Page 1 of Dad Bods and Blizzards

One

Naomi

Opening the countertop treasure chest I use to store my keychain collection, my fingers tremble as I fish for the small silky tabs I glued to the false bottom. Carefully lifting the contents, I set the trayful of mementos on the marble countertop in my bathroom.

A breath escapes me when I confirm that the white envelope is right where I left it. Thinking that my dad will steal from me isn’t cool, but the money heaccidentallywithdrew from my bank account is still missing.

I retrieve the dollar bills I’ve stashed in my bra, smooth them on the counter, then tally today’s tips from my shift atKeep Yer Belly Fulldiner.

Quick mental math determines I’ve surpassed two thousand dollars.

Slow and steady to get my own place.

Who am I kidding? I’m never going to be able to live on my own at this pace. If only Dad would let me work for the family business. Helping people with home security is a noble and lucrative cause.

I write the new total on the envelope before adding the bills and returning the envelope to the bottom of the treasure chest. I lift the tray of keychains—

“Naomi!” My father’s voice booms from beyond my bathroom door, and probably outside of my bedroom too, but I feel caught.

My arms jerk, flinging keychains to the marble floor as I hastily shove the tray into the chest.

Confirming that I locked the bathroom door, I gather the scattered keychains and respond, “I’m getting ready. Another waitressing shift tonight. Do you need something?”

“Just making sure you’re in there.”

“I am.” Is that all my own personalDennis the Menacewants? A tinge of guilt washes over me for mocking my dad’s name. I wait a few seconds before turning to the mirror.

Shaking out my arms, I rid myself of the nervous energy. Being sneaky doesn’t suit me—especially hiding money from my dad. He’s not a menace. He funded all of the violin lessons and soccer teams and every kind of entertainment that kept my childhood busy and fun.

But he’s been different lately, asking me to pass sealed envelopes to specific customers at the diner. He told me not to ask what was in them or why, and since he’s seemed so stressed, I agreed. Anything to help.

The reflections of the sunset’s oranges and blues draw my attention to my oversized windows. Through the oak branches that stretch past my bathroom’s treehouse view, the first dark clouds of the impending storm make an appearance. Snowflakes swirl, silently landing on the window, then melting as if they were never there.

I step to the soaking tub and start the warm water. A few minutes relaxing in my oversized tub will do me good. Today’s shift atKeep Yer Belly Fullis followed up tonight by a once-a-year opportunity to waitress at theChristmas Cherry Auction.Rumor has it that the bidders are also good tippers. I’m hoping to add another thousand to my savings tonight.

A gust of wind taps the oak branches against the window, vying for my attention. Snowflakes hang out on the glass pane a few seconds longer before melting. The dark clouds have grown larger since I looked at them a minute ago.

Flitting my fingers through the warm water, I decide against taking my time, and turn it off.

I opt for a quick shower instead. If this storm holds as much potential to turn into a blizzard as the weather forecasters are predicting, my car won’t be able to navigate the roads—I have to make it. Getting home tonight is far less important. They’ll clear the roads eventually.

The rainfall shower heads and body jets tempt me to take my time, but the only risk I’m taking tonight is getting stuck at theAubergine Affairsex club where the auction is being held. And maybe if I’m lucky… I shove the thought aside. All eyes will be on the women on stage, not on the waitresses.

A plush bath mat cushions my tired feet as I dry my body and wrap a towel around my hair.

I blink, trying to figure out if the natural light in my bathroom dimmed. Sure enough, checking out the window, I see that the clouds are even more ominous.

New plan: arrive at theAubergine Affairearly and do my makeup there.

A mechanical whirring cuts through my thoughts. I angle my head to the side. The noise grows louder.

I crack open the bathroom door and peer into my bedroom. The drilling sound vibrates through the wall near my door, accompanied by metal clanking.

“Dad?” I call out, but there’s no response over the noise.

The drilling pauses, followed by more metallic sounds. Hanging a picture would only require a hammer and nail. This sounds more intense. Christmas decorations? Not really Dad’s style.

Lay low.That’s become my mantra lately. When Dad’s in one of his newfound moods, it’s better to stay out of his way.

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