Slipping off my shoes, I flex my feet as they start to relax after standing on them all day. After setting my sack by the entrance, I meander into the kitchen, where Dad sits at the table with his tablet. Motor noises waft from the screen.
“Happy New Year, Dad.” I plop into the chair next to him. “Where’s Mom?”
“Happy New Year to you.” He doesn’t take his eyes off his race. I peek over his shoulder. He’s driving a red car, and it has number one for first place on the leaderboard on top of his screen. “She’s taking a bath. She put her curlers in, so it might be a while.”
I smile at how such a mundane detail of putting curlers in serves as a flag to Dad, letting him know she needs more time. Sinking lower into the chair, I rest my elbow on the table and plop my chin into my palm.
“What’s his name?” Dad asks without taking his eyes from his tablet.
I tsk. “There’s nobody—”
Dad hikes a brow, and that's all it takes to make me cave. “It’s my boss, Christian. I thought he was a jerk, but something happened yesterday.” My words spew out, like I’m that crazy lady who over shares at a bar. Only I’m not at a bar, I’m with my dad. He’s the one person I trust more than anything, so I keep talking. “We went to this fundraiser thing for work, and it ended up being a weird night, but it was sort of the best night. We were supposed to work together today, but he left town for a family emergency. I’m bummed because I wanted to see him, but it’s selfish since he’s having family issues.”
Dad lays his tablet on the table without pausing his race. Cars fly by him, and his number slips to 2, 3, 4, 5. He’s losing, or as he prefers to call it, “He’s getting smoked.” He doesn’t take a second look back when he gets up. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Getting pie.” He opens the fridge, his head disappearing inside, and I hear rummaging.
“I thought you had chili.”
He reappears with a pan of half-eaten blueberry pie, grabs two forks from the sink drying rack, and plops it on the table in front of me. “Eat.” He hands me a fork, as if it’s a weapon that can tackle my heartsickness.
Dad takes his fork and scrapes off the edge of the pie. I peel away at the opposite end. After several bites of silence, oddly, I’m feeling better. Dad says, “Did you know that desserts is stressed spelled backwards?”
“You always know the best conspiracies?” I lick the blueberry sauce from the handle of my fork, as this is so much messier than it should be.
“Who said anything about conspiracies.” He lays down his fork. “That’s a fact.”
My dad had an uncanny way of saying all the right things by saying nothing at all and just eating pie. I still want his advice, though. Admitting I have a crush is a big step. I’ve been running from love for a long time. Not that this is love but I avoid even considering dating. “What do you think I should do, Dad?”
He scratches his cheek while studying my face. “You say this boy’s coming back after his emergency?”
“Yeah, his business is here. So, he has to come back.”
“You call that boy and tell him that your dad knows his way around a hardware store. If I need to make a body disappear, I won’t have any problem doing it.”
“Dad,” I rush to interrupt him. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I don’t have to worry if you do what I say.” He raises two fingers, making a V and points to his eyes. “I’ll watch him like a dad so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”
“I’m done talking about this, because you’re starting to get weird.” I push my chair back and crane my neck to peer down the hall. “It is getting late. Should I go say hi to mom? I don’t know if I want to stay until midnight. I might try to catch the last train to Forest Hills."
“Nah, let her rest. She puts up with me all day.” His grin sprouts slowly and grows until it fills his whole face. Their relationship always feels cute to me. It’s not one from the fairytales, but there’s a steadiness, and companionship that’s lasted decades.
“Okay.” I move toward the door. “I have canned food for Mr. Noodles. I’d better get home before he jumps out the window again.”
“Sounds good. Happy New Year.” He picks up his tablet, resuming his racing game as if I’d already left.
“Yeah, Happy New Year.” I jerk my thumb toward the counter. “Can I grab some chili to go? I never had dinner.”
“I don’t have any chili.” He pulls the tablet closer to his face as he steers his car around the track.
I blink, dumbfounded. “You asked me to come over for chili.”
“That’s what I said to get you to come over here to tell me about this boy.”
My mouth falls open. “How did you—”
He taps rapidly on his tablet with his gaze down. “I have my ways.”
