Chapter 19 Briar
Briar
“I feel like a penguin. Waddle, waddle, waddle,” Dominic grumbles, yanking on his tie, which actually makes it more crooked than it was before he messed with it.
“It could be worse. We have an actual penguin costume if you’d prefer?” I offer, straightening it for him. “It’s only had a dozen or so people sweat in it before, so I’m sure it’s fine. Definitely better than a suit. Want me to grab it for you?” I blink innocently, as though it’s a genuine offer.
He arches a dark brow, not pleased with me, nor his current attire. “Just not much of a suit type.” He’s shifting his shoulders, pulling on his cuffs, and smoothing his tie, obviously uncomfortable.
“Well, it’s for a good cause,” I say airily, glancing around to check on the rest of the Blizzard players.
They’re all here and I can’t believe I pulled this off. Dominic, Anderson, Sabine, Pacholek, Kipson, Rodney, and Tomville are all hiding in a too-small concession stand kitchen with me and Trina, waiting for the announcement of our special guests at tonight’s event.
Some zoos hold big, spectacular galas with black-tie tuxedos and gowns, flowing champagne, and catered appetizers invisibly passed by waitstaff.
We’re not that kind of place. The Berkshire Zoo runs on a shoestring budget and can’t afford that type of event, so instead, tonight’s fundraiser will be in our outdoor picnic area, where we’ve hung strands of twinkly Christmas lights, set out pumpkin-focused centerpieces (which will be chopped up for animal treats tomorrow), and created several areas of fall-themed fun, like a small-scale hay maze, apple toss, and scarecrow photo ops.
Lucky for me, zoo employees are wearing our nicest uniforms because we’re to mingle with the guests, talk about the animals housed here, and highlight how donated funds will be used to improve things. So I’m comfortably rocking out in my khaki pants and logo’d button-down shirt. Très chic.
“I don’t know, Lee,” Anderson says, “I make this look good.” Anderson is standing at attention, ready to step out into the crowd, and from the neck down, he’s right.
His suit is perfectly tailored and pristine, and he does look dapper.
But his face? The sneer he shoots at Dominic is pure antagonism.
Dom could say the sky is blue and grass is green and Anderson would argue just to be contrary.
I’m not sure what Dad told them about tonight, but I appreciate that they’re here, as long as they don’t ruin the whole thing with their infighting, which seems like a pretty distinct possibility. Of course, Dad didn’t come. I knew he wouldn’t. But there was a little piece of me that hoped anyway.
“Actually, you do,” Dominic agrees with him. “You look slick as elephant shit.”
He cuts his eyes to me, a tiny smirk on his lips.
Elephant dung isn’t slick at all. It’s thick, filled with hay pieces, and actually really useful as fuel for campfires out on the savannah.
Not that Anderson would know that, but Dominic does.
He listened to me give a whole educational lecture on it while we cleaned.
Was that only a week ago?
Time has flown by. After leaving that night, Dominic had games that weekend so he was focused on team activities.
But Harley and I watched the games on television, cheering the Blizzard—and Dominic—on.
Dominic practiced with Harley once on Monday, but flew out for midweek games in New York.
True to his word, though, he didn’t bail on me.
He called, video chatting as he celebrated two successful pregame dinners that hadn’t sounded all that successful to me, but I’m not great at understanding the male psyche, and one winning game along with a tie, which means points in hockey.
He also sent me a bouquet of yellow daisies with a card stating simply Thinking of you—D, and he’s taking me home tonight after the zoo event.
And Harley is at Tyler’s this weekend.
Dominic’s words about spending a whole weekend worshipping me float back into my mind. This is the weekend. I’ve already decided. I’m nervous, but ready.
The guys rustle around, shoulder bumping each other in the tight space. “Watch it,” Anderson snarls.
“You’re standing on my toe,” someone says, though I’m not sure who.
“Whoever’s dick is touching my butt needs to back the fuck off.” Given his smirk, that was definitely Dominic, but his back is to the wall and no one is behind him at all.
