Oh, the things she does tome…
Before I brought her home for the first time, this couch had never experienced a crumb.
After we finish eating, I finally ask her about Jonah.
“Liam told you about that?” she asks. “I always suspected he was secretly a gossip.”
“It must have been difficult.” I hesitate. “After your father?—”
“Yes, I’m perfectly aware of what my dad did.” She nestles against me. “And yeah, the whole Jonah experience wasn’t great. It was worse because it happened at the same time Pansy was sending me those nasty texts. It fucked with my head a bit.”
“I don’t like that.”
“You want to be the only person who gets to fuck with my head?” she asks with a teasing smile.
“I want to be the person who makes sureno onefucks with your head.”
Her gaze soaks me in, her eyes soft and warm, and then she leans in and kisses me. “I like you.”
I love her, but she’s one woman I’d prefer not to drive off by being an idiot. So I settle for repeating it back to her, my forehead nearly pressed to hers. “I likeyou.”
“Show me,” she says.
“Gladly.”
On TuesdayI stop by the brewery to bring Nora lunch. I tell myself it’s not risky. José wouldexpectme to come by and visit. But is a secret still a secret when dozens of people know about it? Asheville is big, but it’s not that big. You can go to the same grocery store for years without seeing anyone you know, thenshow up one day wearing sweatpants and a shirt with a stain on it and run into your high school crush. (Yes, that happened with Nora before our parents got together. She pointedly ignored me.)
So when my father texts me that evening asking, yet again, to meet for a private conversation, I get worried that he might have seen us. Or that one of the little old ladies might have finally gotten loose in the lips.
Of course, it’s also possible that he has inoperable cancer or that he’s decided to divorce Mrs. Applebaum-Peebles and thinks it would be more pleasant to share his news over a caffeinated beverage.
I agree to meet my dad at Bear’s Buns, his selection. He’s already there when I arrive. I’m typically five minutes early for every meeting, but he always beats me nonetheless.
I order my drink at the counter, watching him worriedly. He always sits up straight, something he credits to his military father, but today his back looks like it’s bent at a precise ninety-degree angle to the chair.
I sit down across from him, dimly registering that we are at the same table where Ann had her ill-fated first date with that douchebag celebrity.
“Ann was in a secret relationship with George Cronin,” I blurt.
He pushes his coffee cup with one finger. “Yes, I heard about that. I told Moira I’m selling my old DVDs in our next yard sale.”
I don’t think anyone is likely to buy them, but I appreciate the gesture.
“Son.” He pats the table. “I didn’t come here to talk about Ann or Dottie, or that…interesting sculpture they gave us. There’s something else we need to discuss. Something important.”
Uh-oh, here it comes.
I brace myself for bad news.
He clears his throat and looks out the window, as if he’s hoping I’ll say the words for him.
“What is it, Dad?” I ask, reaching the apex of my impatience.
“Well …” He hesitates, clearing his throat again, and then swigs his coffee so fast he clearly burns himself.
I rise to help him, but he lifts a hand and sputters, “No, no, I’m quite all right. It’s only…”
Here it comes…
