“This calls for a celebration.” Dad whoops from the corner.
“What’s on your mind?” I turn back to Dad, enjoying how he’s taking part in this whole thing. It’s not the romantic declarationof love I dreamed about, with my dad in the corner, but in an odd way, it doesn't feel uncomfortable either.
“How about we go for one of those coffees you’ve been bringing over? My treat.”
Pushing out my lower lip, I only need to muse for a second before I know I’m game. “Sounds good. North, what do you think?”
“Let’s go.”
“I’ll drive.” I lunge to steal my keys off the hook, before Dad can grab them, and race out in front of him.
Dad bursts out next, calling out, “Shotgun.”
North laughs, as he pulls up the rear, shaking his head. “Maybe I should have been more careful about what I’m getting into,” he teases while he climbs in the backseat of my car.
“It’s fine. We aren’t that scary. Just Dad’s driving is awful. I couldn’t let you experience that on top of everything else we’ve put you through.” Nothing can erase the smile on my lips, as I gaze at him in the rearview mirror. On the drive over, Dad jokes about all the times he caught North looking at me over the years, and North’s ears grow a healthy shade of crimson. Before he starts revealing my secrets—because I know he caught me looking back at North—I pull over in front of the Coffee Loft and rush to get out.
North and I link hands, weaving our fingers together, and stroll through the Coffee Loft door with Dad in tow. Dad smack talks North from behind us “Tell me you’re going to try something other than that stinky chai.”
“What?” North jolts, turning back to fake scowl at Dad. “You did not just insult my drink order.”
“I did. After all these years, you finally brewed up the courage to kiss Gia. It’s time for you to turn a new leaf all together and try a new drink.”
“What’s going on here, chai guy?” Portia butts in, leaning over the counter with her gaze directly on North. “Are we seriously talking about not having chai?”
“I guess, I’m breaking my habits.” North shrugs, and looks at me, his eyes glittering back with all the shades of dreamy, rich espresso. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”
“You got it.” Portia’s curious smile curves on her lips as she punches our order in, and we pay. Then we link arms, heading back to our booth, and slide in to sit shoulder to shoulder with Dad across from us. We aren’t the couple of kids we were in high school. I can’t say we’re better off, just different. Our lives are actually fairly uneventful, which will leave us plenty of time for long dates at the Coffee Loft where we laugh, bond, and fall in love, one sloooow sip at a time.
twenty
A month later
As we survey the piles of remaining items in my dad’s garage, North and I can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of some of them. First, there is a broken pizza oven that Dad swears still works. Before we packed it up to donate, he added a note saying, "Works, but cooks unevenly. It doesn’t make the best tasting pizza, but it makes a fun conversation piece." I really just want to chuck that oven into the garbage, but getting rid of this stuff has been an emotional journey for Dad, and the only way he’s made it through it is by believing his stuff will find a better home where people who need it, can use it.
My favorite item is the whole box of flamingo yard ornaments. I can’t fathom why someone would ever need that many, but my childish brain wants to prank North by putting them in his yard one night.
Such innocent fun, but I resist.
Oh, and don’t get me started on the hideous plastic garden gnomes. There are eleven of them. Who in their right mind needs that many lawn creatures? I would think if you had eleven, you’d actually want a full dozen, which leads me to think one is missing. Frankly, that’s a little terrifying. I’ve learned to tiptoe around, hoping it doesn’t pop out at me sometime. Their facial expressions are just too creepy.
I know it’s silly.
But really, its creepy.
Now, we are down to the last load of stuff, and I couldn't help but rub my hand along the base of the old palm tree shaped lamp adorned in Christmas lights.
"Quite the assortment of stuff, eh?" North chuckles, his eyes wafting to the lamp, and I couldn’t help but join in.
It is definitely a relief, after the last few weeks, to finally be able to laugh about this stuff. “Yeah, I think we can honestly say we have something for everyone.”
“Too bad this violin doesn’t have a bow. I’d definitely give you ten bucks for it.” He picks up a small stringed instrument. Dad is always more eccentric, even in his collections, and I doubt that he had any classical instruments. I squint my eyes at North, and I burst out laughing.
“That’s not a violin. It’s a Ukulele, and it’s definitely worth at least twenty bucks,” I tease, pretending to be offended.
“Sorry.” He put it back in the box with his fingers exaggeratedly spaced, as if he is now afraid to touch it. His expression takes on a bit of a conspiratorial gleam. “I have a surprise.”
One of my brows rises higher than the other in a skeptical glare. “After reading the news article this morning about Rocco and his buddies and how detectives were able to bring to light even more closed-door embezzlement and fraud, I don’t know if I can handle any more surprises.”
