Dad takes my ball cap away, smiling, reading my thoughts. “I’m civilizing your wild hockey lettuce, Mister. You’re going on a date, not to hockey practice.”
I groan. “Daaaaad.”
He ignores me.
He manages to tame my hair by slicking the sides back and arranging the floppy bit at the top into a cowlick—I look like James Dean. He yanks off my t-shirt and slides me into a beige short-sleeved button-up. Then he begins judging my jeans with his eyes. “I’m wearing jeans. No way Mercy’s wearing anything but jeans.”
And he looks good in them. I like that he’s casual. Dressy when he needs to be for games, but a cool cucumber the rest of the time.
“Fine. You look good.”
“I guess, but what if things don’t work out?”
“Then they don’t. Are you really never going to try?”
“That was the plan and don’t give me any of that better to have loved and lost bologna.”
“There’s a reason the saying is famous. What’s life without love? Love doesn’t come without risk. No one ever promises that.”
He crosses his arms into his oversized green sweater with a fond smile on his lips.
“You and dad are so perfect though.”
His eyebrows soar to his forehead. “We’re not perfect.” He sighs. “We fight we just have a pact not to do it in front of you three. Maybe that falsely represented our marriage, but my parents fought so much, I went the opposite way I guess.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.” I might be a bad person for thinking so, but knowing they fight helps. You’d never know it.
“We have little in common. Sure, our values align—we couldn’t have a strong foundation without those being similar—but he’s a rough and tough guy. I’m a gardener who does yoga.”
I laugh. “Yeah, you’re totally different.”
“We are irresistibly attracted to each other. I love rough men and he loves—”
“Okay, okay, got it.”
“Don’t leave awhat ifhanging loose in your life, Jack.” He tucks a strand of hair that already got loose, behind my ear. I’m tempted to sneak my ball cap out of the house.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. “Sorry, Dad. I should take this,” I say when I see that it’s Mercy.
“Jack?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m still at this number.”
“Funny, wise guy.” He huffs a sigh. “I have bad news. I can’t do tonight, and it sucks because I had something awesome planned.”
Tears brim over my bottom lids. I knew I cared but I didn’t know how much until just now. “Yeah?” I say, hoping he can’t hear the tears in my voice. “What did you have planned?”
I wipe them away quickly, but Dad sees and frowns with all kinds of worry in his expression. I become more hell-bent on saving face.
“I was gonna take you to the top of Grouse Mountain to go ice skating.”
That’s fucking funny and sweet at the same time. A real laugh bursts from the depths of me. I slap my knee and Dad’s ever more confused. “Guess you think I don’t do enough ice skating, eh?”
“I told my sister it was stupid. She insisted … well it was her idea. I’m shit at romance, Jack. This would have been my first date ever, so I asked her for ideas. Anyway, I thought it would be cool because there’s a shit ton of snow up there and you haven’t said, but I’ve pegged you for one of those lunatics who likes the snow. They’ve got killer food at the top. We could have taken the Gondola down.”
November in Vancouver doesn’t mean much more than crunchier grass under your rain boots. Other than the handful of days it snows between Christmas and spring you can count on your fingers, we don’t get much snow. But on the mountains? Chock-full of snow for skiing and snowboarding.
“Not gonna lie, that was awesome. Your sister’s a genius.”
