“Right?” Mom asks.
And I realize she’s been waiting this whole time for me to respond. “Right as rain,” I mumble.
“How do I look?” she asks, motioning down to her cream sundress and shawl.
“It’s just book club. It’s not like you’re going anywhere special.”
The edges of her lips turn down.
“But you look great,” I tell her quickly, guilt settling over me. “Really pretty.”
“Well, I am meeting a friend afterward for some margaritas and chips and salsa.”
“What friend?” I ask. Suddenly something feels weird.
She winks at me. “Call me if you need me, and leave the porch light on when you head over to Dad’s.”
After she leaves, I putter around the house for a bit with Cheese weaving in and out of my legs like he’s either trying to slow me down or trip me. Or maybe he’s just trying to get me to stay, which really makes me feel like crud. Finally, I give in and shove Dad’s mail in my backpack and head on over. I try to ignore Cheese’s soft meow as I make my way down to the sidewalk. If Mom and Dad wanted to keep things so normal, why didn’t they just stay married?
On my way there, I take a quick peek inside Miss Flora Mae’s mailbox and find it empty. Tomorrow I’ll go over and play some music for her plants, which is probably the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever asked me to do, by the way.
“Dad?” I call out as I push his front door open. There’s something weird about this place. It’s not home enough for me to feel like I can just walk in, but Dad living here also means I feel really silly knocking or ringing the doorbell.
“In here!” he calls from the living room. “What do you think about Frito pie for dinner?”
“I think it sounds like something Mom wouldn’t define as dinner.”
“Guess it’s a good thing Mom’s not here,” says Dad as he stands up from the single love seat in his living room.
A smile tickles at my lips. “Frito pie it is!”
Dad’s Frito pie isn’t like normal Frito pie. He makes his tortilla strips himself and keeps frozen batches of his homemade chili in the freezer for whenever the mood strikes. He even shreds my absolute favorite cheddar cheese (other than my cat) made in Tillamook, Oregon.
Dad sets up his TV-dinner trays so we can watchAmerican Ninja Warriorwhile we eat dinner. We eat in silence, adding sprinkles of cheese every time we eat the top layer of chips, chili, and cheese. “Ya gotta make every bite cheesy,” says Dad with his mouth full.
I laugh through a huge bite. Dad may never have gone to college, but he’s one of the smartest people I know. Besides, Mom always says college isn’t for everyone, and it doesn’t make you better than anyone else.
As we’re finishing, Dad turns to me during a commercial break.
“Hey, uh, did your mom send over any of my mail with you?”
I can’t quite explain why, but for some reason I’m in no hurry at all to give Dad his mail. Maybe I’m just annoyed that he can’t go over there and get it himself.
“She must have forgotten,” I finally say.
Quietly, Dad grunts and then he forces a smile. “No problemo, Sweet Pea. No problemo at all.”
Chapter Eight
By Invitation Only
It’s not the last day of school, but with the way people are buzzing over Kiera’s birthday party, it sure feels like it. I’m not kidding. I think even the cafeteria ladies were invited.
After lunch, Kiera’s mom brings vanilla cupcakes from Blue Bird Bakery that have been clustered together and iced to look like the heart-eyes emoji, everyone’s favorite. I think even Mrs. Young is excited.
“It’s almost like we get two end-of-the-year parties with Kiera’s birthday being so close to summer,” I hear someone say while we’re in line for cupcakes.
Oscar rolls his eyes. “Blah, blah. All hail Kiera.”
