“Just something small and casual. I’ll let my customers know today, and you can put out some of your pieces, maybe with a small description above each one. Can you have them ready by tomorrow evening? We could hold a showing at seven o’clock.”
Now I can’t stop myself from giving her a hug.
By the end of the month I’ll move out of my apartment and begin to get paid for my art—even if it’s just a start. And someday soon, I’ll be able to quit my job at Apex. I’m both excited and scared out of my mind.
So scared that other things that would normally scare me senseless don’t seem quite so scary. Instead of driving back to work just yet, I head for the freeway. With Dale right behind me, I give him a friendly wave and push down on the gas pedal harder.
* * *
I don’t give my father any warning that I’m coming by. If my mother didn’t get any, I don’t see why I should treat him differently.
When I reach the doors of Waters Rowe Insurance Agency, I stop for a moment outside the building and catch my reflection in the glass. My skirt looks wrinkled. And it has a few white hairs on it. That would be Bessie’s fault.
I sigh and enter the lobby. Thinking of Dylan and how great a risk I took with him in Arizona gives me the confidence to walk up to the desk and ask the secretary how I can reach Cort Tinley.
“Is he expecting you?”
I burst out laughing, and she stares at me quizzically.
“Um,” I shake my head. “No. No, he is most definitely not expecting me. Tell him I know Marianne Gordon.”
She buzzes him on the phone. “Jasalie Gordon, friend of Marianne Gordon, here to see you.”
She glances at me. “He’s coughing,” she says, covering the phone.
We wait in silence for over a minute. The receptionist and I look at each other awkwardly. Finally, she says I can go up to the eleventh floor.
“Room 1104,” she says.
* * *
My father is standing when I reach the open door of his office.
I walk in boldly and extend my hand. “Hello. I’m Jasalie Gordon. You are my biological father.”
I drop my hand when he starts to cough again.
While he reaches for a handkerchief, I stand opposite his desk and get a good look at him. Mom wasn’t kidding about his anxiety. He coughs nonstop for the next thirty seconds.
When he finally calms down, he looks straight at me. That’s when I see what must have drawn my mother to him.
His eyes. They’re a brilliant green.
My father starts to ramble, nearly stuttering, as he trips over himself in explanation. “Your mother and I were not in love. We were not careful with ourselves or with you, of course. I wanted to be a good father someday, but I am an insurance agent. Not a father. I see you have grown up very well. Your mother did a very nice job.”
“My mother is not responsible for most of this,” I say, realizing he’s confused. “She left me at social services when I was four. I did the majority of my growing up without her. On my own.”
He stares at me and then starts to cough again. I sigh and cross my arms in front of my chest. We could be here all afternoon at this rate. I feel for him, but I’m not in a patient mood. I tap my foot on the rug and take a quick look around the office.
He and Mom have something in common. My father’s office is a mess. Papers are everywhere, coffee mugs half-drunk are sitting on the heater, and a vase of flowers long dead is placed on the bookshelf. I turn back to watch him breathe. At least I can leave here saying that—for the first time in my life, I got to see my father breathe. That’s something.
Eventually, he calms again, and we stand in silence.
I was terrified he’d look like Dylan, be like Dylan, be a former athlete of some kind. Then I’d worry our relationship was based on a daddy complex. But my father’s tall and super-thin with thick glasses he keeps pushing back up on his nose. He doesn’t look like he has an athletic bone in his body.
I’m pretty convinced he couldn’t handle the pressure of competitive sports, but I test him out anyway. “You a big Cougars fan?”
“Excuse me?” he says.
