The morningafter the festival I sneak home, although I have no idea why, since my secret is now public knowledge.
Dad’s in the kitchen staring into his coffee, lost in thought. I suppose it’s fair, considering his life just went from feuding with a neighbor to his daughter banging three brothers while he’s screwing the woman who documents everyone’s personal disasters for fun and profit. Who also used to be friends with Mom.
You can’t make this shit up.
“The boys are outside,” he says without looking up.
“All three? But I just left them a little while ago.”
“I can’t explain young love, Callie.”
“Why don’t they come in?”
“Because they’re nervous and men do stupid shit when they’re nervous. I alphabetized my socks before proposing to your mother.”
“That’s weird.”
“That’s love. Or anxiety. Same thing really.”
I look out the window. Yeah, there they are, doing exactly what Dad described. Jesse’s mouth is moving, practicing whatever bullshit he thinks this moment requires. Boone’s got cheese dust on his shirt, and Wyatt’s messing around in the tool box in the back of their truck.
“How long have they been out there?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“None of them knocked?”
“They tried. Jesse’s hand got within six inches of thedoor before he chickened out. Twice. Boone touched the doorknob then pretended he was checking for splinters.”
“Jesus.”
“Your boyfriends, not mine.”
“You’re dating Mrs. Delaney. She live-tweeted your colonoscopy.”
“That was a medical procedure.”
“She called it ‘Hank’s Intestinal Journey: A Love Story.’ She used the poop emoji.”
“We need to deal with the boys,” he says firmly.
“We?”
“I’m your father. I’m supposed to terrify them. It’s traditional. Plus, I’ve been practicing my threatening face in the mirror.”
“Not sure you needed practice, Dad.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
We walk outside. The McCoys straighten up fast enough to cause whiplash. Boone stops mid-chew, and a piece of Dorito falls from his mouth in slow motion.
Dad crosses his arms and delivers the stare that used to make me confess to shit I didn’t even do.
“You think you’re good enough for my daughter?”
“No,” Wyatt says immediately, with the certainty of someone who’s run the numbers.
“Definitely not,” Jesse adds, his prepared speech forgotten.
