I go through a kaleidoscope of emotions before landing on a smirk.
True elbows me. “What’s this look?”
“He’s terrifying this guy and…” I tap Dad’s smile. “I swear, he is never not a fucking dork. This is his ‘I’ve got a secret’ smile that he used to get before every surprise birthday party, every random trip to Disney… God.”
Truett looks at the picture again and shakes his head. “That is not a good smile, Rami.”
I wave him off. “No, that’s just his stupid dad smile. See the way he’s widened his eyes to make himself look extra crazy? He’s enjoying himself way too much.”
I go back to the photo, cursing under my breath. “This doesn’t make any sense. I… They play in a pickleball league, for Christ’s sake.The Poppers.”
Truett frowns. “I don’t want to explain how I know this, but that name isn’t referring to the fact that they’re dads.”
“Wait, what?”
I think about it for a minute, and my mouth hangs open. Truett makes a face and avoids my eyes.
“Wait, wait, wait—is their pickleball team named after poppers, as in sniff, sniff, I can feel my asshole opening like a flower…poppers?”
“Yep. Though if you’re gonna act so scandalized, maybe don’t wax poetical about the magical properties of illegal stimulants.”
“Shut up. You just ruined their awful post-pickleball play-by-play.”
“Can I assume it involves a lot of innuendo?” Truett asks,grinning.
“Everything with those two is innuendo.”
Before Truett can respond to that, I hold up my hand.
“So, wait.” My head is spinning, but…. “They’re still doing it after all these years?”
I had no idea the scope of all the things they did—are doing—and Truett seems to be avoiding the question.
“True, I’m not going to stop asking.”
He looks down at his folded hands. “I’m sorry, I just… I don’t wanna worry you.”
“Too late.”
“Then yes.” He gives a rolling gesture, like he’s trying to figure out the words. “Not sure if this would make you feel any better, but from what I can tell, they’ve slowed down and are focusing on more age-appropriate side quests.”
“But why? What good can they do?”
“I don’t know,” he answers. “But I do know that they were proud of you for illegally stalking me, even if?—”
“Yeah, I know. I was really, really bad at it,” I say, eyes back to the floor.
“Hey.” He reaches out, touching my arm. “You are good at a lot of other things.”
I move my arm out of reach. “Don’t placate me.”
“I’m not. Your dads have been keeping the truth from you your whole life, but once you started seeing it, it didn’t take much for you to put together some details on your own. Think about how you’re able to manipulate social media algorithms. The numbers you get on every single post are insane.”
Great. He’s definitely placating me.
“Yeah, because being famous for being famous is really what the world needs now.”
“Maybe not, but people need to know that we’re still not nearly far enough along on climate restoration. College and the military are still unacceptably dangerous institutions for youngwomen. Shitty politicians are still trying to fuck with marginalized folks. There’s plenty of work to be done, which you’ve already started. Using your Harvard degree to help nonprofits juice their engagement while bringing in cash is not nothing.”
