What’s one more time, right?
So, I just nodded and said, “Sure, Todd. I’m a desk guy.”
But Todd wasn’t done.
He never is.
He leaned back in his chair, put his arm around Paige, and said, “I’m just messing with you, man. But seriously, when are you going to get out there and make some real moves? You’re almost 30. I had a house and a wife by your age. You’ve got what? An apartment and a cat.”
I don’t even have a cat.
I’m allergic.
My dad jumped in at that point.
“Todd’s got a point. Anthony, you’ve been coasting for a while now. When your sister was your age, she was already married. What’s your plan?”
I looked at my dad.
The man who didn’t help me pay for a single semester of college.
Who didn’t come to my graduation.
Who forgot my 27th birthday.
And he was asking me what my plan was while sitting next to a guy who leases everything he owns and calls it success.
“My plan is fine, Dad,” I said. “I’m doing well.”
“Doing well is what people say when they don’t want to admit they’re stuck,” Todd said. “No offense.”
“Then why say it if it’s offensive?”
“Because someone’s got to tell you the truth, man.”
Todd looked at my dad for approval.
My dad gave him a nod.
An actual nod.
And then Todd dropped the bomb.
He set down his fork, looked directly at me, and said, “Look, Anthony, I’m saying this because I care about you. You’re a good guy, but at some point, you got to look in the mirror and ask yourself why you’re almost 30 and you’ve got nothing to show for it. No wife, no kids, no house, just a desk and a paycheck. That’s not a life, man. That’s a holding pattern.”
“And honestly…”
He paused, looked around the table like he wanted an audience for this next part.
“Honestly, you’re kind of a loser.”
He said it right there at the dinner table, with pot roast on the plates and a centerpiece my mom had spent an hour arranging.
He called me a loser.
The table went quiet.
My mom’s fork froze halfway to her mouth.
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
Paige looked at Todd with this expression that was half embarrassment and half loyalty, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t bring herself to contradict him in front of everyone.
And my dad…
My dad chuckled.
Not a big laugh this time.
Just a soft chuckle, like he was trying to suppress it but couldn’t quite manage.
And that chuckle did more damage than anything Todd had said.
Because Todd was an outsider.
Todd was some guy who’d married into my family and decided he was better than me.
But my dad…
My dad was supposed to be on my team.
And he was laughing.
Something broke in me.
Not in a dramatic cinematic way.
Not like a dam bursting or a volcano erupting.
More like a wire snapping.
One of those internal wires that keeps you polite.
That keeps you civil.
That keeps you showing up to these dinners and smiling through the insults and pretending everything is fine because that’s what family does.
The wire snapped.
And I looked at Todd, and I smiled.
“You know what, Todd? You’re right. You’ve got a house and a wife and a BMW and the whole picture-perfect setup. Congratulations. Real impressive.”
I paused.
I took a sip of water.
“But I got to ask you something. And I’ve been curious about this for a while.”
Todd looked at me, still smirking, still confident.
“What’s that?”
“How does it feel being boyfriend number 11?”
The smirk disappeared.
Not slowly.
Instantly.
Like someone had wiped it off his face with a rag.
“What did you just say?” Todd asked.
“Boyfriend number 11,” I repeated. “Or is it 12? I honestly lost count. But I figured since you’re so concerned about my life, maybe we should talk about yours for a minute.”
The whole table went dead silent.
My mom set her fork down completely.
Caleb leaned back in his chair like he was trying to physically distance himself from the blast radius.
And Paige…