AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You should have called me to pick you up from the train station,” he says sternly.
“I already told you. I thought you were at work.”
Dad gives me a mildly disapproving look, then reaches up to touch the side of my head. “You want me to fix your hair?”
I let out a breath. I don’t even want to know what my hair looks like after a night of tossing and turning on a synthetic leather seat. “Sure.”
“Go get a brush.”
I go fetch one from my bathroom, then return and sit down on the floor in front of Dad. For my entire childhood, Dad did my hair every single day. He went out of his way to learn intricate hairstyles that made me the envy of all the girls at school. Obviously, I do my own hair now, but occasionally he’ll still offer to do it. I always accept.
“How was Audrey?” he asks, freeing my scrunchie from my tangles.
My eyes slip closed. I might fall asleep right here. “She’s good. She’s close to getting her license to do hair, and she’s already been offered a full-time position at the salon she’s been assisting at.”
“Good for her. You girls have fun?”
“Yeah.” I pause, toying with my fingers in my lap. “Delia is pregnant.”
“Really? How old is she?” Dad is always very concerned about people having kids too young. I’ve never asked, but I assume it’s because he was only twenty when I was born.
“Twenty-five, I think? She’s married.”
Dad hums his begrudging approval. I can feel him sectioning off my hair. “French braid okay?”
“Sure.”
“You’re still on the pill, right, Zay-Zay?”
I wince. “Dad.”
“I’m not asking for details. I’m just checking.”
“Yes, I’m on the pill.” Not that I need it right now. I haven’t had sex in about six months, ever since I broke up with Drew, my first and only boyfriend. But I’m not going to get into that with my dad.
It seems like a natural place to segue into asking about my mother. I don’t ask anymore because Dad has never been receptive to it. Dad and I are so open with each other about everything else; I’ve never been sure how to handle the one topic that makes him shut down. The things I know about my mother can be counted on my fingers: her first name is Marie. She’s white and from Texas. She and my dad met in college and got pregnant within a few months. They never married.
Azaleas are her favorite flowers, or at least they used to be. She left when I was two.
That’s all I know.
I must take too long forming my question, because just as it starts to leave my lips, he’s tying off the braid and flicking it over my shoulder. “Done. Go lay down. What time are you leaving?”
I’m equal parts relieved and disappointed that I didn’t get the chance to broach the topic. “Probably around noon,” I say, ambling to my feet. “My class is at one-thirty.”
“I’ll pack up some food for you to take.”
I smile. As an only child, Dad was personally tasked by his mother with learning and eventually passing down the recipes she brought with her when she left Cuba in the 1970s. I know how to make most of them, but there’s rarely a need. Dad is in the habit of making big batches and then loading me down with Tupperware every time I leave his house. “Okay, Daddy. Thanks.”
I let him kiss my forehead and shoo me out the door. In my room, I pull the curtains closed and collapse on the bed. I’m tired enough that I should fall asleep immediately, but for a couple of minutes, I just stare at the ceiling, thinking.
Then I grab my phone and open the web browser. It’s still showing the sales page for the DNA test that I looked up last night. At the time, I thought maybesomedayI would order one; maybesomedayit would help me find answers, if Dad truly planned to take them to his grave.
I’m not sure what has shifted between then and now, but something has. A wave of determination overtakes me, and before I can second-guess myself, I place an order.
Chapter Two
Maverick
