“It’s not you—”
“If you say‘it’s not you, it’s me,’I’m banning you from writing, Jack Graham,” I say, hoping to ease the tension. He allows a short smirk but keeps his eyes pinched.
“As you should. Thanks for saving me from a career-ending mistake.” He leans against the van, arms folded. “I, um, what I meant to say was… I’m sorry for being a dick. I’m working some shit out. I’ll do better.”
I sense he wants to say more, but his lips clamp shut. Maybe I’m reading into it, anyway. “Back to cordial, then?”
He nods. “Or something like it.”
“We should go.” I dart around him.
Leaning into the van, I size up the seating options. A long-lensed Nikon hangs from Vernon’s neck while binoculars droop from Rose’s. Tom and Marcy wear matching wide-brimmed hats in the back. Between the couples, Ed and Renita look flashy—her in a long, flowing floral cover-up and Ed wearing a Bermuda shirt and aviator sunglasses. Sara plops between Vernon and Rose.
I’m left with the front passenger seat beside Jack.
“Lovely day for the beach,” Renita coos as the van rumbles from the neighborhood.
“Dad would be so jealous,” Sara says. “He loves the beach. We go every weekend. Or um, used to.”
I twist to see her. “Have you heard from him?”
“He calls once a week.” She glances up from her phone. “I miss him.”
“We should visit him. I mean, if you’re allowed. Are you?”
She gives me a funny look. “Yeah, but it’s on the other side of town. What? Are you going to take me?”
“I don’t mind taking you. Just me—this isn’t a community field trip,” I say, turning to the rest of the van.
“Understood, love,” Rose says.
Catching Sara’s eyes again, I ask, “Are you sure it’d be alright for you to see him like that? It might be difficult.”
“Better for me to see him in a tacky jumpsuit than not at all. You really don’t mind?”
Her pleading look softens any hesitation. “I should’ve offered sooner. He’s your dad. Of course, you should see him. We’ll go tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Rowan.”
I shrug lightly—no big deal—but turned around in my seat, I can’t help my wide grin. I fold my arms over my chest to shield myself from the blasting AC.
Jack leans over and taps the vents away from me.
I’m about to thank him when Marcy asks, “Rowan, summer’s almost over. When do we get to meet your fiancé?”
I nearly cringe at the word fiancé like it’s a title I haven’t earned yet. “Soon. He’ll be home on Labor Day, I think.”
“Working actors comprise the majority of the entertainment industry,” Vernon says. “It’s harder than it looks—the magic of—”
“Vernon, no. What’s he working on this week, Rowan?”
“I can’t keep up, Rose. A Hulu production, I think.”
Jack rams on the horn at a lifted truck that cuts him off. “Asshole!”
“Oh, Hulu—we have that.” Rose glances at Vernon for verification. Sara giggles at Jack’s cursing, though no one else seems to notice.
“We should plan a welcome-home party.”