Twenty-Three
Dad picked me up in front of Stella’s. “Your dad loves you,” Ethan reminded me before he left. “You’ll be fine.”
Yet I felt like I was pushing through Jell-O as I walked to the passenger side of Dad’s borrowed car, like a deep fog had muffled my ears and brain. I wanted to do anything but this. I’d never been afraid to see Dad before. But I’d behaved like a brat, and probably embarrassed him in front of his friends and colleagues. For all I insisted I had my act together, I’d acted like a child throwing a temper tantrum, and I didn’t know how to apologize.
I opened the door. “Hi, Dad.” My voice was small and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I stared at our feet—my polished toes in flip-flops, his besocked feet in sandals—and spoke to them. “I’m sorry.”
Dad was silent. I snuck a peek up and found him frowning at me. My heart started racing and it was getting harder to breathe and I thought I might cry—
And then he reached across the divide and pulled me into a hug.
I let out a surprised, shaky gasp and drew in a shudderingbreath. I clung to him, feeling like a little kid. “I’m so sorry,” I started blubbering. “I don’t know what got into me—”
“Jordan.” He set me back a little bit, concern written in every line of his face. Had I placed any of those lines there? “Are you okay?”
“What?”
“I’ve been so worried.”
“Oh. I mean—yes. I’m fine.”
“Okay. Let’s get home, and you can tell me what happened.”
I pulled myself mostly together on the short drive to Dad’s studio apartment. Upstairs, he made us mint tea and we settled into the two armchairs. Dad stirred sugar into his drink. “What happened?”
Obviously he’d been there; he wanted it from my perspective. “I guess…I’ve been getting pretty invested in Andrea Darrel. And I think I’m right,” I said firmly, “about everything I said. Shediddiscover the comet. But I never meant to go at Mr. Gibson. I just got worked up. I don’t like being told I’m wrong.”
“No,” Dad says evenly. “No one does.”
“I wasn’t even going to bring it up with him there, but then Mrs. Barbanel mentioned it—” I closed my mouth. I couldn’t blame a ninety-year-old woman for my loss of temper. “I got mad. I hate how often women in science have been dismissed. It’s ridiculous. It shouldn’t still be happening. But I’m sorry I lost my temper. Do you hate me? Did I ruin your chance at a grant?”
Dad’s brows shot up. “What?”
“Ethan and I thought—I don’t know, if I made this fuss aboutAndrea Darrel, the Gibson Foundation might be pissed off and not want to fund your grant.”
Dad stared at me a moment, his mouth twitching. He raised his fist to his mouth and let out what was clearly supposed to look like a cough, but was really a poorly muffled laugh. It went on a little too long.
“What?” I echoed, irritated.
“You two have…quite the imagination,” Dad said in his diplomatic voice. “It’s possible you watch too many movies.”
“So I didn’t ruin your chance at a grant?”
He looked amused. “I won’t lie and say grant committees can’t be petty, but I don’t think this’ll have an impact.”
I sagged in relief. “Oh. Good.”
He furrowed his forehead thoughtfully. “Jordan, I want you to be able to talk to me about anything. Is there anything else this summer you’ve been…stressing out about?”
Overheated, I tugged at my collar and looked out the window at the misshapen low moon. I thought about staying silent, but if there was ever a moment to admit to what had bothered me over the past several summers, it was now. “I guess I was a little…stressed about Ethan.”
God, how humiliating. I couldn’t believe I was admitting to my father I’d beenjealoushe’d paid attention to someone else more than me.
When I didn’t say anything else, Dad finally prompted, “Because you like him?”
My head whipped toward Dad’s. “What? No!”
Well, yes, but I’d been working toward a different point.
