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I scrub the pots, pans, and serving platters before drying them and putting them away in the cabinets where they belong. Once everything is cleaned up, I lean against the counter and eye Raffy, who’s been watching patiently the whole time. “Fine, you want a biscuit?”
I grab one out of the cookie jar and sit on the floor, my back to the wall. Raffy climbs in my lap, taking the treat daintily and eating messily while I scratch behind his ears.
I don’t know how long I sit there with Raffy in my lap, but after a bit, I hear Riley call me. “Noah? Can you come here?”
“Guess that’s my cue, Raffy. Wish me luck,” I tell the fluffball. He rumbles in displeasure at being disturbed and having his scratches stopped but trails after me to the living room.
Riley is sitting on the couch, her phone propped up on the coffee table in front of her. Pointing at it, she tells me, “Come say hi to my dad. Dad, this is Noah. Noah, this is my dad, Joseph.”
I sit down, leaving a small space between my thigh and Riley’s, and tell the man on the screen, “Good to see you again, Mr. Watson.”
Joseph Watson is a formidable man, even on a small screen. His blond hair has gone grey at the temples and his blue eyes are surrounded by crow’s feet, but the width of his shoulders says he’ll defend his little girl to the death if need be. I hope it’s not needed at all.
“Noah! Good to see you too, though I’m sure I’ve told you to call me Joseph,” he says with a slight lift of his lips.
It’s a dominance test, same as any other. I dip my chin respectfully. “Of course, Joseph.”
His smile lifts incrementally. “So, Riley tells me you two are dating now? And that River got a little handsy?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle, sir,” I say formally.
He chuckles. “River will tell it differently, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure by the time he’s done, it’ll sound like he beat the shit out of me, leaving me for dead in a pool of my own blood,” I agree.
“Yeah, he’s good like that. Look, I’ve got a meeting to rush into.” Joseph holds up a finger to someone offscreen. “I’ll just say my piece . . .” His voice goes slow and deadly. “Don’t hurt my little girl or I’ll have to hurt you. And I know people, Son. People with a particular set of skills. They’ll never find your body.” Then he smiles brightly as if that never happened, and I realize he was half-joking with the Liam Neeson reference. “But really? I’ve known you for years, Noah, and you’ve always done right by River, so I wouldn’t expect anything less with Riley.”
“Dad! All the threats and innuendoes are not necessary,” Riley argues.
“Understood, Mr. Watson.”
“You kids behave,” he says. “’Bye, honey. ’Bye, Noah.”
Riley is still rolling her eyes as she tells her dad goodbye, but I understand the protective streak in him. I’ve got one myself . . . for my mom, sister, and now, Riley. “’Bye, Joseph.”
And then the call is disconnected.
“Oh, my gosh, I’m sorry about that. What is it with guys and all the chest beating, argh-argh-argh stuff?” Riley complains.
I shrug, unconcerned. “Who we are, Sunshine. Like asking you not to smile. Just can’t be helped. It’s what we do.”
She sighs and reclines on the couch. The bath can wait while I have her at my side once more.
“How’d that go?” I test. The end seemed okay, but I don’t know what Riley had to do or say to get it to that point.
“He was disappointed that he wasn’t here since it was a whole thing, but he’s happy for me.”
“What was it like? Having him here sometimes but gone so much?” I ask carefully. This isn’t the first thing her father has missed out on.
“I guess I never really knew any other way for it to be,” Riley says, smiling a little. “I mean, I saw what some of my other friends had with their dads around all the time, so there were times I did get a little jealous. Dad missed a few of my firsts. He missed my first steps when he was in Krakow, Mom says. And he missed my first day of school—he was in Kenya. My driver’s license, he was in Seoul.”
“That’s a lot of firsts.”
Riley looks contemplative, remembering years gone by. “Yeah, but you know what I remember most? All the ways that he helped prepare me for those firsts. Like my first day of school . . . he might have been in Kenya, but before he went, he and I went out shopping to buy a special backpack. We went through the whole routine, practiced it—packing my backpack so I wouldn’t forget my lunch, walking to school, and coming home and putting my stuff away. And he was the one who taught me how to really drive.”
