A kick in the butt

Thanks FC, for "forcing" me to do a 15 minute free write. Here goes.

I need to insert at least two new scenes with Susan (who my mentor insists on calling Sarah in all her mentions of the character) and her dad. Here's some freewriting with that in mind...

I was sitting in the kitchen when I heard my dad's car pull up. I grabbed my coffee cup and ran to my room. I couldn't face him. Not knowing what I knew. And knowing that he knew what I knew.

I lay on my bed, looking at the pictures of my mom's Oprah magazine more than reading the articles. I doubt any of them would have advice for this particular situation. I heard my dad coming up the stairs and I wished I had thought to get in bed and pretend I was sleeping. I felt like a kid who had broke something, just waiting for her parents to figure her out.

"Hi Susan." I looked up to see him standing in my doorway. I had the feeling that if he were the type of dad to say "honey" or "sweetie" instead of my full name, things would be OK. "My secretary, Lisa, gave me a stew to warm up for dinner. It's so weird, all this sympathy from people I never really talked to before. Can you heat it up for us?"

I groaned inside. My father couldn't work a microwave. Or wouldn’t, rather. The rare times my mom went away to visit her sister, she used to make him individual meals, wrapped and labeled with things like "chicken pot pie--lunch on Friday".

"Sure," I said, sliding off the bed.

I slammed around the kitchen, annoyed that my father thought it was OK to be this helpless and expect people to take care of him, annoyed that I had to know what I knew and had no one to talk about it.

"You sure are making a lot of noise down here!" My dad came into the kitchen and sat down.

"Cooking can be noisy!" I said, not meeting his eyes. "Not that this is really cooking. A monkey could work a microwave."

"Hmph." my dad said, sitting down at the table and looking at the newspaper I had left there.

"How's Gary doing?" The last time he asked, I thought he was being curious. Now I was pretty sure he was trying to piss me off.

"I don’t know. Haven't talked to him in a while. You want to give him a call? You seem awfully concerned about him all of a sudden."

"It seems you're angry about something, and I really don't care to be talked to like this. I'm going to go out now. Maybe by the time I get home you'll have calmed down. As if you're the one who should be upset by all this."

"All this." That was the only mention that indicated he had any idea I was talking about more than microwaving stew.

[OK, I know this needs a lot of work, but it's a start!]