Page 18 of Going Down

The awkward introduction silence disappears quickly and my dad takes immediate advantage peppering Dash with questions.

“Are you from a big family?”

“Two sisters and a brother.”

“You’re not from New England.”

“Southern bred.”

“Do you like football?”

“I’d be in trouble if I didn’t. My dad played professionally.”

“You never mentioned that!” I interject.

“He asked. You didn’t.” Dash winks. He always winks. And whenever Dash winks, I get twisted up inside.

The fact that my father has gotten information out of Dash that I didn’t know makes Dad deliriously happy. The two begin a long conversation about sports and sports injuries. Dash’s interest in what my dad has to say is genuine. He’s the last person I’d worry about putting on an act. I like that they’re connecting and it makes my original fears about them meeting melt away. Although, I can’t get a word in edgewise until the end of the first quarter when I offer to heat us some frozen appetizers.

“We got this. Right, Dr. Jai?” On the way to grab a reusable tote he brought with him, Dash pretends to bounce a basketball until the nickname clicks for my dad.

Surprisingly enough, my father follows Dash’s lead, showing him where the knives are and helping chop red onions for mini uttapam-style pizzas covered with cheese, jalapeño, and curry chicken. While Dash teaches my dad to cook, we dip bell peppers and pita into hummus.

With the television in sight, they stop to watch the game at every interception, cheering for New England. Fist bumps and hi-fives follow. I’m pretty sure they’ve forgotten I’m here several times. But I’m watching the whole endearing moment with a set of new eyes. Not once has Dash done anything to embarrass me or draw attention to the possibility that we’re involved. It’s like when he sneaks kisses after work peering over the car tops so no one is the wiser.

When Dash is turned toward the stove, Dad stands tall, stretching out his back and throwing me a thumbs-up sign.

My shoulders reach my ears, my palms fly open wide, and I mouth, “It’s not like that!” When it is Just. Like. That.

Dad ignores my insistence and claps Dash on the back while he’s stirring a frying pan. For a split-second, I think this could be us. Dash has a family, but he could be part of ours too. Perhaps it’s because Dash is adaptable. He finds a way to fit in wherever he goes without losing what makes him…Dash.

I help bring the trays of food to the coffee table and we all dig in. The second half is long, but our team pulls it off and is headed to another championship game. I give my dad a huge hug as we say goodbye. Dash thanks him for his hospitality. The porch light goes out as a certain southern gentleman opens my driver’s side door.

“I appreciate that you drove all this way…And all the things you showed him to do in the kitchen.”

“It was fun. Nice to have the counter space to do it in. Your dad is a capable guy. If he’s doing surgery on athletes, cutting onions can’t be that difficult.”

It means a lot that Dash believes in my dad. I kiss him, hoping we’re alone in the dark.

Dash cups my cheeks. “You take good care of him, Kat.”

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“Hop in. I’ll follow you north. Make sure you get back safe.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do, and I want to. Everyone deserves to have someone look out for them. Let me be that person for you. Even if it’s only for now. I want to be that person.”

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9

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A good friendship is often better than passionate romance

An Arctic polar vortex moved in this week. The wind chill is brutal. Poor Dash had kids in his ski school lessons yesterday who were in tears they were so cold. Even I hadn’t wanted to ride a lift during my shift and I always want to ski or board.

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