It wasn’t until Hannah had left and I had spent an hour just lounging around that I actually got up and decided to call Paul. Today was my lazy day. I dialed Paul’s phone number, and waited. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. I hung up. My policy is if they don’t answer after four rings, they don’t plan on answering at all. I dropped the phone on its hook, and went back in the bedroom to change into clothes.
I was about to head up to the roof when the phone rang. I rolled my eyes, and picked it up.
“Hello?” I asked, slightly ticked off.
“William? You called back. I didn’t think you would.” Paul, doing what he always does. Making me mad.
“I told you never to call me William again. It’s just Will.” I rolled my eyes, even though I knew he could see it. Just to make sure we’re clear. My name is William, but I always, repeat, ALWAYS go by Will. Don’t ask me why my crazy mother gave me a boy name, while Paul’s mother gave him an actual gender-fitting name.
“Right, sorry. I’m just surprised you actually called back. I thought you hated me,” he said, sounding happy.
“Whatever. What did you want?”
“I need your help with Mary.”
“What now?”
“Well, you see, she’s…um…well, I don’t know how to put this,” Paul said, fumbling for words.
“What? Dumped you? Cheating? A whore?”
“No! She’s not a whore! And she’s not cheating either.”
“Then she dumped you?”
“No, she didn’t do that either. She’s pregnant.”
“What?”
“Pregnant. And the kid is mine.”
“Have you told Mom yet?”
“No! There’s no way I could tell her! But, I was hoping, that maybe you could…”
I cut in, “No. There’s no way in Hell I’m telling Mom for you. Or Clint.” Clint was Paul’s father.
“Please? They trust you so much more!”
“Exactly! That’s why if I tell them, I’m the one that’s going to seem like a rat. Why do you think I don’t come over for holidays anymore? Because I’m the one that’s always up on the chop block.” Poor, pitiful me.
“Well, it’s not like you’re the one with the kid.”
“No, I’m not doing it. Tell them yourself if it’s that important. Or abortion. I hear you can get a discount if the doctor in the back alley thinks Mary is cute and he likes what he sees.”
“Stop it! I don’t talk about your boyfriends like that.”
“That’s because I don’t have any,” I mumbled.
“That’s why you’re always upset. You don’t have a guy to be there for you,” said Paul, now auditioning to replace Dr. Phil.
“Get a grip on yourself. I don’t need a guy. I’m fine on my own,” I said. Only after I’d said it did I finally realize the mistake I’d made. Now, comes the joke.
“You know, Will, Mom really did name you right. You’re lesbian, and the Butch one in the relationship. You must be going out with that girl you’re living with.”
“Go screw your slut of a girlfriend,” I said, slamming the phone down on the hook, and pulling out the phone cord. I really hate Paul. He made my life a living Hell back then, and he still is to this day. I absolutely hate him. I have to remember to get our phone number changed.
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