Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
DANNY
F rankie was trying to bait me when she asked if I’d ever forgive Dad, but she had a point. I haven’t been brave enough to face him and tell him how I feel. Not once, not ever. I’ve done exactly what Ava said she’d done: build barriers between Dad and me. And for exactly the same reason: to protect myself. I keep my distance because I hate how bad he can make me feel. And I tell myself that’s his fault. I tell myself that he’s a shitty father and pile all the responsibility on his shoulders. Do I really want to have that kind of relationship with him for the rest of his life?
I’m driving the Karmann Ghia back to my place. Five minutes in, Frankie falls asleep, and her blonde head’s now resting lightly on my shoulder. If this wasn’t a stick shift, I’d put my arm around her. As it is, I do my best to keep the gear changes smooth, so I don’t rock her head too much. Needless to say, I’m not going to test out the Karmann Ghia’s top speed. The dial promises 150mph. Another day, small, blue German car. Another day.
My BMW is still parked outside the craft beer place. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll ask Frankie to drive me there and we can meet up again at the hospital. After that, I might phone Mom, find out what she and Dad are doing, see if I can entice Dad out for an organic, fair trade, non-alcoholic, sugar-free beverage somewhere.
We pull up outside my wooden shack. Frankie wakes with a start, gazes at me a little wildly.
“What time is it?” she says.
“Eleven-fifteen.” I smile at her sleep-rumpled face. “We can hit the hay platonic-style if you’d prefer?”
She seems to be weighing it up. “Can I have sex without actually moving?”
“Happy to experiment.” I lean in and kiss her gently. “Come on, sleepyhead. Time for bed.”
As it turns out, spooning while lying on our sides is the answer. I can caress Frankie’s breasts and put my other hand to even better use lower down her body, while moving inside her slowly and leisurely all the way to a not-so-slow-and-leisurely climax. By the time I’ve dealt with the condom, Frankie is fast asleep, still lying on her side, a small, happy smile on her face. I forgot to lower the blind this morning and there’s moonlight pouring through the window, giving Frankie’s bare skin a luminous, almost pearlescent sheen. She looks angelic, and a wave of affection for her rushes through me, shortly followed by a tsunami of terror. I have to get my insecurity under control, or there’s no hope for us. And I want there to be an us. I want it badly. I settle down to sleep, and hope courage magically comes to me in my dreams.
I wake up with the jolt that’s your brain’s tough-love way of telling you you’ve overslept. Frankie’s side of the bed is empty and I can’t hear the shower, or any other noise downstairs. I check my phone. It’s nearly ten am, and there’s a text from Frankie.
Been summoned. Having breakfast with Mom. Cu later?
I text back.
Whenever ur free.
And add a bunch of love heart emojis because that’s the kind of romantic sap I am.
Lil Danny is his usual eager morning self, but I’d better get moving. I can hardly crash Frankie’s Sunday morning breakfast with her mom, so I guess there’s nothing for it but to make good on last night’s vow to talk to my dad. But before I do anything, there must be coffee. Can barely put my pants on straight without it.
Three cups later, and I’m still finding ways to procrastinate. I read my emails and DMs but there’s nothing interesting, unless I actually am the lucky recipient of ten million dollars left to me in a stranger’s will. I scroll through my feeds and click on every cute dog video. I call Nate. He’s feeling better now Shelby’s in safe hands and Mom is feeding him. He’s going to spend the day at the hospital making sure Shelby doesn’t try to abscond through sheer boredom. Ava’s bringing them both a decent lunch. I think about calling Ava but what the heck would we talk about? Ditto Izzy and Max, who will also think it’s super weird that I’m calling them out of the blue. I send Frankie another text with coffee cup emojis and more love hearts, which is pretty much the complete rundown of my morning so far. And that’s it. I’m out of excuses.
Mom hates texts, so I call her. She immediately invites me round for lunch. I say yes right before I remember I have no car. I peer outside and Frankie’s is still there. Seems she chose to walk to meet her mom, probably because it takes longer. I text her.
cn I borrow ur car for 3 hrs? Lunch w my mom & dad.
She texts back.
sure but DO NOT brEAK IT!! Also u owe me.
I text her back the ROFL face, more love hearts and an eggplant emoji because I’m horny as well as romantic. I wait but she doesn’t text back. Guess sexting isn’t as much fun when your mom’s sitting right next to you.
