“How was it?”
“Good. I think.”
He takes a slow inventory of my expression before backing out of the spot. “I’m proud of you,” he says, easing into traffic and onto the road that will carry us to work. “I know going back wasn’t easy.”
“It was actually a lot easier than I expected.”
Long fingers play a cadence of impatience on the steering wheel, and I laugh. “Do you want details, Drake?”
“Of course, I want details.”
“Nosey motherfucker,” I complain, but I give him exactly what he’s asked for, recapping the entire session while he splits his attention between me and the road. When I’m done, he opens his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by the sounds of an incoming call. According to the name displayed on the screen, it’s his brother, Hunter, but when I click the green button to accept the call, it’s not him on the other end of the line.
“Uncle Cal, can you please tell my daddy that you can give me a tour of the White House, and we don’t have to sign up on the stupid website,” Riley says, trampling all over pleasantries and getting straight to the point.
Cal and I share an amused but disbelieving look.
“What’d I tell you about calling things stupid, Nugget?”
The second voice belongs to Rae, Riley’s mom and Hunter’s fiancèe. She’s a little further away from the phone than her daughter, leading me to believe that our headstrong niece has commandeered her father’s phone and left whatever room they were in together to make the call in private.
Riley’s exasperated breaths rush through the speakers. “Sorry, Mommy.”
Rae’s loving murmurs are unintelligible, but I can tell the apology has been accepted. Seconds later, Riley is back pushing the envelope.
“Can I have some privacy?” She requests, tone sweet as sugar and just as deadly.
“Girl, no. Get back in here with your daddy’s phone, so we can all talk to Uncle Cal and Uncle Beck about this supposed White House visit together.”
Another bemused look passes between Cal and I. We haven’t actually said anything yet, so this talk is just as one sided as mytherapy session was. Riley huffs, mumbling under her breath as she follows her mom back to wherever her dad is, and I bite back a laugh at this display of her newfound attitude. Hunter complains about it every time we speak, but this is our first time witnessing it. Even over the phone, the potency of her indignation is clear as if Rae’s lack of patience when she warns her to get it under control immediately.
“You’re not giving your mama attitude again are you, Ri?” Hunter asks when they finally make it back to him. Judging by how clearly we can hear him, he’s the one holding the phone now.
“I just wanted some privacy,” Riley says, sounding like she’s got her lips poked out.
“And I’m sure your mom understands and appreciates that, baby, but just because you ask for something doesn’t mean you’re going to get it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
The line is quiet for a second, and then the car is filled with the sound of wet kisses and Riley’s happy squeals.
“Well, this has been a delightful little after school special,” Cal says. “But I’m just wondering where Beck and I fit in?”
“Damn, Little Drake, I forgot you were there.”
Cal rolls his eyes at the nickname. “You’re lucky your daughter’s in the room, nigga.”
“Riley, step out for a second.”
“No!!! I want to talk to Uncle Cal and Uncle Beck about visiting the White House!”
“You can come visit whenever you want,” I tell her, needing this chaotic phone call to come to an end so I can mentally prepare for being trapped inside the place Riley is so desperate to see.
She gasps. “Promise, Uncle Beck?”
“I promise, Nugget.”
“But the timing of the visit is up to your mom and dad,” Cal adds, turning onto the private drive that leads to the employee lot. “When you come, we’ll roll the red carpet out for you. You can meet the First Lady and everything.”
