Sizzle

Chapter 24

Joelle

The phone chirps again from its perch on the charging deck in Connie’s kitchen and it makes me want to scream. I don’t dare turn it off. Despite the fact that Dad won’t talk to me right now, I’d never forgive myself if there was an emergency and I missed the call.

He’s got his own ringtone, so I know it’s not him this time. No, that particular chime got programmed in for the two men whose names I refuse to say.

I don’t check the text, which I expect will be about the tenth one today asking me whether I’m okay.

I’m not, and they both know it, so I don’t bother to answer.

Instead, I’m working. It’s not the kind of work I really get paid for, unfortunately, but it’s the work I love. At least, I loved it when I started, but this damn pastry dough keeps bricking up on me.

You’d think with as cold as it is right now, I’d have no trouble keeping my fingers cool enough to work the butter in properly, but I still keep mucking it up somehow. I mull the time it’ll take to switch recipes for this week’s post. I could just give it up and go watch TV like a normal human, but I won’t. I can’t.

If I stop moving, I’ll break.

The blog’s been coasting by on pre-scheduled posts and reruns of old favorites, but now that I’m once again unemployed, there’s no excuse not to get back to posting regularly. There’s still a lot of engagement in the comments and plenty of traffic, which is reassuring. Maybe only most of my life has gone to shit, not all of it like I thought.

I really hate the pitying voice in my own head, but makes for a nice change from the all the crying.

The doorbell rings and I pitch the lump of useless flour in the trash on my way to answer it. Connie didn’t tell me she was expecting a delivery or anything, but I better at least look. Force of habit compels me to check the peephole before opening the door, and thank God.

It’s not the post office. It’s my dad.

I blink a few times, unconvinced. Nope, he’s still there. I yank open the door.

“Dad,” I say. He gives me a small smile.

“Hey Jo,” he says. “How are you?”

Jesus. Small talk? But I guess it’s a step. I pull the door all the way open and gesture him in.

“Come on in,” I say. “Before we both freeze.”

I close the door behind him as he shucks off his coat. He looks good. More… robust than the last time I saw him. Somebody’s been feeding him well.

“How are you doing?” I ask him, after we both sit down in the living room.

“I’m… good,” he says, so thoughtfully that I believe him.

“That’s good to hear.”

“How are you, Jo?” he asks again. “You didn’t answer me before.”

“I’m…” The question almost makes me laugh. I don’t even know how to begin to answer him. “I’m okay.”

“Staying busy, I guess. With the job and everything.”

“Do you want something to drink?” I say by way of answering. I stand up, ready for any excuse to leave the room and avoid that question.

“I’m okay, thanks. You don’t have to wait on me,” he says, his eyebrows coming down.

“If you’re looking for Connie—”

“Damn it, Joelle,” he says, startling me. He grabs my hand and tugs me to sit on the couch. “I’m not here to be waited on and I’m not here to see Connie. I came here to apologize.”

I swallow but don’t respond.

“Look,” he says, rubbing his hands together for warmth or to work out his nerves, I can’t tell which. “I owe you an apology. You said some reasonable things the other day—” he holds up a hand to stave off my protest. “You did. I couldn’t listen to it at the time, but you were right.”

“Um, thanks.” This is unexpected, to say the least. “Are you okay, Dad? Should I be worried?”

He snorts. “Connie said you wouldn’t believe me.”

Say what? Dad catches my confusion and sighs.

“Connie came to see me yesterday,” he said. “She hasn’t been over since you… um, started staying here with her.”

“Since you kicked me out,” I say, since apparently I’m not over being childish just yet.

Dad’s cheeks darken and I regret my immaturity right away. He’s here, and we’re talking, and he’s already said I’m right. Why pour salt in the wound?

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. “What else did Connie say?”

He laughs a little. “What didn’t that woman say? Let me put it this way,” he says, half a smile on his face. “There’s only six words I never use, and she used every one of them on me yesterday. Twice.”

My eyebrows hit my hairline. “She called you a—”

“Think again, young lady,” he says with a glare. “Just because she said them doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Anyway,” he continues. “Connie reminded me of a few points that maybe I hadn’t really considered until the two of you brought them to my attention.”

“Okay.” I still can’t believe he let Connie talk to him like that.

Dad clears his throat and looks away.

“Specifically, that you were right. It’s my life, my recovery. If I don’t take ownership of it, who will?”

Relief hits me so hard that tears are falling before I even realize they were ever coming on. Dad jolts at the sudden outburst of emotion.

“Oh, honey, please don’t,” he says. He hates to see me cry even under normal circumstances. I don’t want to make him feel helpless again, not when he finally seems to realize he’s not, so I breathe through it and blot the tears away with the back of my hands.

It’s another minute or two before I find my voice.

“Do you mean it?”

Dad nods. “I talked with Jim and Jessica. They’re going to help me work on getting out of the house more. We’ve already started having sessions at the gym across the street.”

I throw my arms around him, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer.

“I’m so glad,” I whisper. “I’m so proud of you.”

I hear a discreet sniffle somewhere near my shoulder as he pats me on the back. I squeeze him hard one more time then let him go, smiling as I dry my eyes this time.

“So do you think you can stand living with your old man a little while longer?”

I reach over to squeeze his hand.

“I’d be glad to,” I say, meeting his eyes. “But only for a little while this time, I think. Will you help me find an apartment?”

His surprise is obvious.

“If that’s what you want,” he says.

“I think it’s time,” I tell him. “You don’t need me around all day every day anymore.”

“And you’ll be busy with work and school, too, soon enough,” he says, nodding slowly. He smiles. “I hope you know you’re welcome back home any time. I’ll keep your room ready, just in case apartment life doesn’t suit you.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I lean in for another bear hug.

“I have to say, I was surprised when Connie told me you’d be here today. Did your schedule at the restaurant change?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I say, fixing my gaze out the window. “I, um… I don’t work there anymore.”

“What? Are you kidding?”

I shake my head. “It just… it didn’t work out.”

“What does that mean? Did you get fired?”

“No,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around my body. “We just… we weren’t a good fit.”

Of all the lies I’ve ever told in my life—and I like to think there aren’t that many, but I mean in my whole, whole life, ever—I suspect this one is the biggest.

“Bullshit,” says Dad. I actually laugh.

Because he’s right. That’s about the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard, much less uttered. Nothing and nobody fit together like me and that kitchen.

Except Elliot and Alex and me. But clearly I was lying to myself about that, too.

I squeeze my arms tighter.

“It’s okay,” I tell Dad. “I made enough contacts at Duckbill, so I shouldn’t have a problem finding more work.”

Dad’s shaking his head at me. I can tell he wants to argue, but he doesn’t want to upset me all over again.

“If you say so,” he says. We sit in silence for a minute, then Dad speaks up again.

“So Connie mentioned something about your boyfriend. Anything you want to tell me?”

This time when I burst into tears, I can’t make it stop.