Keeping True in my peripherals, I pull up my notes from the last couple of weeks.
By the way, I hope no one ever finds these because anyone reading them will think I’m some unhinged protagonist in a third-rate mystery novel.Miss Marple I am not.
It’s just there are some overlapping details—like True’s off-the-cuff remark about my dads scaring the shit out of him with Sy telling me to look into them—that have made me a little curious.
Okay, more than a little curious.
Curious enough that I may have gone over to my dads’ house a few days ago and snooped around in their office. Not that I found anything interesting. Most of their shit is super dorky, and the only items of note were Dad’s service medals and a drawerful of disturbingly inventive sex toys.
I needed a bucket of brain bleach after that little discovery.
*Full body shudder*
Blech.
Actually, I also ran across Baba’s immigration documents. He was younger than I am now, and I didn’t realize he came in on a refugee visa. As much as he shares Iraqi food and culture with us, he’s never talked about his time there. I have to wonder what happened that the US government actually allowed him in back then.
Even with the traumatic sex drawer discovery and Baba’s refugee status, I don’t get what True or Sy were talking about. It’s like I keep running into this wall when it comes to my dads. Weird.
Still, even though I’m being a little shady, I’m super proud of how quickly I’m picking up this skill set. I mean, yes, it took me far too long to figure out that Truett lives behind his shop in an attached apartment, but I’m getting there.
Wait. Where did he get off to? As I look around for him, my phone buzzes.
Hedy: Are you around today?
Aunt Hedy is an experimental therapist who works with my dads, and I haven’t hung out with her in a hot minute. I wonder why she’s texting me now?
Me: Actually, I’m at a tiny house build for the homeless community out by Decker Lake.
Might as well take advantage of the charity points while I can.
Hedy: Oh nice. Are you there by yourself?
My fathers’ friends love to get the details of my life. They try to act like they’re not overly curious about who I’m dating or how my love life is going, but I know better. This isn’t a question about whether I’m alone. Hedy, the gossip, wants to know if I’m on a date, and there’s no way in hell I’ll ever admit to her what I’m up to now.
Me: No, I’m here alone.
Hedy: I don’t have much going on today. I could join you.
Uh, no.Thinking quickly, I type out an excuse.
Me: I’d love that, but you have to sign up, and they’ve got all the volunteers they need for today.
Me: The project has another month and a half to go, and I think this might be a good charity for the Wildlings to participate in. Maybe you can join us?
As white lies go, it isn’t bad. They really are doing amazing work here. Besides, my cousins are smart, strong, and pretty handy, and I could see us really enjoying working on this project together.
I might also be clinging to the hope that following Truett around like a lost puppy isn’t pathetic if I can give back to the community.
Hedy: That sounds awesome. Let me know when y’all go!
Me: Will do, Auntie.
After hitting send, I glance up to find Truett looking this way, so I dart behind a big concrete truck. Phew, that was close.
“Son, you need to move out of the way before you get flattened like a pancake,” an older man says, his drawl even more deep and pronounced than Dad’s.
The driver puts the truck in reverse, beeping in my direction. Apologizing to the back of the truck, I take a big step to the side, right into a very large spot of wet concrete that’d leaked from another truck. I curse, knowing my shoes and probably these jeans are ruined.
