Page 17 of Reverse

“Talk without speaking.”

Dad gives Mom a smug smirk. “When you’re married to someone nearly a quarter of a century—or therightperson—it comes naturally, trust me.”

My parents have always been considered the ‘it’ couple amongst their friends, not that they care. Mom was right in saying I knew the details of how they met—a media conference in Chicago. The way Mom tells it, she took one look at my dad and lost the sense God gave her.

Mom always jokingly calls him her longest one-night stand.

Dad calls her the one that will never get away.

Sadly, I get that part of it now and no longer find it romantic.

After a whirlwind romance, they married just shy of a year of dating, and neither looked back.

Or have they?

There’s been maybe one month of my life where I wasn’t sure if I’d become another statistic of divorce. I was seven. During that time, Mom took me to stay with my grandparents for a week. When we got home, something had changed. They put on a good front for me, but more weeks passed before things truly got back to normal. There was a second shift, and they’ve been fine ever since. I’ve never spent much time thinking about it, but now I’m curious as to why.

“Where is your head tonight, daughter of mine?” Mom asks, a grin on her face as she glances back at my dad with bulging quizzical eyes. With the lift of a shoulder, he pops the top of another beer before reaching down to scratch the ears of our ancient basset hound, Sparky. Forcing myself back into the moment, I scrutinize the two of them.

“Who made the first move?” I ask, tipping my own beer to start a dangerous line of questioning.

They each point their bottles at the other with a smile, like it’s some inside joke.

“Seriously,” I ask. “Who started it?” Inside I pray for satisfaction. Everything inside me wants it to be my father. Much to my dismay, he points the neck of his bottle toward Mom.

“The hellI did,Butler. I couldn’t get away from you fast enough,” she sasses with an exaggerated eyeroll. “Smug, arrogant,” she ticks off before turning to me, “your father was a true jackass.”

“We didn’t like each other much,” Dad adds, “atfirst, but I damn sure liked what I saw at that party.”

“Until I shot him down,” Mom quips, tabling her empty beer and snatching his for a sip.

“We went toe to toe for weeks until I shut her up,” Dad continues.

Mom smiles in reply. “Not a bad way to be silenced.”

“This stays PG-13,” I remind them both through a forced grin.

“Let’s just say Nate didn’t like answering tome.”

My smile grows authentic as I grin between them. “So, Daddy, you didn’t know she was your new boss when you met at the party?”

“When hehitonmeat the party,” Mom corrects. “Only to get shot down and shown up by his new boss the next day.”

“You knew?” I ask Mom.

“Oh yeah, once he introduced himself. So, I just let him run his game.”

“Let’s get this straight,” Dad spouts, taking his beer back, “you were never my boss. You only had me by the balls because the ad company you purchased bankrolled the controlling interest in my paperat that time.”

“Either way, you were completely misogynistic.” Mom widens her eyes at me. “Yep, baby. Hate to break it to you, but your father was apig.”

“Horseshit,” he grins. “I just loved seeing you riled up. Especially in that red dress—which you only wore twice in two weeks because you saw my eyes dropping inappropriately when you did.”

“So, it was hate to love?” I ask between them.

“Not at first,” Mom says softly. “I had just jumped out of fresh hell with an ex, and your father had just endured the same not long before we met.”

Whipping my attention back and forth, I do my best to gauge their expressions for any bitterness, lingering sadness, or resentment—especially in my father’s eyes. Thankfully, I come up empty.

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