George was still holding his phone, staring at the wall of his downstairs toilet. He liked calling people on the toilet. It made for awkward situations when he dropped his phone by accident though. The holo-call would switch to his full body instead of his torso. But it also meant Beverley didn’t want to come in to ask him to put them on speaker so she could join the conversation. He liked her for the interest she showed in his life and wanting a part in it. But a man had to talk with others sometimes without his wife being on the phone.

His father always knew what to say, and in his hour of desperate need, he had taken the gamble to call him. He knew well how his father worked. Stubborn, so goddamn stubborn. To top that off, he never knew when to shut up and take a hit and when to unleash his sharp tongue. It was about the only reason George could think of why his father was still training amateurs at the end of his career. If it came to making them better, there were few his equal. At least ten of his colleagues in the Celestial or some of the lower league’s came from that club. An unbelievable amount for its size.

George also knew the moment you proved him wrong he would admit his defeat in an instant and move on. It was like bashing into a concrete wall for years before it disappeared without a trace. Making you stumble and unable to figure out what to do with its sudden disappearance.

T.E.A.M. had been such a wall. He felt almost ashamed that he played in the digital world and there was only a tiny piece of joy left for the game. All because his father found the whole thing detestable for years. But the conversation that only took five minutes changed his life forever. Or at least that was how George felt. Sitting on the toilet, pants down, his face blank but for a half smile on his lips. he got out of his musings and pulled his pants up. Opening the door to leave the small space, going into the world a new man.

Where his lovely wife greeted him by staring daggers into him. His father was saying it for years now. So was Norma. Every time they said it, a bigger part of his brain would accept it as reality. He didn’t know if Bev’s spell was having less effect on him. But by now Bev looked like a mediocre piece of beef stew. He felt it was the most accurate description his father had come up with in the last couple of years. Not that he used to talk in any direct manner with his father ever since little Rey got born. But Norma would give him the summary as frequent as she could. He would also never say it in her face. He like being alive.

“Who was that on the phone? I didn’t recognize the number.” His wife said, her tone strict but sweet.

George got used to it by now. If she couldn’t listen in she would check the phone number. He didn’t know why but he assumed she was curious. But the talk with his father made him feel different, more confident. This time he would not give Bev the summary of his conversation. This time George said “My father.” As he walked to the hallway. Leaving an astonished Bev behind.

Not for long though as Bev was on his heels before he stepped foot in the hallway. It felt like a cold breeze. Irritation shone through the sweetness in her voice, “What do you mean your father? Why did he call you?”

George got to the photo covered mini museum they called an entrance and grabbed his coat. He turned towards her and said with all the confidence he could muster, “He didn’t, I did.” His knees were weak and he felt a slight nausea coming up.

The small smile hadn’t left his face yet, but it wavered as his mind tried with all its might to brace against the doubts he was feeling. Bev stood there gaping at him like her brain got stuck. A victory that gave George enough confidence to keep the smile.

The victory was short lived as a chill went through him seeing her face change. The pitch in her voice changing towards the dangerous spectrum “What do you mean you called him? Since when do you call your father? Isn’t he the reason you are playing so horrible this season? That you are about to lose your job? Lose the means of taking care of me and little Rey? Who, may I remind you, almost died because you didn’t look after him?”

That broke the smile on his face, but instead of helpless defeat he felt anger. It had been a long time since he felt that emotion. But he welcomed the extra indignation it brought along. He scowled, raising his voice as much as he dared “My father has nothing to do with that last part. That was all me and I have apologized for more than a week for that. I will no longer grovel for some silly mistake I made. About the other things, yes you are right, but I need him as well and he is a good man. When he wants to be.” He said while putting on his coat.

“So what did you talk about then, with this good man?” She spat out the last words, and George was clear on her feelings towards his father. He had been clear on her feelings towards Walton for as long as he had known her.

“That is between me and my father.” He said. It was very rare for him to not go along with her request. But he felt like his father had hit the nail on the head when he told him to get his head out of the beef stew’s rectum. The anger helping him over the edge.

He agreed. He needed to become his own again, not his mothers puppet, or his wifes, or even his father. Nobodies hand would go into his asshole to play his strings and make him talk their words, not anymore. He needed to become his own man and at thirty it was getting high time.

“What?” Bev could't know that there was no more space for her hand. But even then her tone had lost all sweetness and had become threatening. Her tone cold, and hard.

“What I discussed with my father is my business, Bev.” He said, trying to pump his chest up and ignore the goosebumps. The move was so unnatural it looked like he broke eye contact and stared at the ceiling. Before making it even worse, he turned around and went out of the door.

“Where are you going! We are in the middle of a conversation!” He heard Bev scream. He would be in deep shit when he got back. Both fear and a adolescent stubborness went through him as he needed all focus on moving forward. Turning around would mean defeat. He could not loose now. Waving at her without turning around he said, “I’m going to a fix me up store.”

The last thing he heard was the poisonous and quiet sound of a “You what…” Before he got into his car. He slammed the door closed, breathing fast he told the AI to drive towards the nearest Fix me up store as cold sweat soaked through his shirt.

From today onward he would take control of his own life. One step at a time.