The New Arrival: A Story
The New Arrival It had been three years since I had last seen my father, three years of joy, bliss and freedom. However, I can neither say I hate him nor that I miss him.
I just feel… nothing.
It had all started with the divorce. To begin with, I remember the arguments; quarrelling over what was his and what was hers when before it had all just simply been ours. My mother worked and paid for most of the things so nearly everything went to her and thinking back now, it was probably on that account that I chose to live with her. I would obviously still get the occasional chance to stay with my father and what a state he was in.
Unemployed, Dad’s ramshackle flat was scattered with tawdry objects. His clothes often dappled; an example of amateur sewing at its worst. A damp contemptible smell was the usual aroma and I would often find myself choking due to the excessive volume of dust in the air. I suppose that’s why he did what he did, he needed the money.
Anyway, a month or two after the divorce everything was going well, except my mom’s punctuality. In the evenings, she would nearly always be late and a month later she plucked up the courage to tell me what was going on.
“Darling?” “Yes?” I enquired, not looking up at her from the book I was reading. “I… well… to put it bluntly, I’m seeing someone.” Momentarily she stopped allowing the point to sink and waiting for a reply; none came so she continued quickly. “You remember Mark? From the office? Yes, yes, of course you do. Anyway, he’s been so helpful at the office. We’ve been seeing each other for a month now and I invited him over for dinner.”
I was stunned, I just did not know what to say but before I had the chance to reply the doorbell rang. I looked up at my mom for the first time and she caught a glimpse of my bloodshot eyes and the river of tears flowing down my face.
I just feel… nothing.
It had all started with the divorce. To begin with, I remember the arguments; quarrelling over what was his and what was hers when before it had all just simply been ours. My mother worked and paid for most of the things so nearly everything went to her and thinking back now, it was probably on that account that I chose to live with her. I would obviously still get the occasional chance to stay with my father and what a state he was in.
Unemployed, Dad’s ramshackle flat was scattered with tawdry objects. His clothes often dappled; an example of amateur sewing at its worst. A damp contemptible smell was the usual aroma and I would often find myself choking due to the excessive volume of dust in the air. I suppose that’s why he did what he did, he needed the money.
Anyway, a month or two after the divorce everything was going well, except my mom’s punctuality. In the evenings, she would nearly always be late and a month later she plucked up the courage to tell me what was going on.
“Darling?” “Yes?” I enquired, not looking up at her from the book I was reading. “I… well… to put it bluntly, I’m seeing someone.” Momentarily she stopped allowing the point to sink and waiting for a reply; none came so she continued quickly. “You remember Mark? From the office? Yes, yes, of course you do. Anyway, he’s been so helpful at the office. We’ve been seeing each other for a month now and I invited him over for dinner.”
I was stunned, I just did not know what to say but before I had the chance to reply the doorbell rang. I looked up at my mom for the first time and she caught a glimpse of my bloodshot eyes and the river of tears flowing down my face.