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“Yeah, okay.”
I shoved him. “He does!”
He shook his head. “My dad doesn’t love anyone but himself. He thinks of all of us as assets, little extensions of his empire?—”
“That’s not true!” I pulled on my earlobes, because it made my jaw feel really good. “An artist doesn’t have to paint masterpieces to love painting. Your dad might never master parenting, but he still loves you in his own Remington way.”
“That’s deep.”
“I know. I’m like a modern day Socrates.” I leaned back to lay by his side. “Not my dad, though. My dad definitely doesn’t love me.”
Barrett twisted awkwardly and looked down at me. “I love you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Screw your dad. You’ve got us for family.”
“I’m not going to cry over him anymore. I’ve made up my mind and I’m done.”
“Good.” We stared up at the morning sky. “I haven’t cried in years. Did you ever see that Budweiser commercial with the cowboy and the dog? That was the last time I cried.”
A wheezy laugh crackled from my chest and I couldn’t stop. “A beer commercial?”
“That horse and dog loved each other!”
I turned my head, my hair clinging to the pavement. “You’re a lot deeper than people realize.”
“People think I’m shallow because I’m beautiful.”
“Must be tough.”
“Like you don’t know. You’re pretty as hell.”
“Yeah right. I’m awkward and clumsy and most days my clothes don’t match.”
“That doesn’t matter. You’ve got eyes and legs and all the right pieces.”
“Ears.”
“Exactly.” A flock of pigeons cooed from the soffit of the buildings. I hummed, completely relaxed. “It’s so peaceful here.”
“It really is.” He dragged a hand over his forehead. “What is that?”
“What?”
He sat up and touched his head. “Something’s in my hair.”
I groaned and sat up. “Looks like fluff. Did you have fluff?”
“What the fuck is fluff?”
Remembering that there was a lot of junk food the Davenports had never heard of because they grew up with private chefs, I quickly explained. “Oh, it’s gooey marshmallow stuff you put on bread with peanut butter. It’s so freaking good.” I sniffed the clump of goop in his hair. “But this is bird shit, not fluff.”
“Aw, man.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get it out.”
Sometime later we were standing inside of a bank. A woman in a snappy business suit looked up at us from her desk. “I’m afraid you have to leave.”
