“So…” He clears his throat and I know it’s not just from shouting out plays all evening. This is his ‘wanting to talk but having no clue where to start’ tone.
I lean back on the palm of my hand, gesturing with the other for him to continue.
He begins looking through stacks of papers on his slightly messy desk, as if there’s something important he needs to know right now.
“You and Callahan pretty close?” Dad finally asks.
“Yeah,” I snort. “In the same way a predator catches its prey. Not by choice.”
Sarah and Bethany both laugh. They stop and look at one another before they both slap each other’s arms and legs, as if they’re scolding one another for doing the same exact thing.
Dad and I choose to ignore them.
“Relax, Dad.” I move around the picture frames with photos of me and Amiyah when we were kids, as if they need to be straightened. “Nothing is happening with Lucas. He’s just a thorn in my side.”
His back straightens, now no longer interested in whatever paper he was pretending to read. “Need me to handle it?”
“No. Lucas Callahan is all talk and no bite. He’s harmless.”
“You sure? ’Cause I’ll bench him, maybe even make him run extra suicides during practice.” He arches his eyebrow and although the thought of my fifty-five year old father threatening a twenty year old is rather amusing, I shake my head.
“You and I both know that’s never going to happen but thanks for the offer, Dad.”
“Yeah, Mr. Stryker, you don’t have to worry about a thing,” Sarah says. “She cusses the guy out any chance she gets. It’s a reflex at this point.”
Bethany nods.
“See?” I offer Dad a gentler smile. “You raised me to be able to handle myself. So let me do that, okay?”
He sighs, cracking his knuckles. “Your old man just worries.”
“I know but you don’t have to. I’m fine. Amiyah is fine. We’re good, Dad. Promise.”
He gets that look again. Like he wants to say something but he also doesn’t want to upset me and unlike Mom, he doesn’t continue to pry.
Just another difference between the two that makes me wonder why they got married in the first place. No wonder they got a divorce all those years ago.
Dad reaches into his desk drawer, pulling his keys out with a jingle. “Ladies?” he asks. “How about some dinner?”
“Hell yeah.” Sarah and Bethany quickly stand from the couch, walking toward the door, ahead of me and Dad.
“Didn’t you tell Lucas to go find Nole?” I arch my eyebrow.
Dad shrugs his jacket on, a mischievous grin on his face that I don’t see too often nowadays. “I can yell at Nole tomorrow.”
I nod, content with that answer and go to set the picture frame I have in my hands back onto the desk when I notice that, unlike all the pictures being of when Amiyah and I were kids, the one I’m holding is more recent.
Just a little over a year ago, actually. One of my last shows before my accident.
Romeo and Juliet.
In the picture, I’m standing hand in hand with other dancers in the show. My white gown with gold trimming shines under the stage lights.
My blonde hair is pulled back into a perfectly done ballet bun, flower pins decorating the hairstyle. The smile I’m wearing in the picture makes my stomach drop and a lump begins to form in my throat.
No. Not here. Not now.
I quickly set the picture down like its touch stings before I hop off the desk, only to turn and find Dad watching me carefully. Sarah and Bethany remain oblivious, continuing to talk Dad’s ear off about where we’re going to eat.