Father's Home -- Yay?

The mood at home is night-and-day when Father's away.  I can breathe easier at home.  My heart beats a little lighter at home because Mother usually doesn't give a shit.  It's been that way the past four days.  It may have helped that his vacation coincided with the break in the weather; while it was humid when he left, it's been mighty comfortable -- perfect late-summer weather -- since being gone.

Tonight I hunkered down for his return.  Actually, I thought I was going to enjoy one last supper in peace with Mother, but she was kind of a bitch tonight, yelling at me while she was fluttering about making this huge dinner only three of us would eat.  Whatever.  Father called around this time; he excitedly talked to me about buying this condo, but I acted distracted, as if I was doing something else at the time, because if I had let him know I was in good spirits, he'd find a way to shut me down.

Expectations seemed pretty low when I realized that there was some traffic on the way down to the airport; for some reason there was construction going on in an area connecting Minneapolis and St. Paul, and for some reason there were a lot of people going through this area at 10:30 at night.  It took about 25 minutes to get through that fuckin' area, so I was 15 minutes away from the airport when he called.

Thankfully this time he was patient about it and didn't make a fuss when I finally got to the airport.  To "make up" for my cold reception to him over the phone and for being late, I engaged him on conversation about the new condo.  He seemed excited -- genuinely excited.  Unfortunately, he also told me he was disatisfied with his old one, and in fact needed my help in figuring out how to tell these guys he no longer wanted to close on it.  So instead of cleaning up my room or mowing the lawn, that's the shit I need to do.

He got kind of obsessed about why he no longer wanted this particular condo as we got him, and then when he got something to eat.  Meanwhile, the food stuck between my teeth were really bothering me, so slipped into the bathroom to floss.  That's when I heard from outside My Father calling me.

I come out in case something hinky might be going on, and sadly, there was: Father heard and walked back toward me from my hallway and through the dining room.  He thought I was in my room, therefore he walked down the hallway to talk to me about something.

And now my paranoid meter starts pinging off the hook.  Did he not see that there were no lights on?  And, by God, did he manage to open the door?  Did he hit his head on the door because there was a huge bag containing my comforter right behind it?  Did he see the stack of clothes I've yet to put away?  How about the myriad bags of papers I still have, or the papers strewn around the floor?  Did his mood immediately darken because I haven't cleaned up my room?  Well, fuck him!

Great, I'm trying to anticipate how he's thinking again.  And he just got home 45 minutes ago.

So I'm working on his letter right now.  We'll see if he passive-aggressively gets back at me.

I guess I have to add that after our conversation, I opened my door.  It was completely closed, but I don't remember if I completely closed it when I left.