I nodded and took a swig before saying, “Thanks.”
“So, I’ve been nice, and I like you, kid. But don’t go thinking you can take advantage of my daughter,” he said, eyeing me over the rim of his own mug.
Of course Bend wanted to make himself and his expectations known ... but I liked this dude. He didn’t pull his cock out to do it.
“Yes, sir, I get where you’re coming from, and I appreciate you telling me like a grown-ass man. I don’t think my own father would’ve been as diplomatic.”
“Well, good for me ... and my daughter. You’re an all-right guy.”
“Ha. You mean the appledoesfall far from the tree.”
He topped off his mug and looked at me. “I don’t know your dad, but if I was him, I’d be damn proud of you.”
Leaning my ass into the counter, I shrugged. “I don’t know him all that well either. He was never really around, Mr. Bender.”
Staring me down, he said, “Call me Bend, will ya? Look, some situations can’t be avoided. We don’t know why some parents do what they do, but they do it. Doesn’t make it right. Look at Emerson’s mom. I never thought I’d meet a woman who didn’t want her own baby, but then it happened.”
We were just two dudes, shooting the breeze, talking serious, and drinking coffee.
I wondered if it would have been like this with my dad if he’d been around. Bruce was cool and a great stepdad, but he always trod carefully with me, afraid to overstep.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. My mom’s been a saint. Raised me to be a gentleman. All I ever shared with my good ole dad was my last name and some Middle Eastern bloodlines, hence the olive skin. Price freaking Barnes.”
For a moment, Bend rubbed his chin and closed his eyes, looking pained, but then he snapped out of it. “He was from New York? Your dad?”
“Not originally, but he settled there. His mom was where his Middle Eastern roots came from. His dad was Irish, so his last name kept him in good graces, I always assumed.”
“Got it.” Bend picked up his mug, glancing at me. “So, what do you and my daughter have planned for today?”
I didn’t get a chance to answer because the aforementioned daughter popped into the kitchen, clad in only a bikini, a stark contrast to my plaid pajama bottoms.
“Wave jumping, picnic lunch, letting Tuck roll in the sand,” she said, bopping through the kitchen toward the coffeemaker.
“How about some shorts and a T-shirt?” her dad asked.
“Dad, I live at the beach. This is pretty much how I run around half the year. If you mean because of Price, you should see how some of the girls dress at the bar. This is fully clothed,” she said with a giggle.
“I’ll bet,” Bend said, but he seemed to have an extra eye on me and how I responded.
“Why don’t you grab some shorts and a tank,” I said. “And flip-flops. I’ll be ready to go in a few.”
Hey, I wasn’t a father, and I barely had one myself, so how was I to know what this all felt like in someone’s gut?
“By the way, you don’t need your boots!” Emerson tossed back at me.
“Uh, yeah, I know. Maybe you’ll get a pair? We can be twins.”
“We’ll see. I prefer my flippies.” Giving me a quick wink, she skipped out of the room. Not sure I’d ever seen this lighthearted version of Emerson, but I definitely dug it.
“Hurry up. I’m waiting,” I called after her. When she was gone, I turned to Bend. “I was kidding. I’d wait all day for her. In case you were worried.”
“I wasn’t, kid,” Bend said, seeming to vibe with me, and I can’t say I wasn’t happy. “I never believed in kismet, but maybe now I do ...”
He didn’t finish his thought as he guzzled his coffee and sauntered out of the room.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he was only referring to my asking Emerson to put on clothes, or if it was something else. Mostly, I was relieved that he seemed to like me, and considered the visit a job well done on my part.
Emerson
