She laughs, humorless. “Pops, please. You’re miserable. You’re pacing. You’re muttering. You’ve changed three carburetors that didn’t need changing on your personal cars just for something to do.”
I scowl. “Maybe I’m overwhelmed. Or I’m bored, Tiffany. Ever think of that?” Her eyes narrow at me calling her Tiffany. I never use her actual name. The moment they laid her in my arms, she was Honey. I even named my garage for her, Honey’s Hot Rods. From the first time I saw the two lines and her mom said we were having a baby, she’s been my world. Her brother came years later and only added to the joy that keeps me going on the days I want to say fuck it all.”
“You don’t get overwhelmed,” she scoffs. “You bulldoze through life. You bulldoze through problems. You bulldoze through emotions—usually mine.”
“Tiff—”
“Don’t act offended.” She points at me again. “You’re off. Way off. So either someone died and you’re hiding it, or you’re hung up on a woman. And for the love of everything holy stop calling me Tiffany! I’m Honey to you. The only person who calls me Tiffany is Smoke when he’s pissed and frankly I don’t want to hear shit from him either.”
I go back to tightening bolts because that’s easier than listening to my own daughter psychoanalyze me.
She crouches down beside me, blocking my hands again. “You can’t ignore me into silence.”
“Watch me.”
“You’re acting like a teenager.”
“And you’re acting like a therapist. Or my fuckin’ mom.”
She smirks. “Only because you need one almost as much as a shower.”
I sniff my shirt. “I smell fine.” I lie and she knows I don’t ever stink. Body odor is a pet peeve we both have. Sometimes people come in the shop stinking and yes, I won’t lie, we talk shit about them when they leave because how hard is it to use deodorant or cologne.
“Debatable.”
I grunt and toss the rag aside. “There is no woman.”
“That’s a lie,” she challenges immediately. “Try again.”
“I’m busy.”
“Lie.”
“I’ve been distracted.”
“Getting warmer.”
I grit my teeth.
She narrows her eyes. “Is it the woman you talked about from vacation?”
I pause too long.
Way too long.
Honey’s face lights up like she’s won the lottery. “Oh my god, it is! Holley, right? The one who stayed with you during the storm?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Umm Pops, hate to say this but we work together, you live within three houses of me, and we talk about bills, bitches, and everything in between. You’re my dad, the only parent Bub and I have left. The only grandparent my kids have involved in their lives. Yeah, everything you do is my business. Why are you this irritated?” she asks hands flying up. “You’re a menace right now. Even the guys at the clubhouse said they’ve never seen you this twitchy.”
“I’m not twitchy.”
“You’re twitchy like a cat staring at a feather toy moving.”
I run both hands down my face. “Tiffany.”
“No. Enough. Who is she to you?”
