Page 152 of Go Find Less

“They’re not girls,” I correct, all pretense out the window. Maybe it’s Piper’s words from the day before that have been echoing around my brain all morning. The way my heart pounded watching her tell the Davis family exactly how she felt, no qualms about it. And then I soften my tone, repeating, “They’re not girls.”

Dad looks stunned, halfway between standing and sitting in one of the plush armchairs in front of my desk. After a second, he seems to recover, sitting down.

“You’re right, they’re not.” He unbuttons his suit jacket, and for the first time in a long time, I look at my father. Really look at him.

We look alike. I know that. Fred and I both have a lot of the same physical characteristics as my dad. But while Fred is lean and toned like Paula, I’m bulkier, particularly around the middle, if I’m not careful - which is one of the reasons I drag myself out of bed at the asscrack of dawn to run with Roscoe every morning. And it’s also why I had to tell Mateo to stop bringing his failed - or successful - desserts up to the office.

But my father is getting old. Not in a “can’t walk, needs caregiving,” way. But in a groans-when-he-sits, salt and pepper facial hair kind of way that has me silent for a beat too long.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and it shakes me out of my stupor.

“Nothing, sorry.” I set the stack of PTO reports in my hand down on the desktop. “Yesterday was just a long day.”

“Francesca told me a little bit,” he starts. “So did Paula.” I raise a brow at him. “It seems Piper’s mother and she are closer than we realized.”

“Figures,” I sigh, sitting back in my chair and lacing my fingers over my chest. “Bianca Delmonico is terrifying. I’d be scared shitless to go up against her in court.”

“Paula said as much.” He rakes his hand through his hair, thinning at the front, giving a gravely laugh. “They’re all scary, to be honest.”

“Who?”

“Women,” he says. I bark out a laugh, scrubbing a hand down my face. “But that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about.”

I stay silent, and after a moment of awkwardness, I wave my hand out in a gesture that clearly saysgo on.

“I wanted to apologize. To you and to Piper.” I’m about to tell him he needs to apologize to Piper’s face when he holds up a hand. “Give me a minute. I promise, I’ll let you get a word in.” I shut my mouth. “Thank you. I’m sure Piper told you what we discussed on Saturday.” She kind of had, but left it vague. “But she gave me a lot to think about. A lot to talk about, really.”

“Paula let you have it, didn’t she?” Dad’s laugh is actually a real one for once, and he tugs on his ear, a nervous habit he shares with Freddy.

“She did. I told her what Piper said to me on Saturday, and it was like a floodgate opened.” He sighs, mirroring me by leaning back in his chair. “I think she’s kept a lot of stuff pent up for a long time, and it all came bubbling up yesterday.” I run my fingers over the side of my mouth, shaking my head.

“Welcome to the club. Sunday from hell.”

“I don’t know about that,” he continues with a shrug. “But it was probably one of the most open conversations I’ve had with your - with Paula - in a while.” He takes a deep breath, like he’s about to break into song, or scream. “And between her, and Piper, they made some good points.” He looks at me then, his eyes appraising, and I try not to wither under his stare. “I wasn’t a very loving father.”

Like Piper the day before, I feel a laugh coming up from my throat that I can’t control, and steeple my fingers in front of my mouth. Once I know it’s passed, I tip my hands toward him in a motion to continue.

“To any of you, really. I wasn’t loving.” He sighs again, nodding his head back toward the door, like Frannie is standing on the other side. “I wasn’t affectionate-"

Hold on. Frannieisstanding outside my door. I can see her peering in through one set of blinds, with Piper in the other, and it takes everything in me not to narrow my gaze at them because they’re both staring, wide eyed.

“I wasn’t particularly supportive.” I nod, like I’ve heard everything my father is saying, like there isn’t a two person comedy act outside my office door. “You can disagree at any time, Fitzwilliam.”

And then I snort. And damn it, I need to stop hanging around Piper’s friends so much, because I never snort, and my dad’s shocked face all but confirms that it’s out of character. I want to reel it back in, to bottle it up and pretend like it didn’t happen, but he just raises a brow at me.

“And I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you make that noise in all of your life.”

“It’s a recent development,” I deadpan, and he smiles. My father actually smiles across the desk. “So is that.” I point to his face.

“It’s a recent development.” He rubs at his forehead. “I also skipped my botox this month, so I can actually move my face a little better.”

I stare at him, unsure of whether he’s joking or not, but when he rattles on, I realize he’s being completely serious, and I pocket that tidbit of knowledge to press my sister about later.

Botox? How long has Dad been gettingbotox? Does Paula get botox? Does Frannie? DoesFreddy?

“You’re spiraling,” he says after a second, and I shake my head. “I can practically see the wheels turning.”

“Sorry, I just…” I press my still-steepled fingers into my mouth. “This all just feels very surreal.” He looks confused, so I continue. “This whole conversation. This week.” I tip my head forward, staring down at my desk. “This whole year, to be honest.”

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