Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

let on, but it was hard talking to the man. He was so closed-mouthed about everything.
    Dad had been that way for the past ten years of Jason's life since Jason's mother passed away when he was only fourteen years old. That had been a rough time for both of them, and it should have brought the two of them closer together. They were all the family each other had.
    Instead of bonding with his son, Robert Mathers poured himself into his work. Jason never felt as if he was wanting for anything, at least in terms of material possessions and the basic necessities of life. There was always food in the house. Dad always made sure he got to school every day, monitored the progress he was making in his classes. Jason was clothed and provided for in every way a typical middle-American teenager would be.
    But Jason's dad had grown bitter. He'd become a bit of a recluse, singularly focused on his profession. It appeared to Jason that his father acted out his life like a robot, an automaton, mechanically performing the tasks that were required of him with no emotional connection to anyone or anything. Robert Mathers had died himself when his wife passed away, and now he existed as merely a shell.
    The only time Jason's dad really showed any emotion was when he was angry, and the trade shows seemed to be the one thing that pissed him off most. At least this one would be local. They wouldn't have to travel, and Jason hoped that this would alleviate some of the stress.
    He felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket, pulled it out, and saw it was his dad. "I'm here," his father's gruff voice came through the receiver.
    "Be right down, Dad," Jason said.
    He hurried to gather up his belongings—one large suitcase and two laptops. The rest of the materials were already in the back of the van. Jason had loaded everything the previous evening, before leaving the office. He figured that would be one less thing his dad had to worry about.
    "Jesus Christ, Jase," his dad said as he opened the side door of the van to stow his luggage, "we don't have all day. Get a move on!"
    Jason rolled his eyes and exhaled, turning away so as not to look the man in the eye. Mentally he began counting, one, two, three… It was going to be a long day, and he didn't want to start it with an argument. "Sorry," Jason said, "but don't worry, Dad. We have lots of time. The setup for the show doesn't start til 10:30, and it's only 9:15."
    "Well, if I gotta go somewhere late, I'd rather not go at all." It was pointless to argue with him. Jason climbed into the passenger seat.
    "Don't forget, we have to swing by the printers to pick up those brochures."
    "I got the brochures yesterday," his dad said. "Didn't you pack them?"
    "Um…nooo. How was I supposed to know you'd picked them up? I definitely would have packed them, if you'd just told me."
    "Oh for God's sake!" his dad shouted. "Now we have to go ten miles out of the way and backtrack to pick the fucking things up from the office. I wish you'd get your head out of your ass."
    The office was actually 3.8 miles from Jason's apartment, a five minute drive. Jason didn't bother correcting his father, though. Nor did he comment on the way the man was speaking to him. Jason knew his dad was just stressed, and it was probably a good thing he was snapping at Jason rather than at his peers—or worse yet, his clients.
    When his father pulled into the circular drive at the office, Jason hopped out. "I'll get em," he said. He rushed inside and found the box of brochures on his father's desk. When he returned to the van, his dad was calmer.
    "Sorry I snapped at you," he said.
    "It's okay, Dad. I know how freaked out you get about these things…"
    "I'm not 'freaked out', whatever that means."
    "I mean you're all worked up. Stressed. But you should just relax. We've got everything covered, and that latest program you designed is gonna knock everyone's socks off. You'll be a huge success."
    In reality, Jason had done more work on the software program than had his father, but Jason was trying to think of anything to lift his dad's mood. For the past two years, Jason had done most of the programming, but he didn't mind. For well over a decade—thirteen years, to be precise—his dad had managed the company on his own. He and a partner had started the business during the dot-com bubble of the late nineties. It was risky at the time, but they'd made a go of it. They were hugely successful actually.
    Shortly after the death of