I take another sip of my whiskey sour and glance around the crowded restaurant. I should probably know by now that Carl isn’t going to fucking show up for lunch.

Who the fuck is Carl, you ask?

Oh yeah, I guess I should explain that part. Carl is my fucking father. More like a deadbeat who refused to pay child support to my mom when I was growing up, but it is what it fucking is.

I don’t call him dad, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, or anyone for that matter. In my opinion, he doesn’t deserve the title.

I take one more look around and tell myself I’m just going to wait five more seconds and then I’m out the door. I don’t have time to waste on this asshole today.

As soon as my eyes hit the entrance, I see him. Fuck, he looks ragged. He’s wearing a wife beater shirt and his unkempt hair is almost shoulder length, stringy and greasy.

He’s wearing acid washed jeans with a hole in the left knee. He looks worse for wear and if I didn’t know him already, I’d think he’s fucking homeless.

Shame hits my gut as he spots me and walks over. I cringe when he sits down across from me, and I glance around to make sure I don’t see anyone I recognize.

Pride is a big fucking deal to me, and it’s no thanks to this guy sitting on the other side of the table right now.

“Hey, Carl,” I say and clear my throat.

“Hey,” he says and runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry I’m late.”

“I’m used to it,” I snap and take another sip of my drink.

“Don’t be a fucking asshole,” he rolls his eyes as he picks up the menu. “What’s fucking good to eat here?”

I ignore him, feeling suddenly queasy and not hungry in the slightest. Just sitting close to him takes away my appetite.

“Do you even know why I want to come to lunch with you once a month, Carl?”

Carl looks up at me quizzically.

“Huh?”

“It’s because I want to fucking remind myself about how I rose up out of the ashes and made a fucking name for myself.”

Carl scoffs.

“Okay whatever.” He plants his nose back between the menu pages, dismissing me.

“Look at me,” I demand.

Carl looks up and shrugs.

“What am I supposed to see?”

I’m feeling the frustration rising in me, but I keep my cool.

“I’m wearing a nice shirt and nice pair of pants.”

“So?” Carl raises an eyebrow, still unaffected.

“So, they are clean and so am I,” I emphasize, hoping he takes the hint because he’s fucking dingy as hell.

“Good for you, do you want a fucking medal or something, son?”

“Don’t call me son,” I snap.

“Well you are,” he says dryly.

“I wouldn’t have known that growing up,” I state.

“Are you going to fucking bring this shit up every time I see you, Zane?”

I laugh out loud.

“What does it matter to you? You just want a free meal.”

As much as it fucking stings to know, the real reason my father meets me for lunch once a month is because he gets free food out of it. I know it’s fucking true. Real, decent food is hard to come by in his state of living.

“I just wish you knew how to fucking talk about something else,” he says and shakes his head. He takes a sip of his water and for the millionth time I think how I can’t believe I’m related to this man.

“I chose today for a specific reason,” I say.

“You mean our meet up?” he wipes his nose with a napkin.

“Yeah…” I trail off, looking down at the table.

“Well, what the fuck is it then?” he asks.

“This girl I work with wants me to be her sperm donor.”

Carl breaks out into roaring laughter and slaps his knee, the full fucking bomb I dropped falling into place in his loser mind.

“I’m sorry, is something funny?” I ask bitterly.

“Are you going to give up your good sauce to do it?” He scratches his cheek.

“I don’t really know yet,” I shrug.

Seeing my father always reopens the sealed wounds of my past. I hate meeting with him, but on the other hand, I like seeing him because in the back of my mind, I still want him to fucking care about me, or at least pretend he does. It’s like no matter what he did to us, I still want to prove that what I know is wrong.

I hate how he fucking ran out on my mother and I’ll never fucking forgive him for that, but I feel like if I get his advice on this, I might have better perspective. He’s still the closest thing I have to a father.

But he’s a shitty father, which in turn makes me feel legitimately scared to be a father myself. I don’t want to end up like him, and I don’t know the first thing about being a parent.

“The woman says I don’t need to be involved,” I add.

“Good,” he says. “You don’t need that kind of shit in your life.”

“I’m a better person than you, though, Carl,” I remind him. “I’m not sure I could walk away knowing I have a kid out there.”

Before Piper asked me to father her child, I never really thought about having kids. In fact, the utter thought of it repulsed me, but the contract is signed and I’m on deck to give out my fucking baby batter.

Piper better pray that her baby doesn’t get the gene from my father’s side of the family, a bunch of drunken assholes who don’t give a shit about anybody but themselves.

“I already signed the paperwork. It’s a done deal,” I mention.

“Well it looks like you’re up shit creek without a paddle.” My dad actually fucking laughs.

“Thanks for the sympathy,” I snarl with sarcasm.

“At least if you end up being involved with the kid, you’ll know what to do differently,” Carl says.

“Yeah, be exactly fucking opposite of you,” I say.

My dad ignores me and takes a sip of his water.

“So, how’s Sally doing anyway?”

“Don’t even dare speak her name,” I growl.

Sally is my mother, and if Carl wants to know how she’s fucking doing, then he shouldn’t have fucking left in the first place.

I pick at my food as Carl and I engage in meaningless chatter. Nothing he has to say is going to fucking help me and I shouldn’t be surprised. I should have known better. All this baby making must have me fucked in the head.

After I pay for our meal, I stand up. “I have to go, Carl.”

“See you next month?” His eyes are hopeful which confuses me. Guess he just likes getting free fucking meals out of me.

“Sure,” I say, still unable to resist spending time with him. Which pisses me off even more.

As I walk back to my car, I’m left with a bad taste in my mouth. I really don’t think I’m ready to be a fucking parent, but my signature is already on the damn papers. At least she doesn’t expect anything out of me other than for me to unload my cum inside her.

But still…

I just hope I don’t let Piper down the way my mom feels let down by Carl. At least she isn’t pressuring me to be involved, and that keeps my mind calm…at least for now. If I can just think about it as a sexual thing, then I’ll be in the clear for a mental breakdown.