“She’s my Penelope.”
“She’s your who?”
My dad blinked at me, likeHow are you not getting it?“Penelope. From theOdyssey.”
“Are you explaining your love life to me through the works of Homer?”
“Odysseus’s whole purpose in life is to get home to Penelope,” my dad said. “That’s your mom for me.”
Okay, that was actually unbelievably sweet.
Was I going to have to rethink all my theories about my dad? Or worse—go read Homer?
“So,” I said, “what I’m hearing is, the pressure of that conversation is making you clam up.”
My dad nodded, like it was hopeless. “Give me a Cyclops any day of the week. But aconversation? With your mother? I’m doomed.”
I looked down to check my phone. Cooper still hadn’t texted me back, but my mother had.
Sigh, she typed.On my way.
“Dad,” I said, “Mom’s on her way, and I’ve gotta get going.”
“Don’t leave me,” my dad said.
“Maybe this is an opportunity for you,” I said. “Maybe being a little drunk will make it easier to talk to Mom.”
“You think so?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t recommend it on a daily basis. But given the situation… it’s worth a shot.”
He sighed like it was hopeless.
“Talk to her. You’re a marine. You’re great at physical courage. This is emotional courage. It’s the same thing—only harder.”
My dad frowned.
“But that’s what the bourbon is for!” I tried to sound encouraging. “Your inhibitions are down, and she’s on her way. Let all that alcohol fuel you to excellence! Haven’t you read Brené Brown? It’s our vulnerabilities that connect us! Don’t be a tough guy. Be tender! Be desperate! Cry a little if you have to!”
My dad gave me a look like now I’d really gone too far.
I sighed. “Just tell her how you feel, okay?”
My dad didn’t argue with that. He nodded like life had defeated him. “Okay.”
I stood up and grabbed my shoes to go. “You’ve got this!” I said, putting out my fist for a bump. “What Would Odysseus Do?”
My dad didn’t seem to follow my meaning. “Poke out the eye of the Cyclops?”
“No,” I said. “He’dkeep going! He wouldn’t give up. He’d be the hero of his own story, and he’d take Penelope in his arms, and he’d tell her the truth about how much he always loved her.”
“I don’t think theOdysseyis a love story.”
“Maybe that depends,” I said, “on how you read it.”
BY THE TIMEI finally made it to Cooper’s hallway, a full half hour had elapsed—and still no reply text from Cooper. And it wasn’t until I got close to our room that—with a plummet in my chest—I realized why.
Because when I got to our door… there was a sock on the doorknob.
