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Chapter One
MATT
Pulling the last sheet of cling wrap tightly across the doorway, I smooth out the wrinkles and tape it in place. Eva will never see this coming.
I check the lighting in the hallway, then retreat to the end to set up the tripod and camera. The remote control I bought last summer will make triggering the video easy. I peer at the screen, framing the door perfectly in a vertical orientation. Then I tiptoe down the stairs.
I have years of experience pranking my family, but that mostly ended when Judy and I got married. She didn’t appreciate my brand of comedy—at least not when she was the victim. But after Judy left, I let my inner prankster loose. Fortunately, my daughter Eva shares my sense of humor.
The key to a good prank is not giving it away in advance. I need to pretend this is just any other morning.
Hoping she’s forgotten the date, I tromp back up the stairs at my usual pace, pausing outside her door. I knock three times, as always, then twist the knob and shove it inward. “Time to get up, sleepyhead.”
Vague muttering issues from the dark room.
“You have to drive back to Eugene today. I made pancakes for your last breakfast!”
More muttering. “Coming.”
Holding back a snicker, I retreat toward the stairs and hit the record button on the remote.
The door swings wider, and Eva ducks under the plastic wrap. She straightens, rolls her eyes at me, then waves a hand at the camera. “Very funny, Dad. You tried that my senior year, remember?” Her yellow Tweety Bird pajamas add a splash of bright color to the dim hall.
I groan. “I hoped you’d forget. It’s been two years since you were home on April Fool’s Day.”
She bares her teeth in an almost feral grin. “You’ve lost your touch, old man. I’ll be down in a minute.” She strides across the hall.
And bounces off the plastic wrap stretched across the bathroom door.
A cackle of laughter bursts out of me, and I sag against the wall. “You should see your face—oh, wait, you will as soon as I load that on the TikTok. And the Instagram. And the SnapChat.” I add “the” to the names because I know it drives her crazy. Wiping a tear from my cheek, I click the stop button on my remote. “That was perfect!”
“It was perfect.” She lunges down the hall, ripping the phone from the tripod. “But not if I delete it first!”
I give myself a dramatic head slap and hurry toward her. “No, don’t do that! I never get you. Leave an old man his tiny victories.”
She holds the phone away from me as I try to grab it. “I’m sure you’ll tell everyone about it. But without evidence, no one will believe you.” Turning her back to shield the phone, she presses the home button, but the screen doesn’t unlock. I stretch around her, but my fingers miss the device. With a mock glare, she types in a passcode, but it doesn’t work. She huffs out an exasperated sigh and tries a different code. The phone unlocks. “Ha!”
I let my shoulders sag. “You’re right. Gimme the phone and I’ll delete it.”
“Not a chance. I’m doing this myself.” She flicks into the photo app and deletes the video.
I hold out a hand, but she waggles a finger at me. “Nope. Not done yet.” She swipes into Google Photos and deletes the automatic backup copy, too. “Too bad you taught me all your tricks, Dad.”
“That’s what a good father does. You’d think a good daughter would leave him one copy of his best prank in years.”
She grins again and hands the phone back. “Not gonna happen.”
I pocket it and head down the stairs. “In that case, you can take down the plastic wrap yourself.”
She chuckles. “You wish. I’m outta here in an hour or two, remember? I can duck under it in the meantime.”
“It will still be here when you come back in June, then.” As I return to the kitchen, the bathroom door clicks shut. I wouldn’t really leave the plastic up until the end of the school year, and she won’t either. Since her mother left two years ago, we’ve pranked each other more often, but we’ve also developed a much more adult relationship. Eva works hard to fill the void when she’s home.
Judy walked out the week after Eva graduated from high school. She told us her job here was done. She’d never been the most nurturing of mothers—I was the one who attended school conferences, concerts, and field trips. My professional life offered more flexibility and less earning power, so it made sense. But the cold way in which she’d announced her departure still burned—more on Eva’s behalf than from any lingering sense of personal loss. We’d stopped being a couple many years before but had continued to live in the same house. I’d long suspected Judy stayed because she felt an obligation to our daughter, and at the end, she made it crystal clear that was her only reason.
I pour some batter into the sizzling electric skillet and sprinkle chocolate chips across the top. While the batter cooks, I unlock my phone and tap the Dropbox icon. Ha! The old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve. I upload the video to TikTok—an account created solely to embarrass my darling daughter—and add some text and a catchy song. Post.
Humming the melody I just uploaded, I flip the pancakes and put plates on the table. I pour maple syrup into a small pitcher to microwave it, then pull the bacon from the oven.
