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With that, he runs off, leaving me feeling melancholy for no reason at all.
“You look terrible,” my father says when I walk into his house with Harry on my heels, wagging his tail. “Those bags under your eyes have bags.”
“Thanks.” I rub said baggy eyes. “That’s why I’ve come. I want your hangover cure.”
After Mom died, Dad drank so much he became quite the expert on hangover cures—that is, until he joined AA.
“Hangover?” Dad’s expression turns worried. “What was the occasion?”
It’s been a while since he’s missed things like birthdays, but the memory must linger, so I can see why he’d be concerned. That or maybe he’s worried I’ll start to overindulge the way he did.
“I was just keeping someone else company,” I say. “And after today, I think I’m going to avoid alcohol for a few years.”
Dad grins knowingly. “A female someone?”
“It’s not like that. But speaking of her, it’s best if you double the cure.”
He grabs his blender. “Who is she?”
I sigh. “A tourist.”
He wrinkles his nose. “From where?”
“New York,” I say and expect the nose wrinkle to worsen.
Dad shrugs instead. “I’m sure she’s got ways to compensate for that nearly fatal flaw.”
I smile. “She plays Scrabble.”
“Well.” He dumps half a bag of spinach into the blender. “There you go. That alone means she’s a keeper.”
Even if she is, I’m not—but I don’t go into that with my dad because in his eyes, I can do no wrong.
“Tell me more about her,” he says.
“Like what?”
“Oh, don’t be like that. How did you meet?”
Fine. As he makes the concoction, I tell him how Brooklyn and I grumped at each other when we first met, and how she almost drowned.
When I’m done, Dad blinks, his eyes suspiciously damp. “It’s eerie,” he says after a moment. “Your story reminds me so much of how I met your mother.”
I frown. “I thought you went to high school together.”
“Right, and I spilled chemicals on her when we first met in the lab. She then threw a frog at my face.”
“And you saved her life too?”
Dad gives me an exasperated look. “I got her out of the chemical-drenched dress, didn’t I? That’s despite the frog tossing, mind you. I also gave her my jacket to cover herself.”
“You’re right. It’s the exact same story.”
“And that means she’s also your soulmate.” Dad sprinkles dried ginger into the blender. “The way your mother was mine.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in souls,” I say.
He gives me a sidelong glance. “The ‘soul’ is just a word that describes what happens when the computers that are our brains do their computing. Anyway, I don’t need to believe in souls to believe in soulmates.”
