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He releases his chest and resets his face from the verge of a fake heart attack back to normal. "Sorry. Force of habit."
"I get where my boss is coming from. My promotion to deputy of Asia Pac means I'm overseeing Australia, New Zealand, and several Asian countries. It would make sense for me to be here, closer to where I'm working than stuck in some office on the forty-eighth floor in Manhattan."
Brant throws his sheet off and gets up. "Talk some sense into your son, would you, please?"
Dad fiddles with the camera for a minute.
"Don't start on me, Dad."
"I'm not starting anything. I'll support you. Like I always have."
I smile. He really has. I may have lost my mom when I was seven, but the way Dad stepped up and raised me,that'smy roadmap for if or when I ever have kids myself. I truly have the best dad in the world.
He glances in the direction Brant marched off, then leans in closer to the screen. "But in case Brant asks, I gave you a stern lecture and instructed you to come home immediately, okay?"
I laugh. "Wow. He's really got you whipped, Dad."
When his face turns crimson, I cringe, realizing I've taken it a step too far. I'm totally cool with Dad and my bestie beingtogether, but I amnotcool with inadvertently stumbling upon details of their sex life.
"What are your plans?" he asks, moving on.
"Food," I answer.
He smiles. "Naturally. And after that?"
"Don't know. The person who checked me in mentioned there's a karaoke night happening tonight. Might check that out. I always enjoy a good dose of second-hand embarrassment."
Dad laughs. "Attaboy. I have to say, Col, you seem…happy."
"I actually am. I mean, I'm exhausted. The work has been hard. Long hours. Complicated work. Stressful situations. Dealing with people on the brink of losing their farms, their livelihood, their identity isn't easy. But I love it, Dad. And I'm so fucking good at what I do, it's, like, a natural high or something. It might sound dumb, but I'd like to believe that in my own small way, I'm guiding people through a difficult and painful process and, hopefully, making things a bit easier for them."
"Doesn't sound dumb at all. Sounds like you're doing awesome work. I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks, Dad." I waver. "There is one thing I haven't done yet…"
"What's that?"
"Scattered Mom's ashes."
I texted Brant and Dad about it after I revealed it to Wilby. It didn't feel right, them not knowing.
"Oh. You still have time, don't you?"
"I do…"
Dad opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself.
For once, I wish he hadn't. He's giving me space because, normally, that's what I need. I bit his head off a thousand times as an angsty, anxious teen, so he's learned the best way to approach me is to let me come to him and open up in my own time.
But something's shifted in me these past six weeks. I don't know what it is exactly, or even why it's happened, but the thought of talking about real shit doesn't feel as overwhelming as it has in the past. It's not this big, gross thing to be avoided at all costs… Like flying.Thathasn't changed. Still hate it with every fiber of my being.
Brant returns, his eyes darting between the two of us. "Am I interrupting something?"
Dad waits for me to answer.
"No. It's fine," I say. My stomach grumbles. "Did you guys hear?—?"
They're both smiling. Yep, they heard it.
