47. Ford #2
Her eyes bounce around my face like before, only this time, it’s as if she’s searching for something. “You still nervous?”
“Nah,” I lie, “just cautious.” It’s partially true.
“Cautious? About what?”
“Guess I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“Who says another shoe’s going to drop?” she asks.
Instead of answering, I shrug, then twist her around again, guiding her to a song neither of us can hear.
When she makes it back to my chest, she murmurs, “Can I ask you something?”
I continue swaying us back and forth. “What?”
“Why’d you set this up if you were so nervous?”
It’s a good question. One I’ve asked myself a hundred times since calling her parents and asking if we could visit for the weekend.
When I told Violet my plans, she could see my anxiety, too.
After helping me pack June’s things, she patted my cheek like an old grandmother and murmured, “She must really mean a lot to you,” and damn, if it wasn’t the truth.
June does mean a lot to me. So much so, logic seems to take a backseat when it comes to making her smile.
“Maybe I was thinking of me when I set this up.” I dip her over my arm, then pull her back to her feet. “Maybe all I wanted was to make you happy.”
With a sad smile, she asks, “Yeah, but are you happy? Because, if you’re not—”
“I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” I answer, “I’m just…” Melancholy grows in my chest. “You’re gonna have to give me a minute. Some time to, uh, to warm up to the idea of parental figures not hating me.”
There. I said it. Might be missing some southern charm, but it is what it is.
“They don’t hate you,” she whispers.
We’ll see.
The thought scurries through my mind before I can stop it, making me hate myself even more.
It’s fucked up. Lumping June’s parents in with my father.
I know it. Anyone with two brain cells would know it.
But I can’t help it, either, and that’s something I need to work through.
I just hope June’s patience will last long enough for me to do it.
“Junie?” her mom calls. “Will you come here for a minute?”
“Coming!” June kisses me one more time, then wiggles free from my grasp. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
“I’ll be here.”
Her hand lingers on mine before she lets me go.
The worn floor creaks as she exits the room.
Taking advantage of the moment, I move toward the picture frames along the wall next to the wood-burning fireplace.
There she is. June Bug. She can’t be more than six or seven.
She’s sporting a missing front tooth, and her hair is high on her head, split into curly pigtails as she holds a baby bunny in her little arms.
“She always had a thing for animals,” a low voice notes.
I turn around, feeling guilty, though I have no idea why. Gerald moves closer. He motions to the framed photograph. “Brought that one home from a neighbor’s house. Name was…Fluffy, I think?”
I glance at the photo once more. “Classic choice,” I muse.
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “She’s a classy lady.”
“That, she is,” I agree.
“A happy lady, too,” he adds.
I nod, sobering internally, though I keep my casual smile in place. “I hope so.”
“She is. Always was, always will be.”
I gulp, unsure what to say. Is he trying to insinuate that she’d be happy with or without me?
Kind of a dick move, but it’s not like I can call him out for it.
He’s right, too. She had her life together before I came into the picture.
I’m sure it’d be even more steady without me in it.
Is that what he’s trying to say? That she’d be better off without me?
What a fucker.
“Seems especially happy lately,” he continues.
I glance at him from my periphery but stay quiet.
“Seems you make her happy,” he adds.
Huh. Okay, I take it back. Maybe he’s not trying to be a dick after all. Maybe he actually…approves of our relationship?
Tongue in cheek, I murmur, “I hope so.”
“You do,” he pushes. “Although, from what I heard, you’re quite the, uh, the class clown.”
My mouth lifts. I wonder what else June has told them about me. Or maybe I don’t want to know. Did she tell them about my past? About all the shit I’ve done? About how I didn’t call her after we hooked up the first time? God, I hope not.
“Haven’t seen that side yet,” he notes. “The class clown version.”
I give the picture of June and Fluffy my back. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”
“You think?”
I nod. “Trust me,” I repeat.
“You know, we were surprised you called. Excited,” he clarifies, “but surprised. I mean, we’d heard so much about you. Your brothers. Your parents.”
Another lump lodges in my throat. What does he expect me to say?
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
June told them about my mother? My stomach plummets, and I turn back to the photographs lining the wall. I’ve been offered a thousand condolences after my mother’s death, but it’s never gotten easier. Never gotten less awkward or uncomfortable.
“It was a long time ago,” I reply, unsure what else to say.
“Sorry to hear about your father as well.”
My chin hits my chest. “Don’t be. He’s alive and well.” Unfortunately, I silently add.
“Why do you think I’m apologizing?” he quips.
What?
My gaze shoots to Gerald’s. One. All right, so Gerald and I share the same sense of humor.
Did not see that coming. Also, I’m pleasantly surprised.
And two, did June tell him about my father’s penchant for smacking me around every once in a while?
Unease engulfs my gut, but I try to ignore it.
She’s allowed to have a relationship with her father.
One without boundaries or surface-level topics.
And if she felt the need to reveal some of the less than savory aspects of my relationship with my own sperm donor, then I trust she had a good reason.
Besides, not all fathers would use sensitive information for blackmail.
Or at least, that’s what I’m told. The question is, where does that leave me?
Do I deny it? Tell him every sob story in hopes of getting on his good side?
I glance toward the kitchen, willing June to get her ass back here and play the buffer role she’s supposed to.
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to corner ya,” he continues.
“All I’m saying is, not everyone was raised in a home like June’s.
I get it. But I want you to know you’re welcome here.
And if you’re willing, we’d love to get to know you better.
” Gerald slaps his hand on my shoulder. I force myself to stay in place instead of flinching.
A flash of understanding takes over his expression, and he sighs.
“You’re a good man, Ford. Don’t let anything or anyone make you believe any different. ”
“Thanks,” I murmur. “And, uh, you’re a good guy, too. I appreciate all the hospitality even if I’m not great at showing it.”
“Nah, you’re doin’ just fine.” He moves closer and drops his voice low. “Meeting the future in-laws is always a little awkward, but give it time. I think we’ll grow on ya.”
Future in-laws? Did he really just say future in-laws? I mean, he’s probably not wrong. I’m in love with his daughter, but—
“All right, who’s ready?” June interjects.
I nearly jump out of my own skin, too caught up in the idea of marrying June to hear her return.
Recovering quickly, I ask, “Ready for what?” In her grasp is a battered box.
The corner is scrunched, the color has faded, and a piece of the graphic has been ripped off entirely, only to reveal weathered cardboard instead. “A board game, huh?”
June gasps. “We love board games around here.”
“Sure do,” June’s dad interrupts. He reaches for the box in June’s arms, sets the game on the kitchen table, then pulls out a chair and sits down. “Have you ever played?”
Inspecting the title of the game, I shake my head, sitting down opposite him. “Not that I know of.”
“Well, you’re missing out. The goal of the game is to build a train track from one destination to another based on this card.” He lifts a small stack of cards. “Then, to build a track, gather the color cards that match the route you want to take.” He continues explaining what he’s referring to.
It doesn’t take long for me to catch on.
Honestly, it’s pretty simple. Easy, even.
And so is the conversation. Which is strange.
Hell, part of me feels like I’ve been dropped off on an entirely different planet.
But what’s strangest? It’s the ease with which they talk to each other.
The tension in the air is missing, too. And by the end of the night, my nerves seem to settle a bit more.
Maybe I’m not the problem. Maybe it’s like Gerald said. Meeting your future in-laws is always a little awkward, but with enough time, the awkwardness will dissipate, and we’ll make it through this after all.