More so, I want to tell my dad jokes to this man. Carl. And I want to be doing that because Beck is mine, and this is my family.
Whoa. That’s a lot to unpack after thirty seconds of knowing someone.
Carl wiggles his fingers like a true baby snatcher and lifts a sleeping Jett from my shoulder. Where he laid, my shirt clings to my skin, damp with sweat from his warm body. And immediately, I feel awkward, unsure of what to do with my hands. Strangely, too, I didn’t feel ready to hand him over.
But when we step inside their home, and I get a view of Beck’s ass in those painted-on jeans, I remember why I’m really on this date. To get to knowher.
And check out her ass and tits. I mean, it would be a crime not to.
Beck passes the bag to her mom, and we all linger in the entryway as she gives instructions.
“The bottles are in there, we shouldn’t be more than a few hours, and he can go down now if he stays asleep.” She dusts her hands together as Carl strokes Jett’s hair and Nancy searches through the bag.
“We have the giraffe?” Nancy asks.
“Yes, I double-checked.”
Nancy and Carl look at both of us. “Well, unless you want to watch us get all the answers wrong to Jeopardy, then look them up on Wikipedia because we believe the show is wrong and we’re right, you’re free to go,” Nancy says, slinging the bag over her arm.
I love the casual way they relate and talk. I know not all parents are this way; I’ve heard plenty of stories from Miller about growing up in a conversation-free house. I’m happy for Beck that despite rustymother fuckin’Dusty, she has a support system.
All of it makes me a little melancholy, though.
I miss Graham Burns. I miss him so much. I never had a playful mom who baked cookies and made me wear khaki pants and comb my hair like an asshole, but I had the perfect dad.
The one who taught you how to play catch, build a fort, explained wet dreams and jerking off, the man who went and bought the PG-13 movie tickets for my friends and me so we could see the movies we wanted to see. He helped me through my first heartbreak at age 16, he helped me study for tests and the SATs, and he never ever–not even once–left me needing. Whether it was advice, a hug, love, food, attention–he wasalwaysthere.
Beck kisses Jett on the top of his head, smoothing his hair down after. Her fingers are long and lean; I get a flash of her sifting them through Jett’s hair as he nursed. As much as I enjoy Nancy and Carl, we definitely need to head out before I start eye-fucking their daughter right in front of them.
I smooth my hand down Jett’s back to say goodbye because I don’t know what’s appropriate. I feel like after all those car rides together he and I are buddies, but I’m pretty sure since her parents had no idea who I was, they are clueless about our friendship. Right as we turn to go, Nancy’s eyes narrow on me, and my skin grows hot.
“Have I met you before, Beau?” She taps her chin, eyes so narrowed her gaze physically prods me. Nervously, I shift my weight on my feet.
Raking a hand up the back of my head, I pretend to think for a moment, but the truth is, I never forget a face. I’ve never met Nancy before. Which means there’s only one way she recognizes me.
“No, I’d remember you if we’d met.” I step closer and lower my voice. “I’d recognize a fellow Jeopardy champ anywhere.”
Nancy points at me with delight. “You watch?”
I nod. “I just started about… a month ago.”
Carl beams. “You’ll have to come watch it with us one night.” He looks to his daughter for belated approval, and I’m glad to see her smile. “I guess you can come, too,” he says to her, and we enjoy an easy laugh.
“You just look so familiar to me, and I don’t know why,” Nancy says, and it’s then that Beck saves me, though she isn’t aware she is. Looping her arm through mine, she waves her parents off.
“Okay, we could try to place him from the grocery store or bingo all night but instead, take his word for it–you’ve never met. Now we’re going to go, okay?”
Once we’re off the porch, I sigh with relief.
I plan on telling her. I mean, I don’t think ofitas a big deal. I don’t consider myself different at all, and my dad didn’t think of himself as different, either. And the reason I haven’t told her is honestly just because it’s not a big part of my everyday life.
The relief is quickly replaced by guilt because even though it’s not a big deal to me, what if it matters to her? And what if the longer I wait to tell her, the angrier she’ll get when I finally do?
My stomach twists in panic as we walk side by side to her house. She bumps her shoulder against mine.
“Hey, you’re quiet.” I turn to face her, and in the last ten minutes, the sun has sunk into the horizon, leaving us in an apricot wake.
“I liked your parents,” I say because that isn’t a lie. “Your dad seems like someone I could chill with.”