Ten – Oliver

I fiddle with a thread that's dangling from a rip in my jeans. I've been sitting across from dad for the past ten minutes, just talking, while we wait for our pizza to be brought to the table. Ten minutes, and I haven't even brought up the topic of staying out tonight.

I pull my phone from the tabletop and check the time. It's almost seven.

The conversation slows down and practically stops with both of us being preoccupied. I look over to the digital order board, watching the orders carefully tick through the making process: in oven, being boxed. Our order is sixth on the board. Order in Process. They must be busy tonight, but I can't imagine it would be half as busy as what's going on in my head. My head is a mess, I need to think of some sort of excuse, brew some form of lie. I need to give myself an excuse because I know Mum won't accept anything I say to her. But no amount of brainstorming lets me come to a single conclusion.

The orders tick over again. In preparation. I shift in my seat and watch Dad carefully. I know I don't have to lie to him, it's only mum that's the problem. That mess of a woman cannot take anything I do as good. She's hated me for years and the curiosity of her hate taints anything I do. Her hate is a solid black curtain, she can't see past it.

"Thanks for taking me out tonight Dad, it's a lot better than being stuck at home," I say, forcing myself to talk over the sickening anxiety.

"Of course Ollie. Anytime." My dad takes the credit but isn't fooled in the slightest. "There isn't anything wrong, is there?" He asks in a soft tone.

I quickly glance out at the rest of the restaurant. I know no one is listening, but trust is a hard thing for me to have. "I... there's..." I try, but nothing except useless stuttering seems to fall from my mouth. Dad stays there, listening intently, waiting for me. I avert my eyes. "I, uh, wanted to know if I could maybe stay out late tonight."

Through the corner of my eye I can see my dad's expression lighten. Then he smiles. "Okay. You can Ollie."

I'm shell-shocked. I turn back to him and lower my voice more, "You're not even going to ask?"

"I have an idea, but no," he shakes his head gently.

"You do?"

Dad goes from gentle to smug instantly. "It's a boy, isn't it?"

He catches me off guard. I feel a violent blush creeping up my neck but I try my hardest to suppress it, hiding away in my hands. "Dad!" I groan in a hoarse whisper.

He drops his voice again, "But am I wrong?"

I hesitate, meeting his eyes for a second before dropping my head on the table. "No."

He sits back, smiling confidently to himself. A waiter interrupts his smugness, bringing our order of a large ultimate hot and spicy pizza, minus the chilli flakes, over to our table. I peel myself from the hard laminate to make way for our food. Dad thanks the man and I automatically stuff my mouth full of food to avoid having to say anything else.

Dad can read me like a book. He locks eyes with me, "He seems to make you happy, so I have no problems with it. Especially if he happens to be a nice, rich guy."

I know he's kidding about that last bit, but it's creepily accurate.

Now I have to tiptoe around the real problem. "What about Mum?"

He corrects himself, turning his expression to something more serious. He knows that Mum and I don't get along at all. I mean, he's been there through the worst, he's been there every time she's lashed out at me. And he knows she can be very suspicious, and suspicion generally leads to aggression.

"I'll cover for you, so try not to worry about her. I won't let her interfere again," Dad assures.

As much as I trust my dad, I cannot trust her, everything she does is unpredictable. "What will you tell her?" I ask.

"I'm not sure." He sits back in his red plastic chair putting his arm over the back rest.

"I can't go if I don't have an excuse."

Dad leans towards me and lays his hand on my arm. "Ollie, come on, you need to be able to live your life."

"She hates me."

I was excited, anything remotely close to freedom is exciting, especially when you're questioned about everything you do. I wanted to live like a normal person, without the need to hide every second thing I do. Dad watches me, he looks about as disappointed in my flawed plans as I am. We both stay silent for a while. Dad takes a bite of pizza but I don't bother, it's not like it would fix anything.

The digital clock on the order board taunts me, the white LED's flashing 7:36 PM, less than an hour before I was meant to be meeting Calvin at the train station.

Dad clears his throat. "What if I say you were doing some job interviews?"

I think it over for a few seconds. "Dad, she could never imagine me having a job. And an interview late at night?"

"I could argue otherwise, Ollie. I know why you don't have a job, but I think you're completely responsible and perfect for any job you can put yourself to, okay?"

"I know dad. But still, an interview past 8 PM?"

"I'm sure a 24-hour fast food restaurant that's run off its feet would be unprofessional enough to take whatever time they can get, especially in Lower-class," he says with a sly smile.

If he's smiling, he must be confident in his plan. If only I could be the same. I sigh, "Okay."

"Okay?" Dad repeats.

"Yeah, I think I can do this."