“Someone isverytouchy about losing to a girl,” I pant.
His eyebrows jump. Sweat pours from his brow, and when he grabs the hem of his shirt to mop his forehead, I get a flash of about thirty-eight perfectly defined ab muscles.What a waste of a man.
The brief distraction is my literal downfall. Before I can register what he’s doing, he’s reached over and pushed theEMERGENCY STOPbutton. In my fight to stay upright, I almost miss his parting words:
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,Princess.”
On the last Wednesday of February I get a call from my dad, “just checking in,” as he always says. It’s around the same time every month, so I’m pretty sure he calendarizes it.
My relationship with my dad looks something like this: My grandparents have a nickname for churchgoers who only show up on Christmas and Easter: Chreasters. As in, “We need to get to the service early because all the Chreasters will take up the good seats.” Well, for the first half of my life, I had a Chreaster father. When he was in college, I only saw him during holiday and summer breaks. He was a visitor, a guest, a blurry figure occasionally dropped into my memories. For me, dads felt about as real as Santa Claus.
After he graduated, he took a job in sales that required constant travel. While Nashville was technically his home base, I rarely saw him except for the occasional meals or outings my mom would force me to endure. Rinse and repeat. By the time I reached middle school and he decided he was ready to be more involved, the damage was done. Still, our relationship improved some—just in time for him to get transferred to North Carolina for his job.
It used to be that I could count on seeing him over the holidays, but that changed when I was in high school and he met and married Melanie, ten years his junior—and only eight years my senior. I get along withher fine—the fact that we’re so close in age makes things both easier and more awkward—and four years ago they had their first daughter, Alexis, and recently, baby girl number two, Annabelle.
It’s weird to have toddler half sisters at age twenty-seven, especially when all I’d wished for growing up was a sibling. I haven’t met the new baby yet, but Alexis, the four-year-old, is adorable and I love her to pieces. Since I don’t get to see them very often, I’m more like the cool aunt than a sister. Still, I do the requisite things to stay connected: gifts on birthdays and Christmas, FaceTime calls where we play virtual Barbies, polite fawning over the photos Melanie texts me. No one can say I abandon my family members.
I love my dad. I do. If anyone saw us together, they’d never guess the truth of our thorny relationship. We rarely discuss it, but it’s always there, hovering like a rain cloud, felt like a phantom limb.
Our check-in goes as it usually does—I ask after my sisters and Melanie while he digs for insider details on some of the more scandalous recent headlines. He loves to talk politics, and while he leans conservative, I enjoy our debates because he’s such a good sparring partner; he’s one of the few who can stump me. When we say goodbye, it feels too quick.
What I don’t say:Until next month, Dad.
“Sounds good. Yep, we’ll talk more next week. Thanks so much, Paul.”
I hang up and do a little victory dance in the middle of my office. John’s tip about Senator Moreno is looking more promising by the day, resulting in a meeting next week to discuss a vote swap.Maybe the tide is finally turning.
“Good news?”
“Omigod!” I shriek, jumping a mile. I whirl around and see Ben lurking in my doorway like some sort of cat burglar. “You havegottostop just appearing out of nowhere. You could have given me a heart attack!” My heart hammers against my ribs as if to confirm my statement. “How is someone your size so stealthy, anyway?”
“I’m a gentle giant.”
I almost laugh but manage to hold it in. “Why are you here? I’m not in the mood for a confrontation.” I won’t let anyone rain on my parade tonight.
He ducks through the door, instantly displacing all the air in the room and taking up what feels like every inch of available space. I hate that he’s intimidating me in my own office.
“I was just leaving and saw your light on. How late do you usually stay?”
“Why? Planning on robbing me?”
He rolls his eyes. “Just answer the question, Katherine.”
Katherine.A faint buzzing sound builds in my ear, like feedback from a broken power cable. “Am I in trouble,Benjamin?”
He doesn’t answer, just stands there with one eyebrow cocked.
I sigh. “It depends on the night. Six, seven o’clock? Probably the same as you.”
“How do you get home?”
“With my feet.” I give him anAre you an idiot?look. “I walk.”
“You walk home alone, in the dark, every night?” He sounds incredulous. “Do you at least carry a weapon? Mace? A Swiss Army knife? Anything?”
I blink at him, bewildered.Is this some kind of joke?
He holds up a finger. “Wait, let me guess. You’ll defend yourself with your sharp tongue and cutting remarks.”
