“That surprise you?” Eamon asked. “I love your sister very much. I loved her all those years ago, too. I had to write a song about her.”
“It only surprises me because she was anything but sunny when we were growing up.”
“Can I help with dessert?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.
“Yeah. That'd be great. We'll let the guys get back to their music.”
Luke bussed the dishes first, then Amy and I went to work, unfolding the thawed pastry dough and cutting it into a circle for the baking dish. We were interrupted by her cellphone ringing and buzzing across the counter. Amy wiped her hands clean and picked it up. “Oh, crap. It's Dad." She looked over at the work-in-progress. “I’ll let it go to voicemail."
“What if there's something wrong?”
“Shit.”
I took the phone from her. “I’ll talk to him. You get that thing in the oven.”
Whenever my dad called, I went through a bizarre progression of feelings—excitement and dread, guilt and love. Amy and I adored our dad, but things had not been easy over the years. It wasn't that we felt like he owed us anything for the many times we'd swept in to help him. It was more that it bothered us when he acted as if none of it had ever happened.
“Dad, hi, it's Katherine. Amy can't talk right now. She's cooking.”
“Oh, okay. It's nice to hear your voice, Katie-boo.” My Dad was the only person who'd ever called me by that name. My mother had thought it was idiotic. I liked it purely for sentimentality's sake. “Are you over at her apartment? What's she making?”
I gave him the rundown of the evening and the menu, adding in as many Food Network descriptors as I could.
“Great,” he said. “How's work?”
This was starting to feel like small talk, but that was typical for Dad. “Work is great. I have a new boss and he's kind of a handful, but I'm dealing with it. Otherwise, I'm just busy. Getting used to life at home without Amy. That's taken some adjustment, but I'm getting there.”
She glanced over at me and rolled her eyes.
“You two have always been so close. You had to know it would take some getting used to.”
“Of course. It's just the little things. Like how quiet the apartment can be.” I made the chatterbox gesture with my hands. Amy nodded in agreement and started digging around in the fridge.
“When someone's gone, it's the little things that you'll miss the most.” Dad was being sentimental. I could hear it in his voice. “With your mom, it was the way she used to hum when she was cooking dinner. It got faster and more intense depending on how elaborate the meal was. Thanksgiving, you'd have thought she was conducting a Philharmonic orchestra in there.”
I laughed, which felt good. I couldn't count the number of phone conversations that ended up with one of us crying or at least in a dour mood. “That's cute.”
“Remember when we learned to cook after she passed away?”
“Mrs. Abelman came over and taught us.”
“She offered to bring us meals every day, but I knew we had to learn for ourselves.”
In truth, I learned to cook and Dad watched. He was an old-fashioned guy—his dad had never cooked, so it was a foreign concept to him. I was prepared to help in any way I could. There was a lot of responsibility on my shoulders, but more than anything, I was desperate to find a way to redeem myself. Was I really that evil, awful girl that Grandma Price thought I was? Being a hard worker seemed like the best way to prove I wasn't.
“I don't think I ever want to eat baked chicken again,” I said.
Dad chuckled. “True, true.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I called to talk to Amy about something, but I need to tell you something, too. There's a new lady in my life, Katherine. I've been waiting to tell you because I wasn't sure whether it was serious or not, but it is.”
“Oh, my gosh, Dad. That's wonderful.” I clapped my hand over the phone and whispered to Amy, “He has a girlfriend.” To my knowledge, Dad hadn't dated anyone in the last twenty years.
Amy's eyes got shifty. “You didn't know that?”
“What? You did?”
“Well, yeah.”
I choked back a grumble. “Dad, you told Amy?”
