I wrote it off as a side effect of having an older father. My mom and dad waited ten years before deciding they didn’t hate the idea of children, which led to them often behaving more like grandparents than parents to me and my brothers.
“Hello?” I asked, annoyed because the only people who called the house were spam callers and the occasional howdy from one of my dad’s buddies. So it was ridiculous that I was playing the part of his secretary.
“Can I please speak to Duffy?”
Okay, how on earth had a spam caller figured out my name and that I was living with my father again?
Good news travels fast.
“I think you have the wrong number,” I said, and I was about to hang up when the man’s voice cut in.
“Are you sure? I got this number from Kel onTwin Cities Live.”
“Who is this?” I asked, immediately suspicious.
“Duffy?” the man said my name again, his tone suggesting he knew me.
“Yes…?” I said slowly as my mind started to catch up, processing the voice and where he said he got my number, and holyshit—suddenly, I knew exactly who it was, but it was impossible that this could be happening. It wasunfathomable. My head felt like it was exploding. I could feel it, bursting into a million pieces, splattering my shocked brain cells all over the wall. Still, I had to make sure. “May I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s Connor,” he said, as if we were on a first-name basis. “We met on the show…?”
“Yeah, um,” I managed, boosting myself up to sit on the kitchen counter because I was pretty sure my legs were incapable of holding me when such absurdities were afoot. “How are you?”
This is crazy this is crazy this is crazy.
“Good,” he said. “You?”
“Who is it, Duff?” I heard on the phone, wanting to die of mortification when I realized my father had picked up the extension in the basement and we were now in a three-way conversation.
Oh. My. God.
Kill me now.
“It’s for me, Dad,” I said, feeling like the world’s biggest loser.
“Who is it?” he asked again.
I sighed and was about to come up with some way to tell him to butt out when Connor spoke up. “It’s Connor Cunningham. Is this Tony?”
Oh no. He was engaging.
With. My. Father.
“Hey, what’s up, buddy?” my dad said, sounding thrilled that his pal Connor was calling.
“I got your number from the show because I wanted to talk to your daughter,” Connor said.
“Well, that’s nice because I thought she really screwed everything up when she gave you shit about the dropped pass,” my dad said with a laugh, like my behavior was some funny shit. “She was supposed to be nice, but you know girls.”
“Lovely, Dad,” I said through gritted teeth. “Yes, it’s definitely a failure of my gender, the way we tend to say the honest things that are on our mind.”
“This isn’t a feminist issue, Duff, so quit trying to—”
Connor cleared his throat. “Do you have a minute to talk, Duffy?” he asked, blessedly redirecting the conversation.
“She does and I’m gonna get off. Bye, Connor,” my dad said, and then I heard the telltale click of the downstairs phone.
This was unbelievable. Why on earth was Connor Cunningham callingme?