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It came during a sleepover, interrupting a Wii Sports marathon. My dad had to pick me up. Right then. So we could pack whatever we could fit in the back of the minivan because the landlord was only giving us an hour to get our stuff. Because he’d already given us two months. And then two weeks. And then another day. But our time was up.
So now we call on a schedule. And anything outside of that schedule is an emergency.
I take a breath, but it’s still strained. “Good. That’s great. So what’s going on?”
Ben’s hand is on my back, warm and steady. Grounding.
He probably thinks I’m crazy, except as quickly as the thought surfaces, it’s gone. Because I know he won’t. He knows about the call. He knows we lived in a car for two weeks. He knows that my relationship with my dad can be a little… intense.
He’s just never had a front-row seat before.
“Jimmy Olsen messaged me on Facebook. There’s a picture of you and that Boomer kid.”
Ben tenses beside me, and I feel my face turning red. Because now I know what this is.
It’s the kind of thing only my dad would consider an emergency.
“He’s got you thrown over his shoulder and from the way— Lara, there’s nothing going on with you two, is there?”
That steady hand at my back becomes a friendly pat, and then Ben heads into the kitchen, leaving me to my mortification.
I know the picture my dad’s talking about.
Someone caught us goofing around after a night out. And yeah, there’s something about it… the way Ben’s hand is on my thigh, how he’s grinning back over his shoulder while I’m laughing back over mine… it looks like there’s more happening than there actually is.
“Dad, ‘that Boomer kid’ is the same guy you’ve known and liked since we were in high school. He’s the man who opened his apartment to me when I needed a place to stay. We’re friends.”
“You know I don’t care if it’s more than that— he’s a nice-looking man. And you always had a good time together. So, a little fun. Sure. Nothing wrong with taking care of your physical needs.”
There’s a clatter in the kitchen, and I desperately try to turn the volume down on my phone, but I’m too out of sorts and just end up putting us on speaker.
“Oh, God.”
“We all have them.”
“No, Dad. Stop. Please.”
His chuckle booms through. “All I’m saying is, have your fun. Just don’t let some attachment get in the way of your priorities.”
“I won’t. It’s not like that with us, anyway.”
“That’s my girl.”
We wrap up the call with the usual assurances about savings and job security. He tells me he’s proud of me, he loves me, and he’ll talk to me next Sunday. We end the call, and I just sit there a moment, letting it settle.
Ben reemerges from the kitchen. He sets two waters on the coffee table and reclaims the spot beside me on the couch.
For a minute we don’t say anything.
Then, quietly, “You okay?”
“I will be. I mean, the embarrassment’s probably going to burn eternal.”
“But the call itself.”
“It’s stupid. I don’t freak out about calls from anyone else. I wish I didn’t with him.” But even after knowing everything is fine, the anxiety is there, sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach.
Ben reaches for me, pulling me onto his lap. His arms are around me, and my head is against his chest.
