Page 111 of Hot Mess Express
We turn to find him there at the door, hands on his hips, eyes zeroed in on us like we have no business in this room.
Instead of answering his question, I poke a finger at the stack of binders on his desk. “Dad, I dunno how to say it any other way, so I’m just gonna say it how I want, it ain’t 1995. Why is everything written or typed out in these binders like someone’s studyin’ for an exam? You need this in acomputer. All a’ this.” I start putting them away one by one back onto the shelves. “And if I might be so bold as to suggest … we need a damnedwebsite.”
“We?” He folds his arms and chuckles. “Nowour business is a ‘we’?Ourfamily business?”
“Rupert, he’s trying,” murmurs my mom quietly.
“I can see that. I’m not mad about it,” he grunts despite his tone of voice. He comes in and stops by the desk, watching me continue to file away his clunky binders. “So you think we need a website, huh? Is that Anthony’s big opinion?”
“It’s called movin’ into the next century, and it ain’t some big innovative idea. It’s just obvious. Everything’s online. If we wanna grow our presence n’ compete with the big companies in Fairview, we’ve gotta do more than just shove flyers at people. We can make a social media presence. Expand. Maybe take some business from Fairview, too. I ain’t afraid of ‘em.”
After a second of silence, I look over at my dad, if for no other reason than to check if he’s still breathing. He is. And he’s looking at me with a curious, pensive expression I wasn’t expecting.
“Huh,” he says, looking me over.
I spread my hands. “Huh? Somethin’ wrong with what I said?”
“Can you do that?” he asks, nodding at the binder in my hand. “Put those into a computer? Make a website? All of that?”
I lower the binder to the desk, surprised by his change. Maybe I expected him to argue or just blow me off.
Instead, I’ve got his attention.
It feels nice, being looked up at instead of down. It’s subtle, but I notice the difference. I feel it like an energy coming from my dad. Tone of respect in his voice. Glint of inspiration in his eyes.
He used to look at me like this, way back when.
I think I missed how it feels to be taken seriously.
“Y-Yeah,” I finally answer him. “I could try. Get some help if I can’t figure it out. Cole’s boyfriend is good with computers.”
“That sounds smart, son. Real smart.”
“G-Great,” I mumble.
Then he clears his throat and adds, “And I agree. I think that handsome military fella did you some good while he was here.”
I shoot my eyes back up at him. “What?”
“You should invite him back out to Spruce sometime,” he goes on. “We’ll have him over for dinner. It’s only fair you let us meet your boyfriend before runnin’ off into the sunset with him.”
He takes the binder straight out of my frozen hands.
“Yep,” he confirms to my silent face as he files it, “I overheard a bit from the hallway before coming in. Eavesdroppin’ dad, that’s me, guilty as charged. What’s his name, by the way? Don’t know if I caught that part.”
I swallow hard. “B-Bridger,” I finally manage to say. “His … His name’s Bridger.”
“And when’s he coming back out to Spruce?”
That question brings my eyes back down to the desk. “I’m not really … sure if … if he’s comin’ back or not.”
My dad huffs at that. “Well, if he knows what’s good for him, he better come back, because whatever he’s been doin’ to you, I want him to keep doin’ it to you.”
Does he mean fuck me against ten different mattresses across town?
“I’ll go call Mrs. Pane,” my mom sweetly decides as we share this unexpected father-son bonding moment, her face beaming at us, overjoyed, happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. Until her phone chimes at her and she looks down at it. “F-O-E-H-N??What the heck’s a ‘foehn’? That ain’t a real word!”
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