Henry
“Thanks, buddy,” Dad says, standing motionless in the entryway, staring at Piper.
I clear my throat.
He reanimates.
He leaves his canvas satchel—cooler than a briefcase, he says—on the floor. I guess I’ll put it away later, like I put away the coffee mug he used this morning, along with the jar of hair putty he left on the kitchen counter.
I don’t even know what hair putty does.
Usually, my dad bounces around like a kid who’s slurped down a giant Mountain Dew, but tonight he’s subdued.
He cruises over the table, takes a napkin, and piles leftover fries on it.
Then his gaze returns to Piper. He looks at her like he recognizes her.
Hell, maybe he does. They’ve both lived at the Towers for the last several years, and Sugar Bay is small.
It’s not far-fetched that they might’ve run into one another before tonight.
But if he knows her, why doesn’t he say so?
She boldly returns his stare.
What the fuck is going on?
It’s not like my dad’s being creepy. He’s not checking her out—I’d die—but he’s being really freaking weird. Is he so shocked that I’ve invited a girl over?
“Dad,” I say, breaking the silence.
He wades out of his trance, giving his head a little shake. God, can he ever just be normal?
“This is Piper,” I say. “She lives in the west tower. Piper, my dad, Davis.”
He gets his shit together enough to extend his hand in her direction. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Piper says with a cool nod.
The second she drops his hand, Dad steps back.
I’ve never seen him so uncomfortable. If Piper’s mood hadn’t taken a nosedive in the two minutes since he rolled in, I’d find this all kind of hilarious.
I’ve told her enough about him—his name, where he works, that he’s a single dude living here, at the same complex she lives at.
If she knew him, she would’ve made the connection, right?
Dad leaves the dining room for the kitchen, where he opens the fridge and pulls out a beer.
He pops the top with the opener that, far as I can tell, lives on the countertop near the sink, always at the ready.
Clutching the bottle neck, fries in his other hand, he says, “I’ll leave you two to… whatever it is you’re doing.”
He shifts his gaze toward my SAT prep books, then gives me a disapproving look.
Jesus—he thinks I invited Piper over to study.
He’s probably wondering how he helped produce such a grind of a kid, but by some miracle, he keeps whatever’s going on in his head to himself.
He skirts the perimeter of the dining room, heading toward the hall.
But before he jets, he turns back to ask me, “Fishing tomorrow?”
I shoot Piper a Help me look, but she’s too fascinated by her chipping nail polish to notice.
Defector.
“Okay,” I tell him, only to ensure that he leaves the room.
I wait until he disappears to toss a fry at Piper. “Now I’ve got to spend another day baking in the sun, this time on the open water. Your sister likes to fish, right?”
I get a sympathy laugh, but then she’s on her feet. “I’m going to get going.”
I scramble out of my chair. “Wait. Really?”
She checks the time on her phone, practically running for the door. “Tati will freak if I’m not home soon.”
“But we didn’t talk about—”
“Yeah,” she says with a hand on the knob. “The more I think about it, the less I like the setup idea. It’s not going to work.”
Before I have the chance to try and convince her that yes, of course it’ll work, she’s marching into the hallway.