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“She was here yesterday but forgot my records,” he says, sitting down, suddenly looking disappointed and having nothing to say about the motel.
Did you hear about the motel, Dad?
He schools his expression quickly, transforming that mien into a cool and level grin—his sales smile. I’ve always adored it. Everyone seems enthusiastic to absorb his words when he smiles just. Like. That. “So, tell me,” he says through that pleasant curve, “have you read my book yet?”
I look at his fingers, clasped together on the table, massaging each other in a way that suggests it is uncomfortable for him to hold them stationary.
Maybe they are shaking?
I look at his face again. “It hasn’t arrived,” I admit, thinking about how his autobiography is probably being scrolled for evidence, lessons in corruption hidden in the brilliant prose. “Do you need anything? Can I get—"
His face is tight again, but smiling—I swallow, uncertainty sitting in my stomach as he assures me, “Your mother should bring me these things.”
“She told me that she came yesterday?”
“She did. She did. She just, ah…” He glances around, his eyes hitting the clock for a brief moment, before saying, “Forgot that I wanted my records. I asked her twice.”
“Okay.” I lean in, wanting to help. “Well, I can bring—”
“No. No. It’s her job.” He gives me his attention again. “I’ll call her, Kaya. You have more important things to do. Like, deciding what to study next year. You can’t take another gap year. What degree will you get?”
I don’t know.
How will we afford it now?
He leans back into the plastic chair, and without his suit, his golden watch, and his diamond-like smile, he seems…less rosy.This place is already changing him… “Dad, you don’t look very well.”
“Daddy is feeling a little out of sorts, actually.” Then he reaches across and puts his hand over mine. It’s cold. “Do you mind if we cut this short? I’ve got some very important things to organise.”
I nod, happy to give him whatever he needs, ‘cause I’m his buddy, but my stomach stirs with insincerity.What does he have to do in here?“Okay. Well, we only have—”
He rises quickly, saying, “Thank you for understanding, sweetheart. You are wise beyond your years.”
—fifteen minutes anyway.
Then he gives me that look—the admiration, the praise-filled curve that shines less remarkably today. “You know, you’re the thing I’m most impressed with. Your existence.”
I smile, my heart like a balloon, one with a little leak that I ignore. “Thanks, Dad.”
I watch each step he takes from me, assessing whether they are sad or hesitant, forcing meaning into his gait when I know it’s the same as always.
Maybe a little slower…
Maybe a little pained…
No. It’s the familiar walk that leads him away from me and to other more important things.
CHAPTERTEN
kaya
I squintinto the sun from under the shade of my large white floppy hat as Kenno backflips into the motel pool, the mass of him splashing water onto the brown pavers.
I’m in my favourite red bikini, iced tea by my side, normality so close, and yet—I glance around, seeing the overgrown bushes littered with discharged beer bottles—so fucking distant I can’t even squint to catch a glimpse of it.
When will I adapt, Xander?
It’s been three days.
