A Taste of Spring

Dez felt the sting of betrayal pulse through him. He took a step back. He lifted his hand to his mouth then lowered it.
"Yeah, I paid her," Fallon announced again.
He didn't have to repeat it. Dez got it the first time. He understood Fallon loud and clear. Spring was paid to "lift his spirits..."
The first step he took felt clumsy and sluggish, but as he took the second and third he attempted to move with more precision.
Dez pulled open the office door. He heard conversation around him, he noticed people standing in the aisles, watching him as he
walked by them.
"Lover's quarrel," Percy sneered as he passed.
The sound of a commotion going on behind him didn't halt Dezmond's steps. Gasps and the sounds of furniture being moved
didn't stop him. He thought he even heard Fallon calling his name but he didn't turn back. None of it mattered. Fallon no longer
mattered.
She was paid.
(I'm a fool.)
----------
FIVE HOURS LATER
The drive to his parent's home in upstate New York didn't even register. Hell, the truth was, Dez didn't remember the trip in its
entirety. He didn't recall stopping at red lights or even merging onto the highway. All he was aware of was pulling up along the
curb in front of his childhood home and parking where he still sat, staring at his steering wheel.
The sound of tapping jolted Dez to attention. He turned to see his father bent over looking at him through the driver's window.
"Are you going to sit here all night?"
What am I even doing here? he asked himself.
"Get out of the car son."

Dez sighed as he undid his seat belt. He waited until his father backed up before he opened the car door and stepped out. "Hey
Pop."
"Dez," his father said as he extended his hand.
Dez shook his father's hand. It was the way Marcel Rey greeting everyone, including family.
"Your mother is brewing some coffee. She made her famous cinnamon buns," Marcel said as they traveled up the walkway.
Inside, Dez sat at the dining table with his hands around his coffee mug. His head hung. His chest still ached from being
betrayed and lied to.
"He should have called," Marcel whispered in the background. "We could have been...busy."
Dez refrained from shaking his head. His father was one of those people who lacked the ability to speak quietly. And to be talking
about what he thought they were talking about...
"Shh, he'll hear you."
"Too late," Dez said as he lifted his mug to his lips.
Virginia Rey walked over to the table with one of her cinnamon buns. She placed it in front of Dez then sat across from him.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Spring..." he started but stopped.
"What boy, is she pregnant?" Marcel demanded immediately.
"No. She and Fallon lied to me. Apparently, she's an escort and he hired her...to get me out of my 'funk'." Dez even threw up the
quotation marks when he said funk.
He looked at his mother when he realized the silence in the room was longer than he expected. Both his parents should be all
over this, giving their conservative opinions and suggestions. But he heard nothing but silence.
Virginia was peering at him like he'd grown a horn between his ears. His father seemed somewhat annoyed but not shocked or
angry.

"She's an escort," he said again.
His mother's chair made a screeching sound as she stood. She said nothing as she left the room.
"What?" Dez asked, confused.
Marcel lifted the chair his wife vacated and placed it closer to the table then sat. "Do you like this woman?"
Dez raised his brow. He worshiped her.
"Do you feel she likes you?"
Dez thought of the way Spring's eyes lit up whenever she looked at him, how she seemed to be having fun when they were with
each other. He thought of how in sync they were physically and how neither one of them seemed to be able to get enough of the
other.
"Then tell me, what angers you more? Them omitting her choice of employment or that there's a possibility she may have given
another man her body."
Dez frowned. His father emphasized the word her.
"Did you talk to her?"
Dez shook his head.
"So, you just left the city and came home, instead of talking to this young woman you seem to care about?"
"I left her an angry message," Dez admitted.
That's when his father got up from the table. "What's a seven-letter word for a person lacking good judgment?" He left the
kitchen.
(Moronic.)