Page 49 of Puck Daddies
She taps the screen. “I saw a clip of Rocco. He sounded good.”
“He did.”
“Is that permanent?” she asks, eyes quick. “Him singing again.”
“I hope so. He needs it.”
My father comes in five minutes late in a sweater, and that expression which means he’s about to start a meeting. He shakes my hand instead of hugging me. Always. “Oliver.”
“Dad.”
We sit. The table is set like an interior design magazine. There’s a low conversation about weather and a few polite questions about Habitat until my father clears his throat and folds his hands. “Let’s address your situation.”
“Which part?”
“Barista drama, as your mother called it at dinner,” he says haughtily. “You are too close to that Bridges girl. This is not your problem to fix. You need distance. It doesn’t look good for the family.”
“It is my problem,” I say. “Meg is family to me. Bea’s is part of my life.”
“Family is at this table.”
“I have more than one table.”
He exhales. “Oliver, I do not like that you chose hockey as a…hobby.”
“It’s my career, Dad.”
“Hobby,” he repeats. “I have accepted it. As I accept your volunteer work and your…blue-collar interests. That’s fine, I suppose. I want you to be the best at anything you do. Right now, you are not. Your performance has been lacking.”
“You’re watching the games. I’m flattered.”
He ignores that. “You’re dating that girl, aren’t you?”
I hold his eyes. “When it comes to things between me and Meg, you don’t get a vote. I hope this clears that up.”
“And your cohorts? You’re all living together with that girl. It’s one of those golly things, isn’t it?”
“Poly, Dad,” Caroline says quietly.
“Right. Poly.”
I huff. “It’s none of your business.”
My mother shifts in her chair. Caroline stares at her coffee. My father’s expression doesn’t change much, but the temperature in the room drops.
“It isunnatural,” he says, clipped. “You and your friends are involved with the same woman.”
“Feels perfectly natural to me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Your prurient sense of humor is not welcome. Locker-room talk stays in the locker room. Not in this house.”
“If you think that was locker-room talk, you haven’t been in a locker room in a long, long time.”
He glances toward the window like the hedges might be listening. “Putting aside your private behavior, you are attached to a woman who runs a small shop and is currently involved in legal disputes, online spats, and press gossip. That is an unstable situation. It reflects poorly on you. It distracts you.”
“It’s not gossip. It’s targeted attacks. We have counsel. We’re handling it.”
“You meanmycounsel.”
