Page 14 of Hello Darling
He slumps into the booth in the breakfast nook and stares out the window. He seems so invincible most of the time, I have a feeling it’s a relief for him to be a big lazy boy on the rare occasion that he gets sick. Or maybe he does it to make me feel like I’m helping him—who knows.
“Ted show up to teach my class?”
“Of course. He’s very reliable I scheduled him for tomorrow too, because you’re not coming in.”
He grumbles and mutters to himself, then has a coughing fit.
I bring a bowl of hot soup, place it in front of him with a spoon, and slide into the opposite booth. It’s dumb how much I enjoy watching people eat my food.
“Mmmm. That smell. Smells like love and womanly care-giving.”
I snort laugh. “It’s not as good as when Mom made it.”
“You give it your own special something. Something spicy but mellow. Like you.”
“It’s cumin. The leftovers will taste better. I didn’t have enough time to let it simmer.”
“It’s warm and exotic but familiar and I feel better already. Speaking of simmering…Anything interesting happen at work today?”
“Not really. The usual. Same ol’ same ol’.”
He arches an eyebrow.
My dad’s eyebrows are sensational. When you first meet him, the first thing you notice is that he’s ruggedly handsome and the next thing you notice is that he could easily kick your butt and the next thing you notice is that his eyebrows rule the world. In an eyebrow fight, my dad’s would beat Peter Gallagher’s with one eyebrow tied behind his back. But right now that eyebrow just wants me to know that he knows I’m full of crap.
“I hear your new boyfriend’s a pretty Englishman. What’s up with that?”
“Oh my God. I’m going to murder Billy.”
“Sounds like he’s the one who loves him.”
“Exactly! You should have seen how he was falling all over him. It was embarrassing.”
“And why weren’tyoufalling all over him? He not scruffy enough for you?”
“Why are we even talking about this?”
“Because we don’t want to talk about Jason Kwasnicki.”
He is right about that.
I seriously need more girlfriends. Since my best friend Mona moved to Portland with her boyfriend last year, I have been up to my ears in testosterone. I went into Mother Hen-mode back in high school, got so much closer to my brothers after they encouraged me to start exercising several years ago, and now I’d say that Billy and my dad are the closest I have to best friends around here. But I will not do girl talk with them. I would rather endure their teasing than discuss boys. They love me and I love them, but they don’t get me, and I’ll never be one of the boys for real, and I’m fine with that.
I clear my throat. Change the subject: “Have you heard from Martin? He’s been pretty squirrelly with the texts lately.”
“Have I? Let’s see…” Something about his voice and the way my dad looks away makes me wonder if there’s something he doesn’t want me to know. “I talked to him a few days ago. He’s good. Busy. Be here for Thanksgiving.”
“He better be…I should start planning a menu for that. How many people are coming?”
“We’ve got a few weeks to figure that out, kiddo. Watched a couple of your boyfriend’s movies on Netflix this afternoon.”
“You did not.”
“I did. One’s a Cold War spy thriller and the other was a quirky and delightful rom-com.”
“Are you high on Nyquil?”
“Nope. I like him. He’s very charming.” He tries out some sort of cross between Crocodile Dundee and the Geico gecko: “Kinda made me wish I had some sort of an accent.”
