Chapter Forty #3
He hadn't been a good father for most of my life. But he had been trying for a long time. To recover what was left in the wreckage, to glue bits back together, to polish it up.
I had been trying too. To not let that hurt little girl control how I conduct myself with regard to him. I guess I had some more work to do also.
"Well, you can tell him that I am fine. And that I will be home as soon as I can to catch up with him."
"You don't think he's going to have follow-up questions?" he asked.
He was right.
My father would not rest until he had answers.
And Barrett knew just enough to have my father showing up here, screwing everything up, taking away my chance to prove myself.
To those people.
But also to myself.
If I were being honest, I was in desperate need of the confidence boost.
It had been a rough couple of months.
"What would it take for you not to tell him where you found me?"
"He's my client, not you."
"Everyone can be bought. What do you want? Maid service for a year? Someone to hold your hand during a sad movie? Moral support while you get a prostate exam?"
"I'm a little young for a prostate exam."
"Movie buddy?"
"Maid." The declaration almost seemed to take him by surprise, despite being the one saying it.
"You've been to my place. I'm sure you've noticed that I'm not the neatest of people in the world. But I can do some basic straightening up."
"Are you afraid of birds?"
"Oookay. Weird change of topics," I decided, climbing off the bed when headlights beamed into the window.
"A lot of people are afraid of birds."
"Well, a lot of people are forced to watch that Hitchcock movie in middle school," I agreed, pulling open the door as a middle-aged guy climbed out of his car, going around to the passenger side to pull out an insulated bag with our pizza and my knots in it.
"Did you have to watch The Birds in school?
" I asked the delivery guy as I took the boxes and handed over the cash.
"I, ah, don't remember," he admitted, shrugging. "Thanks," he added, heading back to his car.
"I had to watch it. I was kind of rooting for the birds, to be honest. The more you know people, the more you think the birds' desire to peck their eyes out was admirable.
Anyway, no. I'm not afraid of birds. I used to have lovebirds when I was little.
They hated me but loved each other. They had birdie sex all the time.
Though, I'm pretty sure they were both boys.
Bert and Ernie," I told him, coming back to the bed with the pizza.
"Which is really fitting if you think about it. "
"Fitting how?" he asked, looking like he was dealing with a little whiplash. Sometimes, when I was new to people, that was a common reaction.
"Bert and Ernie. They were totally not just roommates, y'know?"
"I think you're giving a children's show too much analysis."
"Please," I told him, rolling my eyes. "Have you ever rewatched a children's show or movie as an adult?
They're full of sexual jokes that went right over our heads.
Ew, get your pepperoni off my slice," I grumbled, knowing it was going to have the taste leftover still.
I was picky about my pizza, and utterly unapologetic about my strong feelings.
"Anyway, where were we?" I asked when he picked the piece off, popping it into his mouth, leaving his lower lip a little greasy.
"Oh, right. Birds. Why? Do you have a bird? "
"I share custody of a blue and gold macaw."
"What? With an ex?" I asked, trying to picture the quiet, serious, a little unkempt man in a relationship, finding myself wondering what kind of girl he would be into?
Ones like him? Geeky, gamer girls? Girls who slathered themselves in blue paint and strapped on a tail to hit the sci-fi conventions?
"With a, ah, acquaintance."
"Right. I totally share custody of long-lived creatures with my casual acquaintances..."
"Why didn't you get the dog?"
"Excuse me?" I asked over a mouthful of skin-peeling cheese and sauce.
"The adoption form. Why didn't you finish filling it out?"
"I filled it out when I was very sure about my future. But then things changed. I didn't want to make that kind of commitment until I was sure about it. I hate when people impulsively get a pet, then end up giving it back. They're a commitment. Like having a kid."
"What changed?"
"So, if I clean for you, you will not tell my father where you found me?" I asked, changing the conversation, not wanting to talk about it.
I never talked about it.
I couldn't talk about it.
I had never told anyone the plan because I wanted it to be a happy surprise.
But then I failed. In spectacular fashion.
And nothing seemed less appealing than talking about my failure. I'd rather get a bikini wax from someone with the shakes while listening to them tell me about how the Keto diet changed their life.
"I have to tell him I found you," he clarified.
"Right," I agreed, deflating a little, not sure which way his moral compass pointed, if he was willing to lie to someone paying him to do a job.
"You've been here for months. Are you any closer to getting what you came here for?
" he asked, his gaze boring into my profile as I pointedly looked away.
I didn't think my eyes were mood rings like his were, but I wasn't taking any chances.
I had a feeling that if anyone could catch me in a lie, it would be him.
"I don't know," I admitted, moving on to my second slice, hoping it gave me an excuse not to answer fully.
The fact of the matter was, I wasn't. I didn't want to admit that, not even to myself. But I was getting nowhere. All I was accomplishing was getting increasingly worried about my apartment being empty, my mom wondering why I hadn’t shown up for the ladies' brunch she had with her sisters and a few of her friends I had always known as aunts.
Things were slipping away. And for no solid reason.
"So why be here? Go home."
And lie to my father about where I had been, why I had been there.
I couldn't claim to that my own moral compass pointed due north. I had lied before. I had lied to my parents before. Maybe even doubly so with my father because his overprotectiveness chafed at my adolescent need for some freedom.
I didn't tell him when I was going to an illegal party in the woods behind the high school my junior year.
I didn't tell him when I dated the leather-jacket-wearing bad boy in high school he told me to stay away from, the guy who'd taken my virginity and promptly lost my number.
I didn't tell him when I had chosen to minor in something in college he would not have approved of. I didn't tell him a lot.
I could not tell him about this.
I could make up some story about having a slightly late quarter-life crisis, running away from everything.
If I were vague enough, he might believe me.
He would probably just be so relieved that I didn't end up stolen off the street, stuck on a ship, and trafficked like he had been worried could happen to me that he wouldn't press too much.
"So, what kind of cleaning will I be doing? Do I need to dust your beer can pyramid?"
"Cleaning up my office," he told me.
"Your office gets that messy?"
"I spend more time there than at home."
"Alright, fine. I can clean your office. What are the parameters? Once a week?"
"That'll do," he agreed as I went for another slice.
"And you won't say anything about the Turkish mob?" I asked.
"Nope."
"Alright," I agreed. It seemed fair. I mean, his office looked like a shoebox.
How much cleaning could there be to do? And even if he had dust bunnies dating back to the eighties hanging around, it would still be worth it to not have my father on my ass about staying away from dangerous people and all that nonsense.
"We have a deal," I told him, throwing my bag over my shoulder, and reaching for the last slice of pizza before making my way to the door. "I'll see you back in Navesink Bank."