Trina stage-whispers, “Be ready, boys. In three, two, one . . . go, go, go!” She waves at them to follow her, and dutifully, they do, though Anderson and Kipson throw elbows a bit, jockeying for position.
I’m not sure what to think about them. Dominic says they’re slightly closer to possibly beginning to not hate each other completely, but I don’t see it.
The thirty minutes in the claustrophobic kitchen with them felt like someone lit a stick of dynamite and we were standing around twiddling our thumbs while the fuse burned. But so far, no explosions.
Dominic hangs back, stepping into line right in front of me. The look he shoots me is filled with heat, making me think he might’ve been reading my mind about what’s happening later.
Blush heating my cheeks, we enter the party to applause.
It’s not the roaring claps they’re used to when they hit the ice, but rather the polite claps of the wealthy who’ve come to donate their dollars for the tax write-off.
Though there are quite a few true fans it seems, holding baby-blue Blizzard jerseys and posters in preparation for the players’ autographs.
The guys wave at the crowd as they come in, staying behind Trina as she leads them to a table set off to one side.
“Line up,” she tells people who start to move toward her.
“This isn’t a feeding frenzy. That comes later.
” She winks at a family who’s made sure they’re first in line. “During the scavenger hunt.”
The meet and greet lasts for nearly an hour, and to my surprise, the guys are pretty good sports about the whole thing. They’re friendly and charming, smiling for pictures, signing autographs, and thanking people for coming out to support the Blizzard and the zoo.
It feels like the first part of my plan is working—the fundraising aspect. But I haven’t forgotten the reason I came up with this idea in the first place—Dominic’s need for team-building.
“If I could have everyone’s attention, please,” Carl, our CEO and president, says into a microphone.
Once he’s sure he has all eyes on him, he announces, “While I am so happy to have the Blizzard here, I must announce that it’s time for our scavenger hunt.
For every completed list, our corporate sponsor, Set Grocery, has agreed to donate one hundred dollars.
” He looks over to a woman on his left, who nods with a serene smile.
I think she’s the CEO of the sponsoring grocery chain. Or somebody on the board, at least.
“I will pay the hundred bucks myself to not do that,” Kipson grumbles under his breath.
“We’re participating,” Dominic says firmly, standing from his chair. “We’re gonna crush this scavenger hunt. Let’s go. Hands in.”
Dominic puts his hand out, waiting for the other guys to lay theirs on top, and to my surprise, the other guys stand with Dom, stacking their hands on his. Pacholek even taunts Kipson, “Come on, man. Behind the scenes, all over the zoo, at night? When are you gonna get a chance to do that again?”
With a beleaguered sigh, Kipson puts his hand in, though he doesn’t stand.
“Blizzard on three,” Dom prompts. “One, two . . . Blizzard!”
The guys chant together as they throw their hands in the air. Quick as I can, so as not to squash their enthusiasm, I grab scavenger hunt papers and hand them out. Reluctantly, Kipson takes one, and still grumbling, he leaves with the rest of his teammates.
At least he kept his, though.
Not everyone does the hunt, and there are several people milling around the picnic area, chatting about this and that. I talk to a few groups, sharing how important Caprice’s baby is for our zoo and encouraging them to donate.
“Looks like you might get your wish,” a voice says behind me. I turn and to my surprise, see my dad standing there. His wife, Vanessa, is at his side, smiling warmly.
“Dad? What are you doing here?” I say, completely shocked.
“You invited me.” He says it matter-of-factly, as though I haven’t invited him to dozens of school plays, graduations, and birthday parties that he’s never once bothered to come to.
Vanessa weaves her arm through Dad’s. “When Robbie told me about the fundraiser, I knew we had to come. He’s been so excited to see where you work.”
Robbie? I will never get used to that. Vanessa is the only person I’ve ever heard call my dad—Robert Boothe—by that nickname. But also? In what universe does Dad care where I work? Or about me at all?
