Page 75 of Please, Sir

“I’m okay. I made up with Peyton and Cassidy,” she tells me before chewing nervously on her fingernail. “Dad, do you love Miss Riley?”

Would it be crazy to admit to myself and to my daughter that I do love Riley? The last few weeks have been crazy, but after years of stagnant life, maybe crazy is just what I need. I nod my head.

Her face remains impassive for a few seconds, and I question if I jumped the gun, owned up to everything I’ve been thinking and feeling too fast, too soon for Jo Jo to comprehend that life is going to change if I’m in love. Matter of fact, it was only two weeks ago when she discovered that Riley and I even knew each other, much less that we‘re together. I scratch my head as my pulse gallops and sweat starts to bead along my forehead.

She smiles.

A smile like I haven’t seen for ages. Toothy and wide, she grins, her eyes lifting, cheeks filling will color. I can’t help but drape a hand over my chest to ease the maddening thumping at her reaction. “Oh Jo Jo, I’m so glad you’re not upset about it.”

She squeals quietly, almost as if she doesn’t want Riley to be privy to her excitement or our moment. “I’m so excited, dad. I love Miss Riley. You know I love Miss Riley. And I always wanted you to meet someone.”

“You mentioned that… and I’m sorry I didn’t. I just… I didn’t want anything else to become unstable for you after mom passed.” There are so many choices I made after Janie passed away that were, in hindsight, temporary solutions to the all-consuming grief and pain that come with such a big loss. I wasn’t ever able to reconcile moving on with healing, andsomething in my brain got so focused on moving on, for what I thought was Jo Jo’s sake, that I realize now… I made mistakes. “Would you ever want to revisit Dr. Tanner? I still see him, you know.”

“I just wanna talk about mom a little more, look at pictures with you, hear stories about her. I want you and Miss Riley to be happy, but there’s room for both, right? Mom’s memory and new memories with Miss Riley?” she asks, blinking at me with soulful eyes.

“Of course there is room for both. We will do that, Jolene, I promise,” I tell her, realizing that talking about Janie more will be hard, but she and I will do it together. Jo Jo squeezes my hand but stands, tugging on me to do the same. I get to my feet and I swear to God, when she wraps her arms around me and presses her cheek to my chest, I want to cry.

“I love you, Dad,” she says, and I have to man-sniffle to keep the tears at bay. We pull apart and sit back down just as the oven dings. I get to work straining the cooked noodles, and Jo Jo leaps up to help slice the garlic bread. It’s crazy how a handful of minutes of meaningful conversation can totally change the outlook of our relationship, but what’s crazier is thinking I was doing the meaningful communication before. I wasn’t, but now that I know better, I’ll do better.

“Maybe mom wanted me to find that photo of her. Maybe mom brought you two together,” Jo Jo says after a few quiet minutes of us working together in the kitchen—another thing we haven’t done in ages.

I arch a brow, swiping a saucy hand along the dish towel on the counter. “You believe in that kind of thing? Fate and stuff like that?”

She stops placing pieces of cut up garlic bread in the bread basket, and looks contemplative for a few seconds. “I think I do. I mean, how strange is it that of all the places that MissRiley could go, she came here, to Bluebell? Like, she came from a small town, and moved to an even smaller town.” She sprinkles parmesan over a few slices, because that’s the way I like it. “I doubt many people do that.” I consider what she’s saying when she chimes in again. “And I’ve opened that yearbook so many times, too. I never thought to look you guys up in the index. And when I turned to Erickson, to look up mom, that’s where the picture was stashed.”

I throw her a look over my shoulder as I toss the pasta in sauce. “I don’t know about fate. But I do know that she and I have something that I really didn’t think I’d find.” I think of the whips in the garage, the floggers that she begged for me to use on her after I once believed no one would ever even see them. “Jo Jo, I need to talk to you about something else.”

Her face pales. “Yes, I drank at the sleepover. I got drunk and felt horrible and absolutely hated it. I’m sorry. It was so not worth it.”

I scratch the back of my neck but none of the lingering discomfort is alleviated. How I wish I was going to lecture on teenage drinking. That would be far easier than what I need to talk about.

“I appreciate you telling me, Jo Jo. And alcohol and drinking is a discussion we will need to have. I’m not gonna punish you this time, because of everything that was going on—that and because we haven’t defined any rules around partying yet.”

Her shoulders visibly relax, and the weight I had no idea she was carrying seems to lift right off her. “Thank you, Dad.” She pauses. “Did you wanna talk about that now?”

After setting the food out on the table, I peer down the hall and see that my bedroom door is still shut. I wouldn't be surprised if Riley got into bed and dozed off—on the drive home, I could see just how much the situation with Michaeland things between the three of us for the last two weeks have taken a toll on her.

Despite the lump of awkwardness lodged in my abdomen, I take a seat and so does Jo Jo.

“I wanted to talk about what you walked in on, you know, between me and Miss Riley.”

She turns the color of a tomato ripe on the vine in the summer sun, but based on the immediate sweat haloing my neck and sliding down my spine, I’d say I probably look like a cherry if she looks like a tomato.

“Listen, when you get older–much older, like years and years older,” I tell her, trying my very hardest to maintain eye contact and not stare at the table instead. “You might discover that you like certain things.”Dead God, if anyone is ever going to rob my house or hold me at gunpoint, send them now.

“Dad, please, use food or something as a metaphor because I cannot talk about your kinky sex life otherwise,” Jo Jo says, sinking down in her chair as she shields her face with her sweatshirt covered hands.

Food. Why did I not think of that? “Oh thank God,” I breathe, and just as the tension is broken by her comment, the bedroom drawer cracks open.

Jo Jo’s eyes dart to mine, giving me a questioning look. It’s just a simple thing, the two of us looking at one another, wondering if Riley is ready to come sit with us. But it’s a ten second private moment between us that we didn’t share yesterday, or the day before that, or the weeks and months before this. My heart swells.

Riley appears at the end of the hall. “Smells good out here,” she says softly, heavy bags still pooling beneath her eyes.

Jo Jo uses her foot to push a chair out. “Come sit. We werejust about to explore what kinky shit I walked in on you two doing the other night,” Jo Jo deadpans.

Whether it’s true or not—“Jo Jo, language.” I face Riley. She’s already ten shades of pink, and turns on her bare foot, making a show of disappearing back down the hall, which causes all of us to erupt in laughter.

“C’mon, baby,” I coax playfully, following after to grab her hand. I’ve never called her that before. It slipped out in a moment of happy comfort. Her eyes hold mine. In the hall, with just a few feet of privacy from Jo Jo, I smile at her. “How are you feeling?” I stroke my palm down her arm, and she melts against me.

---