The Mistress

in #story8 years ago (edited)

This is a little short story I recently wrote for a college course I was taking:

<a target='_BLANK' href='https://ipfs.pics/QmWEHnC6mN8Dortjv6t7rAXVeKHd3JAKKKSMJYBhbsyosP'><img src='></a>

                                                                           The Mistress

           Just home after a forty-five minute drive in rush hour traffic from Redwood City where I work, I’m sitting in my recliner watching TV when the phone rings. Since I hardly ever get calls at home, I ignore it. Janice comes in from the kitchen where she is fixing dinner and answers it.  
          “It’s your dad,” she says.
           I look at her: “My dad?”
           She nods.
            I wonder why he’s calling. I don’t remember that he has ever called. We don’t live far apart, but if either of my parents call, it’s my mother, and she rarely calls. We go over there from time to time. Sometimes, my dad brings my twelve-year-old sister over to babysit, but otherwise, they don’t come over.
             I take the phone: “Hello.”
             “You doing anything tomorrow?”
             “Uh…no…nothing in particular,” I say. 

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