I’ve worked at the Berkshire Zoo for four years, and I’d bet my right foot that Dad couldn’t have named the specific zoo before walking under the archway bearing its name tonight. He’s never asked me about my job, nor specifics of what I do or why I like it.
“Well, I’m glad you could make it,” I say haltingly.
“It seems like a great turnout. Hope the guys being here helped,” Dad replies, looking around.
Simply having a conversation with him, something that should be easy, is awkward. Like neither of us know what to say. Should we discuss the past? Leave it alone and move forward? Some combination of the two? I have no idea.
“It did,” I say instead. “I even heard a couple of people say they came for the players, not the zoo. But we’ll benefit either way.”
He nods, both of us falling silent as the course of that conversational thread ends.
Vanessa is the one to save us. “Robbie said this is all to name a monkey?”
I look from her to Dad. He was listening to me?
He shared what I told him? He’s here? As I realize the answer to all of those questions is yes, the little girl inside me feels seen and heard in a way she never did before, which is very confusing for adult me, who still hasn’t forgiven Dad for the years of near abandonment.
Giving Vanessa the same speech I’ve been repeating all evening, I say, “Yeah, Caprice is one of our siamang gibbons. This is her first offspring, which is a very big deal, not only for our zoo, but for all siamangs in captivity. We’re raising funds to name her.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” she coos. “What would you name her?”
“Oh, that honor will go to the highest bidder,” I rush to explain. “Not me, or any of the zoo employees.”
“Yeah, but what would you name her . . . if you could?” Vanessa pries.
This has been an ongoing discussion among the zoo staff since we discovered Caprice’s pregnancy.
Many suggestions have been made, some good, some great, and some downright strange, which is to be expected when you get a bunch of science-minded people together.
I mean, we cannot actually name her Symsyn because it’s short for her scientific name of Symphalangus syndactylus.
“Hadiah. Hadi for short. It means gift in Malay, and siamang gibbons are from the forests of Malaysia, Indonesia, and Thailand.”
“Hadi? That’s cute,” Vanessa says.
Dad is quiet, just watching us make small talk.
How is this easier than talking to him? Is it the topic or Vanessa?
I’m not sure, but it is infinitely more comfortable than talking to Dad.
Maybe because, for all her faults, I don’t have a bad history with Vanessa, and since I’m not close to Dad, I’ve never been particularly close to her either.
She’s Dad’s wife, nothing more and nothing less.
Plus Caprice, and by extension, her daughter, is one of my favorite topics.
“Hurry! Get there!” a voice shouts amid the pounding footsteps of what sounds like a herd of buffalo.
Suddenly, two groups of people—one, the Blizzard players, and the other, a family with three teenage boys—comes barreling into the area, and very nearly into a picnic table.
Thankfully, Rodney dives off to the side and does a front roll instead, coming up covered in dirt and grass.
As he dusts his shirt off, the whole group celebrates.
“Whoo, that was close!” Anderson cheers.
“But we got here first!” He thumps his chest, looking more like a posturing silverback gorilla than he’d probably appreciate hearing.
For unexplainable reasons, his tie is now wrapped around his head Rambo-style, with the tail of it hanging over his right shoulder. I have no idea where his jacket went.
Actually, all of the guys are missing their jackets now, and their shirts are largely untucked.
They all look quite a bit worse for wear considering it was a quick and easy scavenger hunt, not a Lord of the Flies campout.
Though maybe their group dynamics were a bit more “every man for himself” than the average scavenger hunter.
There’s a round of high fives, between the players and the family, who are all grinning widely. “That was iconic,” one of the teenagers yells. Another is holding up his phone, videoing the whole thing, proclaiming he got the whole thing and they’ll definitely be viral by tomorrow.
“They look like they’re having fun,” Dad says, deadpan.
Fun is putting it mildly. For all their protestations about being here today, the Blizzard players are happily roughhousing and seem to be having a great time now.
I meet Dominic’s eyes and send him a meaningful smile.
He’s doing it . . . fixing the team. And maybe, fixing me a little, too, I think as I cut my eyes over to Dad, making sure Dom sees him as well.