Page 44 of The County Fair Queen

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Aunt Lurlene muttered as she stalked into the kitchen, shuffling slowly toward the coffee pot. "You two are about as hopeless as an atheist at Sunday service." She sighed as she filled her mug—half coffee, half French vanilla creamer. "I wish you would just sort this foolishness out already. I've tried to look the other way for years, but you're both being purposefully obtuse at this point. Preston," she said, eying my father. "Phillip's saying he doesn't understand why you'd use a mug with his likeness, seeing as he thinks you can't stand the sight of him." Preston's mouth hit the floor, but she continued talking before he could interject. "And Phillip, Preston doesn't hate you. I can see why you might have gotten that impression, but your perception's a bit off, sugar. Always has been. He doesn't hate you. He's just a bit jealous that you got to go out and live your dreams, and his never panned out."

"Auntie," he warned, his eyes narrowed into slits. "I ain't jealous of nothing."

"No," she said, throwing her hands in the air dramatically. "Now, I've sat idly by for the last fifty years, watching you two tiptoe around each other—"

"Fifty years? I'm thirty-six!" I said.

"I'm not having it. Not anymore. Before Phillip leaves, I want you two to sort this out, once and for all. I know you might not want to think about it, but I'm the glue holding this family together. I can't stand the thought of you two disappearing fromeach other's lives when I'm not around to tether you. Now, I'm going to get dressed for the day, and when I come back out here, I want to see two smiling faces." She eyed my father for a moment before sighing. "Well, one smiling face and whatever the heck that look you get when you're not hating the world is called. Lord knows it can't be considered a smile."

"You're already wearing a business suit. What are you changing into this time?" I asked, though my terribly important question went unacknowledged.

"I smile," he argued, not smiling. "I smile all the time."

"At videos of little children falling off of bicycles, yes. Aside from that? Never. Now, fix this. I want it sorted." She left the room without another word, leaving Preston and me sitting at a table so wide there might as well have been an ocean between us.

Finally, when his coffee cup was eventually empty, he wrapped his fingers around it, gripping tightly. "You really think I hate you?" he said.

"What am I supposed to think? You've hardly said two words to me since I got home."

"I ain't a talker," he said. "You know that."

"Maybe, but you're my father." Our eyes met, and for the first time, I saw it. An ounce of emotion. An inch of appreciation. "I didn't need you to give me big motivational speeches or grand declarations, but I deserved more than what I got from you growing up." The legs of my chair scraped against the kitchen tile, and when I stood, his eyes followed me, trailing my every move. I grabbed my mug, and then his from the table before heading toward the sink. There was a dishcloth next to the coffee pot, and after rinsing my mug, I set it upside down over the rag to dry. There was just enough coffee left for another cup, so I poured it in his and stared at a younger version of me, winking out at the world. The mug was hot against my hand, but I held firm, my burning palm the only indication that this wasn't adream. "Is it because I'm not like you? I know I was never the manliest guy out there—"

"It ain't…" He sighed, shaking his head. "You aren't ever content with just letting things be. Just leave it alone."

"You heard her. She wants us to sort this out, and you know what? So do I. I'm sick of this thing between us. You've always treated me like this huge burden. I didn't ask to be born." I walked back to the table and set the mug in front of him. He stared down at it, his breathing heavier than it had been. He reached for the sugar shaker sitting in the center of the table but I slapped his hand away. "Four sugars, two cream."

"You remembered?"

"Obviously," I said, taking a seat and patting my lap to motion Mr. Papadopoulos over. "I only fixed it for you every morning for the better part of a decade." Papadop's claws clicked against the tile, and I braced for impact. As his talons pierced their way up my shins, I stared at my father. "The little things. Cream and sugar. Birthdays. Favorite shows, favorite foods. That's family, Preston. Family remembers. Family shows up."

"I always showed up. I was home for supper every night, and then I got you up and ready for school the next day. I did that. Don't tell me about family showing up."

"You never came to my shows. I sent you tickets to every show within a hundred-mile radius, and you never came. Lurlene did. Minnie Sinclair did. Hell, I'm pretty sure Rivers probably showed up to one, too. But not you. Never you."

We sat there for an uncomfortable length of time; him staring silently into his cup of coffee; me gazing out the window. I watched until the sun peeked over the vineyard, sending fractals and rays of light cascading across the vines. Eventually, I glanced down at my phone and realized Rivers would be back soon. I needed to get showered and dressed. As I stood and turned to walk away, my father's voice pierced the silence.

"The Cyndi Lauper song you used to do for your solo number. The slow one. "All Through the Night," I think."

I gripped the back of my chair.

"Always thought it was a really pretty number. Not too hard on the voice. Not so slow it'd put the little kids in the crowd to sleep." He took a sip of his coffee, smiling as the flavor spread across his tongue. "I used to look forward to hearing it at your shows each night." He darted his eyes up, our gazes locking for a split-second before he stared back down at the table. "Every night, Phillip."

"You came?"

"I know you didn't get a lot of hugs or affection from me growing up, but I've never hated you. I want to fix this. If you think it's worth fixing, I mean."

"It is," I promised. "It's worth fixing to me, Preston."

He gave me a nod and took another sip of his steadily-cooling coffee before pointing toward the entryway. "You go on and get dressed. I'll keep lover boy company until you're ready."

As I walked into the hallway, I caught sight of Jordan. He was sitting on the bottom step of the stairway, a half-smile flashing in my direction.

"Don't," I said. "Whatever you're planning on saying, just don't."

"I'm proud of you. Being open and honest. I didn't expect that."

"Yeah, well, clearly the pre-dawn version of me is hellbent on mania. I'll have to scold myself later."

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