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Best Birthday Gift Ever
Isabelle
Dad came bombing over, his cheeks bright red. I winced when he lunged at Rust, thinking he was about to take a swing—but I breathed a sigh of relief as Dad embraced Rust in a big, back-slapping bro hug.
“Big fella!” Dad said, sounding legitimately happy.
“Fella! What’s up!” Rust said.
If you’re wondering about the origin of the “fella” thing, y’know, don’t even ask me. I’ve asked before but never gotten a good explanation. All I know is, it’s Dad and Rust’s word for each other, like it’s their pet names or something. It’s a little weird, but kinda cute and endearing at the same time. They have tons of little inside jokes like that because, obviously, they’ve been best friends since they were kids.
Which is why, as I watched them hug, my pulse was still throbbing in my neck.
Because if Dad had arrived asecondlater, I think we would have gotten busted. I could’veswornRust was giving me the look—like he was about to make a move. Ugh, I’d giveanythingfor that salt-and-pepper hunk to wrap his thick arms around me and claim my lips. I’d fantasized about that exact scenario since I was—well, let’s just say since I was way too young to be fantasizing about a guy his age and leave it at that.
Rust patted Dad’s reddened cheeks. “Look at you, bud. You’ve got the furnace cheeks cranked up full blast. You been drinking?”
“OfcourseI’ve been drinking.” Dad laughed and spread his arms wide. “I’m inVegas, baby!”
Rust chuckled. “Welcome to the City of Sin, fella.”
Dad broke away from Rust and turned to me. “Hi, sweetie! Happy birthday!” When he hugged me, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. Dad wasn’t a big drinker by any means, so that struck me as a little weird—but then again, the manwasin Vegas, I guess, which is all the excuse some people need to go crazy.
Dad took a step back. “Wow, look at you, Izzy. You’re more and more beautiful every time I see you. Isn’t she gorgeous, Rust?”
Rust didn’t dare look my way. He was getting some “furnace cheeks” of his own, and I knew why.
“I was just telling Isabelle how lucky she is she got Eleanor’s looks,” he said. “She could’ve inherited your big ol’ Italian schnoz.”
Ah, yes—be warned—the “fellas”loveto give each other shit. It’s how hockey players show their love for each other, apparently.
Dad laughed. “Hey, fuck you, man.”
“How is Eleanor, anyway?” Rust asked.
Dad looked distant as he scanned the suite. “Ele? She’s fine.”
“Why didn’t she make the trip?” Rust asked.
“Ah, she couldn’t get her shifts at the hospital covered.”
Mom called me earlier today to wish me happy birthday and we talked for a bit. She was really sorry she couldn’t make it, but something about our conversation seemed a little strange. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. Dad only came to Vegas for a few days—she couldn’t get what, two or three shifts covered?
“Bummer. Maybe she can make the next trip,” Rust said.
“Yeah, maybe. We’ll see.” Changing subjects, Dad reached out and touched Rust’s short, neatly styled hair. “So what’s with all the grey? You can dye that, you know.”
“No, don’t!” I yelped impulsively.
Whoops,I thought, resisting the urge to slap a hand over my mouth.Maybe don’t be so obvious.
Dad turned to me, an eyebrow raised. “No? You don’t think he should dye it?”
“Dyeing all the time is a pain. Besides, why hide it? I think it suits him.”
Dad chuckled. “Well,Ithink it makes him look old.”
“It’s true. I’m a little greyer these days.” Rust poked a finger into Dad’s potbelly. “And you’ve put on a few pounds since the last time I saw you, fella.”
