I glance over at my dad. He looks unimpressed.
“Two: the bat box he recently put up,” I say. “Three: the hand-carved mantle over his fireplace.”
“Did he carve it?”
“What’s a bat box?
“Again, these questions are a great way to enter into conversation,” I say, and I know I’m being kind of bossy and a bit much right now, but I’m nervous as all hell. Gideon and my parents have talked some via FaceTime—including at least one long conversation while I wasn’t present—but this will be the first time they’ve actually been in the same room in twenty years, so forgive me if I’m nervous. I want this to go well.
I slow the car to turn into Gideon’s long, wooded driveway, car tires crunching on gravel.
“Pompom,” my dad says, turning to me. “It’ll be fine. We all love you.”
I blow out a deep breath and can feel myself turn slightly pink. “Thanks,” I say, and pull up next to Reid’s car.
Then I kill the engine, and before they can get out, hold up a hand.
“Wait,” I say.
“What more could therepossiblybe?” Rick grumbles, half-kidding.
“There’s a cat,” I tell them. “Her name is Dolly, she’s the size of a Great Dane, and youhaveto be nice to her.”
My dad closes his eyes and exhales through his nose, because he’s slightly allergic to cats and also thinks they’re haughty, stuck-up sociopaths. He is not wrong.
“I brought allergy meds for you,” I tell him, and it gets a half-smile.
“Thanks,” he says.
“Seriously. Be nice to the cat. If you follow one rule today, ithasto be this one.”
“We’ll be nice to the cat,” Rick promises.
* * *
Hours later,once my parents have been wined and dined and packed off to Lucia’s house again, I flop bonelessly onto Gideon’s couch. Dolly, who’s curled up on the opposite end, raises her head exactly enough to glare at me, then settle back into her own fluff.
“Sorry, your majesty,” I say. She doesn’t respond. “They treat you right?”
Her ears twitch, but Dolly doesn’t open her eyes. Naturally, the moment we walked through the door, she chose my dad to be her favorite for the night and spent most of the time no more than three feet away from him while he handled the situation with the aloof politeness of the allergic. Rick tried valiantly to tempt her away and give my dad a break, but it didn’t work. Cats.
“Stop doing dishes and come relax,” I call.
“I’m just—”
“Stoooooooop!”
Dad and Rick, because they’re polite guests, also brought over a couple bottles of wine. Those bottles are now gone.
“Sobossy,” Gideon’s muttering, but he’s also shutting off the water and his footsteps are moving through the kitchen, so that’s fine.
“You like it,” I say as he walks into the living room and flops next to me on the couch, grunting in answer. Dolly lifts her head again, but this time she yawns, stretches, and stands.
“That went well, right?” Gideon asks softly as Dolly pushes her face against his hand. I squirm into his side.
“It did. You did great,” I tell him, because sometimes Gideon needs reassurance. “Dinner was amazing, and you actually knew which walls were load-bearing when they asked.”
Gideon gives me anof course I know which walls are load-bearing, who wouldn’t know thatlook I choose to ignore.
