The door opens; the father takes two steps in, sees the blonde and his son naked on his bed. The blonde cackles, waves; her breast jiggles. Mirko clenches his fist, pounds the mattress, ready to smash her face, his father’s, to run and keep running. “Don’t let me interrupt,” the father says. “My home is your home and all that. A chip off the old block, Mirko. I’ll just close the door, pour myself a shot, stay in the kitchen.” The blonde laughs so hard she gets the hiccups. “Nothing fazes your Dad.” She reaches out for Mirko’s disappearing hardness; he has lost all interest. Another door closes, he thinks, another place I won’t be welcome. His father whistles The Torreador’s Song in the kitchen; Mirko smells bacon. The blonde scratches her thigh, turns over, hums along. “You sure you don’t want…?” Mirko scrambles for underwear, T-shirt. “Another time, maybe?” he says. He stops, looks at her pose, her amused look, considers the thin wall. Too much. Tail between his legs again, damn it. Tip-toeing out, he hears the blonde calling. “Palo, it’s the two of us after all.” |
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And Father Makes Three by Andrew Stancek
Filed under Andrew Stancek
Oh my. Mirko’s life is getting complicated by people he thought he’d understood. Himself included! Nice.
This is so good!
i love mirko and i think it’s ingenious how you’ve woven all these different elements in, underscored with this: “another door closes, another place i won’t be welcome.”
This is a tight scene, makes me uncomfortable and yet I want to read on, to know more. I will miss Mirko now that this year is over, but I will look for him elsewhere.
Yeah, the welcome mat has shifted! I did like this one … and yes, it does seem very European in its humour. But I guess you know that.
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