The last thing Holly wants is to see me. When Hot Rod asked her if she had plans for Thanksgiving, she said she was spending the day with her sister and family, but she’d considered not going because “Pause Guy” might show up. Hot Rod encouraged her to go anyway, saying otherwise the asshole would win. She’d laughed and said she’d get even by throwing pickle juice in his face. When I’d asked Rory if they were serving pickles, he’d reacted with confusion but assured me they weren’t serving any at their Thanksgiving feast.
Still, Holly doesn’t want to see me, and I don’t want to hurt her any more than I already have.
“I think…” My voice cracks, and I start again, stronger this time. “I think it’s better if I stay home.”
I’ll figure out a way to talk to Holly, directly, as myself, but I’m not ready.
Jane holds on for another moment, then drops her arms. “I love you, Dad, but you’re really disappointing me.” Then she heads down the porch steps toward the black sedan with tinted windows without a backward glance.
She’s disappointed in me. It hurts worse than her anger.
It doesn’t help that, like every parent, I’ve dropped the wholeI’m not angry, I’m disappointedline before.
I sit on the sofa for a good ten minutes before I realize the TV’s not on and I’ve been sitting in silence. I flick it on to catch the football pregame show, wondering what I’ll have for lunch. Probably a hot dog and a beer.
About a half hour later, my phone rings, and I’m not surprised to see Rory’s name on the screen.
“When can we expect you?” he asks in his perpetually good-natured tone. Someone needs to tell him that billionaires are supposed to be gruff and short-tempered. “Dinner’s in an hour, but we’re serving appetizers now.”
I down the last of my second beer before I say, “I’m not coming.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer.”
I laugh. Even when he’s issuing orders, he still sounds nice. “Look, Rory, you mean well, but—”
“Are you alone right now?”
I gesture toward the TV even if he can’t see me. “How can I be alone when I have thousands of Detroit Lions fans with me?”
His voice takes on a hard edge. “You get your ass over here within the next fifteen minutes or I’m sending a security detail out to bring you here.” Then he adds, “They’re very good at their jobs, so don’t bother trying to evade them.”
There’s the gruff asshole I knew he had inside him. Apparently, I’m good at bringing that out in people.
“Look, Rory, I know you mean well, but Holly—”
“Is a big girl who doesn’t want you to be alone on Thanksgiving either. That settles it. I’m sending my security detail to get you.”
Groaning, I say, “Don’t do that. I’ll come, but I need to take a shower first.” I stink like a frat house.
“Fine,” he grunts, “but if you aren’t here within thirty minutes, I’ll be sending them.”
Looks like Rory picked a hell of a time to become an asshole.
