you shitting me? Matthew is five. He’s going to be five ONCE in his life. He’s graduating from kindergarten ONCE in his life . And yes, I’m sorry they’re calling it kindergarten ‘graduation’,” she made those little air quotes that made him want to wince, but he didn’t dare move a muscle. “But the fact is, if his father isn’t at his ‘graduation,’ he’s going to wonder what the fuck is going on?”

Over the years, Peter had learned that Jen’s profanity increased directly in line with her anger. By the time the f-bombs started dropping, he knew he was in trouble. It reminded him of his great-grandmother. Apparently she could cuss like a truck driver. Of course, he never really knew for sure since she only spoke Cantonese…

“Jen, what do you want me to tell him? You know I can’t just say we won’t be there.”

“Yes. Yes you can. We’ve been there every fucking year for eighteen years. I think they can live without us one time. You’re parents will just have to see us during the ten other fucking visits we make to D.C. this year.”

“But this is the first birthday after his surgery. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“EVERY year is a big deal. It’s his 60th. Or his 70th. Or the year the fucking vice president is going to be attending. It’s always something. Christ, don’t you see that?”

Lord’s name in vain. Now he was really, really up shit creek.

“Okay, okay,” he stood up, walked over to her, and tentatively put his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll figure this out. I promise. I’ll figure something out.”

She looked up at him, more hurt now than angry. “Peter, you’re a fighter. You stand up for people every day. I guess I just don’t understand why you can’t ever stand up for us.” She turned and walked toward the sound of video games being played too loudly in the family room. Maybe the kids hadn’t heard them. He couldn’t figure out why they never thought to shut the door or keep their voices down.

Maybe he was hoping they’d come and rescue him.

He sat back down in his chair. Stared at the calendar on his computer screen. This was an unsolvable puzzle. It always had been. Or at least since Jen started pushing him to “choose.” To “prioritize.” He allowed himself to wince at the mental image of her air quotes now that she wasn’t in the room. Why, why, did it always have to come back to this? He’d married Jen because she loved how devoted he was to his family. Loved having a “traditional” patriarch who guided them. Protected them. She never complained when his father gave them money for a house. Or took them on vacation all over Europe. Or got him a job in the senator’s office.

It was there — at his job — where he felt powerful. At work he could make people move. Convince them to change their minds or their editorials or their votes. At work he could find ways to put a person between a rock and a hard place and then squeeze them until they “decided” his way was the best way all along.

At home, he was just the guy getting squeezed.

It’d just been so much easier when he could do whatever his father wanted him to do:

Yes, father.

Fine. Yes, fine.

I will do whatever you tell me to do.

I always have.

I always will.

I will lead the life you want me to lead.

I will be a good boy.

I will be a real man.

I will stop dishonoring my family with my disgusting lifestyle.

I will never let Popo know about the boy.

Yes, it would kill her.

Yes, you are right, I meant I would kill her.

I would kill her with my disgracefulness.

She would die of disappointment.

You have no idea — I owe my grandmother everything.

She’s the person who taught me love.

So yes, I will let you take me away from here.

I will let you bury my soul.

For you, I will break the heart of the man I love.

I mean, thank you for putting me on the right path, Father.

Thank you for helping me make a good decision.

Yes, by myself.

For myself.

Of course, all on my own…

He picked up the phone. He was already good at pleasing his father at the expense of other people. It was a hard habit to break.

He was in the middle of dialing his parents’ number when the doorbell rang.

 

Read Part Four: The Dark

 

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This week’s prompt: Invent a/your character (who) has two personality traits that are completely incompatible, that don’t fit together at all. For example: this character is incredibly messy and is also a total perfectionist. Or: this character is a pacifist and also has a really explosive temper. Or: this character believes in strict, traditional family values but is promiscuous by nature. You decide. Then think of a situation in which these two sides of your character would be in direct conflict with each other. Write the story/scene.

And be sure to check out my fellow femmes:

• ClearlyKristal
• BuLaMamaNi
• Susanne’s World
• It’s a Dome Life
• DeBie Hive
• Grass Oil by Molly Field
• Quirky Chrissy
• Near Genius
• The Suds Box