Chris offers to help me out with the car, and I take him up on it. He shines up the interior while I take a toothbrush to all the cracks and grooves to get out the dirt and dust. Chris makes fun of my OCD and asks if we can do his car next.
“Your car needs a power washer.”
Once the inside is gleaming, we get to work on the outside. I “accidentally” spray him with water, hoping he’ll take off his shirt. Predictably, he does, taking his time to stretch his arms and really preen for me. I ask him with a wink if he has wax in his shed, and he catches my drift. We end up making out in there like the horny teenagers we are—all sloppy and frenzied, grabbing at whatever we can with our hands and mouths without completely dropping our drawers, worried one of our moms is going to see the car out there only half-washed and get curious about where we’ve gotten off too. Sure enough, I hear my mom calling my name from my bedroom window, and when Chris and I emerge, him holding the towels and me holding the car wax, she gives me the all-knowing eyebrow and points to the street, where my dad’s Tahoe is parked on the curb.
“Your dad’s here,” she calls. “He wants to see you.”
“Shit,” I say to Chris, getting all weak-kneed and jellified thinking he’s here because he finally saw that damn picture and has come to confront me about it.
Chris lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You want backup?”
I straighten up and steel my resolve. “No, I got this.”
“I’ll finish washing the car for you.”
“Rain check on the wax?” I ask.
Chris just shakes his head and smiles. “You betcha.”
I put my shirt back on and climb the stairs to our apartment super slow, consider bailing a few times or faking an illness, then chide myself for being such a wiener. When I enter the kitchen, my sister’s handing my dad a Coke and my mom’s making herself busy at the kitchen sink. My dad sits at the kitchen table where we normally eat, looking large and imposing in the small space, kind of like an intruder. I glare at my sister, thinking she’s the one who tipped him off, but she lifts her hand and makes a pointing motion behind it, directed at our mom.
Et tu, Brute?
“Your mom says you have something to tell me,” Dad says, confirming the traitor. He looks tired and worn-out, like he hasn’t been sleeping well, or maybe he was out drinking the night before and this is how he looks the day after—he still goes on benders from time to time. His skin is paler than normal and hangs off his face kind of haggard-like. He looks straight-up old. I feel a little bad for him.
“We have some errands to run,” Mom says and grabs Tabs by the arm. Mom won’t look me in the eye, sealing her guilt.
“Maybe we should—” Tabs starts to say, and my mom cuts her off with a look. Mom plucks up her purse from the counter and blows me a kiss. They whirl out of the kitchen in five seconds flat, leaving me alone with my father, who looks a little put out by this impromptu visit, like he should be charging by the hour.
“So?” Dad leans back in the chair, legs spread wide, an expectant look on his face. Something about his posture and his almost bored expression makes me think my mom didn’t clue him in all the way, just arranged this visit in the hopes I’d tell him myself.
I search for the words to share the news with him in a way that’s not such a shock to the system, the perfect sentiment that will convey it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me, that I’m not just doing this to upset him or rebel. It’s just the way it is.
I open my mouth. What comes out is, “I bought a car.” I plaster a huge, fake smile on my face.
Dad’s eyebrows raise, and he frowns a little, like that news alone probably didn’t warrant a trip all the way out here. “Yeah? Well… let’s see it.”
He stands, and I wonderCould it really be this easy?I lead him outside, where there’s more room for the both of us to breathe. Chris is toweling off the car, still shirtless, looking mouthwatering and delicious.My boyfriend is soooo hot.My lower half starts acting up, so I avert my eyes and focus on my dad instead.
“You remember Chris,” I say.
Chris comes over and shakes my dad’s hand, looks to me for a sign. I shake my head slightly. My dad nods at Chris like nothing’s amiss.
“You need me?” Chris asks, code for, do I want him to stay?
“Nah, I’ll finish up here.”
“Cool.” He tosses the towel into a pile with the rest, throws his wet shirt over one shoulder, and grabs his board where he set it down in the grass. “Catch you later, Mr. Wooten,” Chris says with an air of cockiness I could never pull off in talking to a friend’s parent.
My dad circles the car, inspecting the body like he’s looking for a cavity. “How much you pay for it?” he asks. I tell him, and he nods. “Not a bad price. You going to take me for a ride?”
I grin at that and unlock the doors with my key fob. Dad climbs into the passenger seat and comments on the headroom. “Bigger on the inside than I expected.”
I back out of the driveway and take him on a tour of the neighborhood. Dad asks more questions about the car—how many miles, who I bought it from, whether it’s had an oil change lately. At one point he turns to me and goes, “Your mother teach you how to drive?”
I shake my head. “Chris.”
“Is that legal?”
