“I’m filling in today, but…” Nash gives a playfully pained grin, and I feel my own lips lift—slightly. “It’s been a while and I’m rusty, so take it easy on me.” My slight smile turns to a smug smirk. Of course it’s been a while. Of course the man still can’t work regular hours like a responsible adult. I can’t wait to tell my mother. “We’re heading out in ten minutes. I’ll be coming around with water and maps. We have one mile with a few drinks and snacks along the way. Next tour leaves in forty-five minutes with Ms. Sunny.”
“That’s right, y’all,” a flamboyant Black woman with a wide smile shouts from next to him. She’s around my age, wearing a bright floral shirt, and pointing a handheld battery-operated mister fan toward her face. “Nash might have the looks and be the bossman”—bossman?—“but I got the smarts of this operation. You bes’ stick with me, okay? Okay.”
They both laugh, along with the crowd, before Ms. Sunny spritzes herself with fan water and goes back to shuffling papers and Nash begins making his way around the room.
Oh, God.
“I can’t walk a mile,” Cap says, poking me with his pornographic cane.
I swat it away. “I might not be able to do this,” I whisper, scratching my neck again. “I might be allergic to something.” I glance at Nash. “I think he looks worse than before, what do you think?” I look at Cap like he should answer—he doesn’t. “This isn’t the right plan. We should come back later. I need a shower.”
“Too late for that.” Cap gestures with his cane in Nash’s direction. “The husband you’re divorcing is almost here.”
I look; he’s right. Nash is only a few people away.
No.
“And I still can’t walk that far,” Cap repeats.
“Fine.” I take precious cash out of my pocket and shove it in his hands. Seventy dollars for two tour tickets takes me down to $505.29. I’ll be sure to throw myself a pity party and freak the fuck out about that later. “Go get us two tickets.” I pull the hat lower on my head and shrug into my flannel-covered shoulders. “And see if they have a wheelchair. I’ll push you.”
He doesn’t budge.
“Cap,” I urge, wondering if this is what it feels like to hyperventilate. “Go. Before it’s too late.”
He taps his cane against the ground at the same time a woman bumps into me and gives me insight into how people become homicidal maniacs out of nowhere.
“Call me Dad,” Cap says.
“What?”
I look around the room and spot Nash laughing with a group of girls in a bachelorette party, pink sashes across their chests. They’re making goo-goo eyes at him while he says somethingthat makes them giggle. He gives them a flirty wink; I grunt in disgust. At a glimpse of the wordsWe the Peoplebranded on his forearm, my stomach jumps then drops.
“I want you to call me Dad while we do this,” Cap repeats, oblivious to the internal organ failure I’m experiencing.
“Are you insane?” I demand through clenched teeth. “Why the hell would I do that? I don’t even know you. And I have a dad.”
“Where is he?”
“He died,” I tell him, fully offended.
He shrugs, like that’s no big deal and we have all the time in the world. Like Nash hasn’t moved closer with his water and maps and sheer existence, closing in on me like a lion to lamb without him even knowing. “Don’t seem like much of a problem then. Plus, I never was called dad before.”
Inside, I scream.
I will not call this man Dad.
“You said you never wanted kids,” I grit out.
“Changed my mind.”
I glare at him, refusing. Absofuckinglutely not.
“Suit yourself.” He turns around casually and takes a labored step toward the door, saying over his shoulder, “Good luck with the gold.”
This bastard.
“Fine.” My fists and teeth clench at the triumphant smile on his face. Meanwhile, I’m baking like a meatloaf under my stupid flannel. “Rueben. Cap.Dad. Go. Get. The. Tickets.”
