I can see he wants to force the issue, to pull dad rank, but he doesn’t.
“Okay,” he says. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”
It’s not lost on me that both he and Mom have asked me to make this promise.
Before I can answer him, someone calls out to me. “Hey, Evie.”
It’s X. My heart does this weird interpretive dance thing in my chest. His dreads are down and his eyes are bright black and focused on me. His guitar is strapped across his back.
Dad steps closer, like he might need to protect me from X’s good looks.
“Hey, X,” I say, and do a little wave.
Dad clears his throat.
Right. Introductions. “Dad,” I say, “this is X. X, this is mydad.”
Dad guffaws. “Your name is X? Like the unknown variablex?”
“Your daughter already let me have it about my name, Mr. Thomas,” X says, holding out his hand for a shake.
“I should hope so,” says Dad. He points at X’s hair. “Are those dreads religious or just fashionable?”
“Purely for fashion, Mr. T.”
“Go the distance with my name, son. It’s Mr. Thomas,” Dad says. “What about the guitar? That only for fashion too?”
X laughs. “No sir, Mr. Thomas. The guitar is real.”
Dad proceeds to quiz X on his past and future history. X conveniently leaves out the dropping-out-of-high-school part.
I guess Dad is satisfied with X’s answers, because eventually he says: “Am I okay to leave you two alone together?”
“Yes, of course,” I say.
Dad turns to me. “One more joke before I go,” he says.
“All right,” I say, already shaking my head in anticipation of how awful it will be.
“Have you heard the one about the quesadilla?” he asks.
I play along. “Why, no, I haven’t heard it.”
He waves me off dramatically. “Never mind, it’s too cheesy.”
X laughs with his fist over his mouth. “Good one, Mr. Thomas.”
Pleased as punchis an expression Dad uses often. Right now he is. “I like you, despite the ridiculous name,” he says to X.
“Thanks, Mr. T,” X says. Then, “I’m just messing with you, sir,” to Dad’s glare.
“Please think about what I said about the wedding,” Dad says to me.
“Okay,” I say, and I really mean it. Probably tomorrow I’ll be angry again, but right now my tummy is full of delicious food and my face is still smiling at his bad jokes and he feels just like he used to feel, like my very first best friend forever. He pulls me in for a hug and squeezes me tight and I squeeze him right back, wishing in that same small stubborn place that this feeling would last forever.
CHAPTER 33
The Time We Get
