“Why would I mind? Lots of strangers will be ogling our little treasure soon. Let her have her moment.”
“You rock! Thank you so much.” Kit does a little spin that makes her imbalanced. She catches herself against the counter and grins sheepishly. “So, um, how ’bout now, guys?”
“After dinner,” I growl.
She groans, totally exasperated. “But dinner takesforeverlately.”
“Good food takes time. Again, are you packed yet?”
She scowls and stuffs the rest of the orange in her mouth so she doesn’t have to answer.
“That’s what I thought, little procrastinator,” I say. “Go finish, then maybe Cleo can take you to see the egg when you’re done.Onlywhen you’re done.”
“Fiiine.”
With another eye roll that’s wicked beyond her years, they’re gone, leaving me alone.
It’ll be good for them to spend some time together before this circus ends. Let them both down easy because I can’t do it alone.
I’m not looking forward to the shock, the fallout with my daughter, even if it’s for the best.
If I grit my teeth and keep telling myself that, maybe one day I’ll believe it.
By the time I’ve put the finishing touches on the best beef stew known to man that’s been simmering for hours, they clatter back into the kitchen, talking about the egg and guessing which big-shot VIPs will rush to the museum to see it.
I don’t intrude. I don’t want to ruin one more thing for the bright young woman who’s learned to hate me again.
So I just listen in with my back turned.
I make peace with the two girls I care about most becoming allergic to my reckless ass very soon.
I serve up each heaping bowl with a scoop of rice. I mutter something about how I’ll eat later and start on wiping down the kitchen while they carry on their happy conversation.
“Did you finish packing?” I ask once they’re done and I pick up their plates.
“Yes, Dad. Gah. My bag’s in the hall.” Kit rolls her eyes.
“Pajamas? Underwear? New books, minus the one we talked about?”
“Yeah! Jeez, you’re embarrassing.”
“And I decide if you’re old enough forInto the Wild.Won’t have my daughter running off into the wilderness to starve before she can even drive,” I grumble.
Cleo giggles and instantly covers her mouth. I pretend I don’t notice.
I’m serious about the prep, though. My folks are so used to having Kit around that she has her own toothbrush and everything else she needs at their place. Even if she forgets a few essentials, they’ll probably have it.
Still, it’s important to keep up appearances, to make sure she’s being responsible.
“I’ll take care of the dishes. Why don’t you guys double-check everything?” Cleo says, heading for the sink.
“Sure, thanks,” I say.
She shrugs nonchalantly.
Kit glances between us slowly. Another thing I won’t acknowledge.
I refuse to let anything show on my face as I grab her bag from the hall and bring it down to the car, unzipping it for a quick check. When she isn’t looking, I pull the forbidden Alaskan tragedy book out and replace it with a dog-eared copy ofInky Visits Baja.
