“Potty talk?” Hannah replies with a snicker.
“Who’s the artist?” I ask Hannah, interrupting their eruption.
“Peter Hutton. He’s from Norway and has been carving ice sculptures since he was my age,” she explains.
“That’s incredible,” I tell her.
“Yeah,” she says, grabbing one of the three menus from the center of the table.
“Do you like art?”
“Yeah,” she says, simply.
“Me too.”
“Hannah won the art contest at school last year. First prize for her chalk drawing of roses in a vase.”
Hannah looks mortified as she rolls her eyes and holds her attention on the menu. “She is one talented kid; I’ll tell you that.”
“Dad, stop,” she snaps. “Why don’t you go stare in a mirror and give yourself some compliments like you enjoy doing.”
Ouch. My God.
“Hannah, enough,” Brody says, clearing his throat as he lifts his menu. I’m surprised he didn’t scold her more, but I’m sure he’s doing everything he can to avoid further embarrassment.
“My dad has a big ego because all the moms at school know he’s single and tries to set up playdates with their kids so they can spend time with him. It’s annoying.”
There’s an interesting fact I didn’t need to know.
“It doesn’t happen anymore,” Brody says.
“Then why did I have to have a playdate with Abby a few weeks ago? You know I don’t like her.”
Brody lowers his head down against his clenched intertwined fists. His cheeks are red, and I can’t tell if he’s angry or mortified. My answer comes out in the form of a fatherly finger pointing at Hannah’s face. “I don’t want to hear another word. Do you understand me? We just drove over an hour to take you here tonight. I think the least you could do is show me a little respect.”
That’s kind of hot. I shouldn’t be thinking such a thing when he’s scolding his daughter, but the authority isn’t something I’ve seen in that form from him.
“Why should I?” Hannah responds.
“I’m your father. That’s why.”
She’s gritting her teeth, staring at him with squinted eyes. “I’ll have chicken fingers. I need to use the bathroom.” Hannah drops her menu and stands up from her seat and spins around in search of a bathroom. I wonder if there is a bathroom in here or if there are outhouses outside. This restaurant is a temporary building.
“I’m so sorry,” Brody says.
“You know what. I have to use the bathroom, too. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.”
I follow Hannah, leaving some space between us, finding there is a small bathroom toward the entrance, but there’s a line. “I’m almost eleven. I don’t need someone to take me to the bathroom,” she says.
“I have to use the restroom, too,” I tell her.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Why are you so angry, Hannah?”
She spins around and presses her lips together, glaring at me with anger. I’m not sure what to expect next, but I’m ready for whatever it is. “I was supposed to be here with my mom—not you. Not my dad. There was a mom’s and daughter’s night last week, and she promised, but promises don’t matter to her. Instead, she’s missing out on this place, and it’s stupid.”
I can’t tell her I understand because I don’t know what it feels like to have a parent who lets me down. It’s always been my job to let them down. “Well, in my opinion, a moms’ and daughters’ event sounds like a drama-filled whiny time. It’s cold in here and I can imagine it was colder than any of the moms and daughters were expecting. On top of that, your mom is the one who missed out because you still got to come to the restaurant. Sometimes in life, you need to put your happiness before others’. It’s a crap lesson I’m still trying to learn.”
