Page 27 of Hale Yes
I turn to face him in the yellow light from the streetlamp and smile. “I’m perfectly fine, Pop. Totally over all that.”
He nods and waves at a neighbor couple walking by on their nightly stroll. “Okay, baby. I just wanted to make sure.”
“I’m moving,” I blurt out, and my father’s head swivels around to face me again, his brow furrowed.
“To a new apartment?”
My lips purse as I blow out a breath. “No, I got a job at Hale Cosmetics, so I’m moving to Houston.”
His eyes pop wide. “Texas?”
“That’s the one,” I say on a chuckle.
The creases in Pop’s forehead deepen. “But… that’s so far away.”
I bite back the retort that that’s one of the most attractive aspects of the move. “It’s a really good company,” I say instead.
“I hate to think of you so far away.” His lips tip up on one side in a half-smile. “I know you’re an adult, Nicci. And so independent. Hell, you’re almost… you’re…”
I see it the second the realization dawns on his handsome face, his expression flitting from concentration to horror. “Oh my god, it’s… it’s your birthday. Today.”
“I know, Pop,” I tell him quietly.
“But—” The wrinkles above his brows have turned into troubled trenches. “God, Nicci. I’m so sorry. I got distracted with your Ma planning this for Angelica, and—Shit. That’s no excuse.”
No, it’s really not.
“It’s all right,” I lie. “I had a nice lunch with some friends today, so it’s fine.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not.” He scrubs his fingers through his thinning hair, making it stick up on top. “I’ll make your favorite dinner next week, honey. I’ll even do the garlic bread with crawfish on top like you love.”
I swallow hard and look down the street, focusing on the circles of light cast by the tall streetlights, my eyes tracing the darkened umbrae surrounding them. “I’m not coming back next week, Pop.”
My father is silent for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet and not quite steady. “Because we forgot your birthday?”
I want to tell him yes, for forgetting my birthday and for all the other tiny little things that prove I’m a secondhand citizen in my own family. The things that prove I don’t matter.
But it’s hard to say those truths to my dad. Despite everything, I love him. So I settle on a half-truth. “I’m just going to be busy getting ready for my move.”
Pop searches my face, his eyes sliding side to side between mine. The slight tremble of his chin is barely visible in the dimness, and it almost breaks me, so I reach forward and grip his hand. His skin is rough and warm, and I can’t remember the last time I even touched his hand.
“I’m sorry, Nicci,” he whispers. “For everything. I love you so much.”
“Love you too, Pop.”
But in the back of my mind, I’m thinking…But you never loved me enough to do anything about it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hello, Texas
Nicolette
I’m almost shocked out of my fuzzy bunny slippers—don’t judge me, they’re comfy—the next Monday when my father shows up at my brownstone in Brooklyn Heights.
“I brought dinner,” he says simply, holding up a recyclable grocery bag that smells like Louisiana goodness.
I gape at him for a long moment before finally stepping back. “Come on in. It smells fantastic.”
