“Hey, old man,” I call, my voice teasing.
He smiles when he sees me, heavy lines appearing on his face with the movement. There are slight shadows under his eyes too, faint enough that I might not notice them if I weren’t his daughter, but as I gaze at him, I can tell that Tara was right. He’s stressed.
“Rose,” he says, my name full of warmth. He pulls his suit jacket off and leaves it on the back of a chair as he makes his way toward me.
He hugs me, then pulls back and studies my face, a faint smile on his lips. “No piercings? Tattoos?”
“Dad.” I whack his arm lightly, laughing.
“What? It’s college. I won’t judge.”
I roll my eyes at him. “No, none of that,” I say with a smirk. “What about you? Girlfriend? House parties?”
“No, never,” he insists, feigning innocence. “There aren’t bottles of whiskey hidden behind that row of books behind you.”
I shake my head, fighting another chuckle. God, I didn’t realize how much I had missed him. I missed this, missed the way we would talk before I left.
I’ve always only had my father, and he’s always only had me, so we had to learn to trust each other pretty quick. And he likes sharp wit, so he raised me to have a quick mind just the same as him.
“So, how was the flight?” he asks, loosening the buttons at his shirt collar.
“Fine.” I shrug. “You know I hate air travel, but it was good, all things considered.”
I move to help him with his shirt as I speak, gently pressing the collar into place while he watches me. There’s something comfortable about the way he watches me, examining my face. It’s like he’s finding all the things about me that are different now.
I can see what’s different about him too. There are more lines on his face—fewer around his eyes, where the skin crinkles where he smiles. The small scar on the left side of his face is almost invisible now. He’s not as tan as he used to be. I wonder if he’s been outside this week, or this month.
I can tell he’s tired. It’s in the way he holds himself, and in the way he sighs as I take his tie and fold it in my hands.
“Long day?” I ask.
He smiles, but the heaviness in his eyes doesn’t lighten. “Yes. Long day.”
I fish around for an idea. I want him to relax, want him to de-stress. Ideally, we’d stay home, but I get the feeling this requires a bigger effort. Whatever is bothering him is something he feels like he can’t tell me yet.
“Let’s go out,” I say. I didn’t want to hit the town so soon after touching down—especially after running into a high school acquaintance—but I’m willing to do it for him.
“Out?”
“Yes, out. Dinner,” I add, thinking quickly. “Somewhere nice, just the two of us. We can catch up.”
He nods. “All right. Dinner, then.”
I lower my voice to a whisper. “Maybe I can break the news about my tattoo over dessert.”
He laughs, this time more real, more free. It’s a relief. He might not be at ease, but I can distract him at least for tonight.
“I’ll get ready,” I say. “You sit and have a drink, okay? Relax.”
I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and leave before he can argue. Slipping back into my old bedroom, I grab a dress hanging in the closet that I brought with me, something I’ve worn a few times. I slip it on and take a quick look in the mirror. The pale green silk makes me look a little tan, makes my eyes brighter. I decide on some short, blocky heels to make it a little less dressy.
When I meet my father in the living room, I find him staring out the darkened window, a barely-touched glass in hand.
“Ready?” I ask.
He turns to look at me, something like nostalgia and pride in his eyes. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
“Thanks.” I smile, nudging him with my shoulder as we head for the door. “Lucky you, huh?”
