“It worked perfectly with the rest of my stuff.”
“Okay, you’re right, it did. The question is, have you outgrown mustard yellow or are we recreating your room in Toronto?”
“I’m thinking pale pink, like barely a tinge of pink, on three walls and a dark pink, bright but not fluoro, on the fourth one. The one behind my bed.”
“If that’s what you want.” I cut a piece of steak and swipe it through the butter melting over my baked potato.
“You’re not going to complain about it?”
“I don’t think so. At this point I should be preparing myself for all your choices being your own and just accepting them.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re eighteen soon. That makes you technically an adult.”
“And?”
“I should stop making decisions for you.”
“Dad. You don’t make decisions for me. We’ve been discussing everything for years now, and you never discount my opinion even when you know I’m wrong.”
“I can’t remember a time when you were wrong. Well, there was the mustard yellow incident.” I grin.
“Ha, ha. Speaking of decisions. I’m sorry I made the one that had that reporter yelling questions at you about me. I know you like to keep your work life and family life separate.”
She doesn’t know why I keep our family life out of the public eye, and I don’t want to imagine how she’d react to that information. “It’s not that I keep it separate as much as I didn’t—don’t—want you, or me caught up in a media frenzy.”
“And I dropped us both into one with that post.”
“It’s okay. The Rogues helped us navigate it and I’m sure as soon as someone does something scandalous, we’ll be forgotten.”
“Ah, um.” She ducks her head to avoid my gaze. “There were photographers outside school today.”
“What?” My fork clatters on my plate.
“Yeah, but it’s okay, I didn’t talk to them and the principal made them leave the grounds.”
“Why wasn’t I told about this? Why didn’t you call me. I would have come to get you.”
“And give up my sweet ride?” She grins.
“Oh, funny. You know why I got you that hunk of junk.”
“It’s not junk; you made sure it’s mechanically sound before you let me drive it.”
“I did.”
“Hey, speaking of the Rogues, we didn’t finish talking about who owns the team.”
“KAW owns it.”
“Yes, but guess who owns KAW?”
“Oakley James.”
“Yep. And…”
“What do you mean and?”
