Page 32 of Stowaway Whirlwind
I scrunch my nose. It sounds like something Davis would say to me, and I don’t like it.
“How about tonight? I’ll put the new sheets on the bed and—”
I push away from the counter, pacing the kitchen. “I’m not…I’m not going to stay with you.”
“Oh. Where are you living? It’s not with that asshole who brought you here, is it?”
Even though Davisisan asshole, it raises my hackles hearing Dad call him names. “That’s none of your business.”
“Well, shit, I think it is my business,” he grumbles, raising his voice.
I stop in place and clench my hand around my phone. “I’m hanging up now.”
“No, no, no. Please don’t hang up.” Dad lowers his voice. “I’m sorry. I’ll, uh, stay out of it. But I really need to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my only daughter. Like I said, I’ll stay out of your business if that’s what you want.”
Closing my eyes and combing my loose hair back behind my ears, I say, “If you can keep your promise, then fine. We can meet up.”
“Tonight?”
I glance at the clock on the microwave. It’s already three in the afternoon. Since Dad doesn’t have a car, I’ll have to come to him, and with the two-hour drive to Dallas, I won’t get there until five if we leave right now. Even though I shouldn’t, I reluctantly give in again.
“Thank you, Marigold. Hey, how about I order in? We can have dinner here and then—”
“No,” I say, interrupting him. “Not your apartment. I don’t feel safe there.” I don’t give a shit if he’s offended by that or not. It’s the truth.
Thankfully, he doesn’t give me any pushback and suggests a chain restaurant near his apartment. Right before we hang up, he says, “Thanks, kid. Means a lot to your old man.”
I give the dirty dishes a once over, then leave the kitchen to get myself and Lily ready for the stupid long drive. I’ve explored Davis’s house from top to bottom in the weeks I’ve been here, not at all feeling guilty about snooping. One of my more pleasant discoveries was the wall of hooks in Davis’s old bedroom, each hook displaying a different ball cap, most of them sporting a white, silver, or navy blue star. The man is obsessed with them.He even has a tattoo of one on his ribs below his calla lily tattoo that he got in memory of his dad. If we were on good terms, I’d probably tease him about his collection. But we’re not. So I don’t.
I’m in desperate need of a shower, but I settle for digging through Davis’s closet and pulling on one of his smaller black T-shirts, my surprisingly clean New Mexico hoodie, and a pair of his black sweatpants that I have to roll down three times so they won’t fall off. I wind my hair into a low messy bun without attempting to brush it out and pull on one of Davis’s ball caps to cover my greasy roots.
I want to call Dad back and reschedule when I have to wake Lily from her nap since it means she’ll cry throughout the long drive, but if I don’t leave now, I probably never will, and I need to hear him out. See if he really does want to have a relationship with us. If not for my sake, then for Lily’s, since he’s the only family we have left.
I dig through the dwindling pile of clean clothes in the laundry hamper that needs folding and putting away, and I shake out one of the long-sleeve pink onesies and fleece ruffle pants Davis bought for Lily. They’re wrinkly, but since we’re not going anywhere fancy, I’m not going to worry about it.
I snap a picture of her after I add the pink flannel over her outfit and, at the last minute, put on her pink ball cap, though I’ll have to take it off before buckling her into her car seat in the Ford. I’ve finally gotten comfortable with driving it after only hitting two curbs this week on my drive to her recent pediatric appointment. That’s a considerable improvement from last week when I made a left turn and straight up drove over a median I hadn’t seen.
My fingers twitch with the impulse to send the picture to Davis, knowing he’d probably love it. They’ve done that a lot lately, but that’s one thing I won’t give in to.
* * *
I’m late getting to the restaurant after having to pull over into a CVS parking lot to nurse Lily and change her diaper halfway through the drive. I find Dad in a similar but cleaner outfit than the last time I saw him, smoking a cigarette to the right of the restaurant’s glass front doors, and I slow my approach.
“Hey, Marigold.” He beams and opens his arms for a hug.
I back up and wave to his cigarette. “Not good for the baby,” I say.
“Right, right. Sorry about that.” He takes one long inhale, sucking back as much of his cigarette as he can before dropping it on the ground and snubbing it out with his scuffed black cowboy boot that has seen better days.
When he comes in for a hug, I put Lily up to my shoulder, facing away from him so she won’t breathe in his secondhand smoke. I also hold my breath when I accept his hug, then pull away quickly.
Dad holds the door open and gestures me into the overly warm restaurant with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. The hostess at the front leads us to a wooden booth at the back wall that looks out over the parking lot. Lily isn’t old enough to sit up by herself in a high chair, so I cradle her. Dad doesn’t ask to hold her, though he shoots her plenty of curious looks.
A college-age server approaches and takes our drink order, his fuzzy upper lip curling slightly when he clocks my age, disheveled appearance, and the fact that I have a baby.Well,fuck you, too, judgmental asshole.He doesn’t make eye contact after that, which honestly is preferable.
