Page 7 of The Falcon and the Foe

Josh vibrated with excitement. He ran off to join Quentin and the others for more shenanigans.

“Hey Quentin, what did I say? No standing on the chair! You could fall off.” I didn’t know when I developed my angry dad voice, but it made quite an impact. Even Cal flinched.

“Okay!” Quentin whined back. He made a production of stomping off the chair.

I turned back to Cal. “Do you have his application?”

“Yep. Right here.” Cal pulled a crumpled, wadded-up piece of paper from the butt pocket of his jeans. “It got a little smooshed.”

It looked like a receipt that’d been shoved in the back of a junk drawer. I smoothed it out on my leg.

“You don’t need to do that. It’s legible.”

I examined it in the light. “Are there food stains on this?”

“I filled it out on my lunch break.”

I held it to my nose. “Chili.”

“Look at you. Human bloodhound.”

I placed the application in my folder, where its rumpled, crinkly consistency stuck out amid the clean forms. How on-brand for Cal.

An awkward moment lay between us. It seemed like Cal was waiting for me to say something.

“Meetings are at six p.m. sharp. You need to make sure Josh is here on time.”

Cal shook his head and laughed to himself. “Of course, you’re one of those people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not the end of the world if he’s a few minutes late.”

“Punctuality is important. Not just here, but in life.”

“I don’t need life lessons from you, Russ.”

“It’s disrespectful to the troop to have him waltz in whenever he pleases.”

Cal dropped his sarcastic demeanor and leaned in. “I don’t get off work until five-thirty. By the time I pick him up from the neighbor, get home, throw dinner at him, and drive him here…I will try my best to get him here on time, but if he’s a few minutes late, don’t take it personally.”

I knew the time struggle of being a single parent, but Cal seemed to wear tardiness like a badge of honor, one of those people who bragged about being too busy. I managed to get my son to places on time while working a full-time job, and I didn’t need a medal for the effort.

Cal stared at me as if this conversation weren’t over.

“Well, we’ll see Josh here next Tuesday. I’ll be emailing information about picking up his uniform, which should be pressed before every meeting.” The staring did not stop. “What?”

“To be honest, I’m still waiting for an apology.”

I got the feeling that Cal had entire conversations in his head and that the outside world joined them in the middle.

“An apology for what?”

“For kicking me out of the PTA.”

A laugh burst out of me without control. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You booted me from the Spring Carnival for no reason, and you had me blackballed from all other PTA committees.”

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