Page 135 of Doughn't Let Me Go

“Kyrie, I have never been prouder to be your father than I am in this moment.”

Mel sighs at them. “Doris, are you sure you don’t want to come with us to dinner?”

I can feel his eyes on me as she asks.

I keep my gaze firmly planted on her and nod with the most convincing smile I can muster. “I’m sure, Mel. Kyrie hasn’t seen you for weeks, and I’m sure she’d love some time with you.”

“Hmm.” The corners of her mouth tip down in a frown. “Okay, if you say so.”

“Kyrie…I believe Doris told you to go get changed. Scoot, scoot!”

Doris.

An icky feeling slides over me when he uses my full name.

It makes this whole thing between us feel so…final.

I hate how vacant it makes me feel.

He’s leaving, Dory. Cut your losses now and get out while you’re still ahead.

Kyrie rushes off to get changed, and us adults move to the kitchen.

Porter and Mel talk about a restaurant Porter misses in California, and I nod and smile where it’s appropriate.

When Kyrie finally emerges—wearing a teatime dress—I let out a relieved sigh.

“Would you like us to bring you anything back?”

“Shelovesthe strawberry milkshakes from Slice,” Kyrie says to Mel. “She and Dad go there all the time to get them.”

Mel’s eyes bounce between me and Porter, but I keep my composure under her scrutiny.

“They do, huh? Interesting.”

Nothing to see here, Mel. There’s nothing going on between us…anymore.

“I don’t need anything, but thank you for offering. That’s very kind of you.”

“Mel? Kind? Ha!” Porter snorts. “More like lethal.”

“These hands are lethal weapons and I will slap you, Porter. I’m not scared of you.”

“You wouldn’t dare, sweetheart.” I don’t even have to be looking at him to know he gives her that playful grin of his I love.

She groans at the pet name, shoving him toward the door. “Let’s go, Romeo.”

“Romeo? Does that mean I’ve finally convinced you I’m the one? Should I propose?” He pats his pockets. “I don’t have a ring.”

“You’re the one, all right—the onepain in my ass. Let’s move it before I kill you and your poor daughter doesn’t get to enjoy a night out on the town.”

“Getting pizza, right, Dad?” Kyrie says again.

“Of course we’re getting pizza. What kind of dad do you think I am?”

“The best kind.” Kyrie throws her arms around my legs. “See ya later, Missy Fishy.”

I hug her back. “Bye, Little Fish.”

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