I shower and dress. Time to go. Deep breath, Danny. You’ve got this.
On the way, I swing by the craft beer place, to explain why my car is still in their lot. No problem, says the tattooed guy. Pick it up whenever. I buy a mixed half-dozen because it’s only polite. It’ll be a gift for Frankie. Who knows, after spending a morning with her mom, she may need to drink all six in quick succession. I hope she’s doing okay, but I figure I’ve texted her enough love heart emojis for one day.
It’s the perfect summer Sunday, clear blue sky, hot but not too hot. The kind of Sunday I always hated when I was growing up because unlike my friends, I wouldn’t get to laze around, go swimming and sunbathe on the riverbank, or the beach when we were all old enough to drive. I’d be sweating on the soccer field, or in training, or watching my siblings compete. Some of that resentment comes back to me now as I cruise down the tree-lined driveway to our family home. I push it aside, because it’ll only get in the way. If I want a productive talk with my dad, my opening line shouldn’t be to call him a controlling asshole.
“Danny, dear.”
My mom is always glad to see me, and I’m always glad to see her. My siblings are adamant that I’m Mom’s favorite, and it’s true, we do have a very close bond. Trouble is, that only highlights the lack of closeness between me and Dad.
He’s come out to greet me, which is new. I shake his hand, and we follow Mom through the house to where lunch is waiting for us outside on the patio that overlooks the large back garden. Sounds weird given my parents’ wealth that we don’t have a swimming pool. My guess is that unless Dad could build a full size Olympic one for us to train in, he didn’t see the point. Mom likely vetoed that suggestion and settled for pretty plants and an ornamental bird bath instead. We do have a tennis court, though, I’ll just throw that in there.
As usual, Mom has prepared a feast. A platter of grilled vegetables, sliced heirloom tomatoes, fresh-baked focaccia, a range of dressings and sauces on the side, and sliced bavette steak for me because I’m a growing boy and need my protein. As usual, Mom leads the conversation, starting with today’s update on Shelby, and moving on to Izzy and Max, who both have summer jobs, but are planning to be here for the crush so they can meet their new niece or nephew and, in my opinion, confuse the wee mite no end with their identical faces.
Dad, as usual, says nothing and eats very little despite the effort Mom’s gone to. And as usual, I find this irritating, and my intent to have a productive conversation is fading by the minute. Would it kill him to be polite once in a while?
Then, finally, he speaks to me. But what he says is, “Are you serious about the Armstrong girl?”
“Yes, Dad, I am.” The Armstrong girl? Frankie would love that.
“And how do you propose to make the relationship work? I gather she lives in San Diego.”
He makes it sound like she lives in a cardboard box beneath an overpass. I work on controlling my breathing without making it obvious.
“We haven’t got to that stage, Dad. We don’t want to rush things.”
Dad nods. “Good to hear that. You have a track record of being impulsive.”
I bite back my first response. If I get defensive, it’ll be rapidly downhill from here. Instead, I treat this as an opportunity to engage.
“Making quick decisions isn’t necessarily being impulsive,” I say. “I do actually weigh up the pros and cons beforehand.”
“But you still err on the side of risk,” says Dad.
It’s not a question. He’s decided that’s the whole truth and no evidence I can offer will sway him. I give up. I won’t end this conversation rudely out of respect for Mom. But I’ll end it.
“You know best, Dad,” I say, as neutrally as I can. “Mom, thanks for lunch, it was delicious as always, but I’d better be going. Got a lot to do.”
“Oh, so soon?” says Mom. “I made a dessert!”
Damn it. Mom’s so kind, and she goes to so much effort, I feel like a real churl. But if I stay, I’ll fight with Dad and that would only make her feel worse.
All I can do is say, “Thanks, Mom. Save it for Nate.”
Dad’s out of his seat now, waiting to shake my hand, because that’s the rule. Durant men shake hands. I could refuse to take it but that really would be churlish. I give the minimum viable handshake, and – yeah, all right, to make a point – I kiss Mom on the cheek, and say, only to her, “I’ll see you soon.”
And I walk off feeling about as bad as it’s possible to feel. I came, I saw, I failed to conquer my defensiveness when it comes to anything my dad says about me. I sincerely hope Frankie’s had a better day than I have so far.