Fourth Comings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [92]
“I’m touched by your concern,” he said. “And it meant a lot to me that you came out here to see your old man in the hospital. But I’m fine. And I promised to meet the guys from the club….”
“Okay,” I said, wondering if I should so much as acknowledge how much last night meant to me. I didn’t have to wonder for long.
“I enjoyed our conversation last night, though I’m afraid I’m not much of a storyteller.” He thrusted his chin as he clicked the strap on his helmet. “That talent must have skipped a generation.”
“You weren’t too boring,” I said, keeping it light. “I kept asking questions.”
A smile softened his hard-boiled face. “Ah, Jessie,” he said, taking my face in his wrist-guarded hands. “You’ve always had more questions than I’ve had answers.”
And before I got a chance to get all sentimental, he handed me an unopened jar of Skippy peanut butter. I mention the brand only because buying nongeneric is a luxury to me.
“I give you permission to take this home with you,” he said. “And you can have the whole-wheat pasta, and the Cap’n Crunch that I bought for you, anyway. And I think there’s a small box of laundry detergent….”
“Uh, okay….”
“This way you aren’t stealing from us.”
I was so mortified that I couldn’t even muster a denial. I did indeed ransack their pantry the last time I visited. But I only took items that they had in excess, that I thought they wouldn’t miss.
“It’s okay,” my dad said, handing me a few rolls of toilet paper. (Charmin! My ass will be so happy!) “Just ask next time. Don’t ever feel like you can’t ask us for help.”
He was almost at the door when I had a flash of insight, of inspiration.
“Hey, Dad!”
“Yeah?”
“Darling’s Designs for Leaving needs a website,” I said, slightly overzealous. “You should totally design it for Mom.”
“You think?” he asked, stroking his helmet in consideration.
“She’d appreciate your help.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said. “Thanks, Notso Darling.”
And with those parting words and a smile, he was off on another two-wheeled adventure.
Not a minute later, my mom came downstairs, fully coiffed, made up, and dressed in an embroidered linen tunic over caramel-colored pants. I must admit, she looked pretty great. Polyurethaned, but pretty great.
“Dad just left,” I said. “On his bike.” I waited for her to express concern, verbally if not facially.
“Typical,” she muttered. “So what time are you going back today?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I think the buses leave every hour….”
“Are you ready to go right now?” she asked. “I can take you right now. Otherwise, unless your father breaks tradition and comes home early, you’ll have to wait until this afternoon.”
My mom was tapping her keys against the countertop. She had somewhere more important to be. I felt like an unwelcome distraction.
“Give me five minutes to get dressed and brush my teeth,” I said, already headed to the bathroom.
“Okay,” she said, grabbing her bag as she headed to the garage.
It didn’t occur to me until my mouth was rabid with toothpaste that I hadn’t even thought to mention her shotgun wedding. More significant, my mom hadn’t grilled me in such a manner that would have revealed the content of last night’s conversation. Nor was there an intense investigation to uncover your proposal, Bethany’s request for legal guardianship, my bombed job interview, the awkwardness with Hope, Bridget and Percy’s wedding deferment, Manda and Shea’s breakup, Scotty and Sara’s baby, even the crack-of-dawn pot-smoking girls next door. Back in the day, she would have interrogated me on these topics without even extending me the courtesy of a “Good morning!” But my mother had shown not one iota of interest in my life, nor in the lives of those who overlap it. For years, I had made fun of my mother for living for such gossip, living through me. But her indifference made clear to me this morning what must have dawned on Dad months ago: She was living just fine without me.
Though my father had done the talking last night, I had learned so much more