What A Kiss Is

Chapter Three

Three

“Your mom’s really off to Darfur then?” Dad asks.

Wow, this is a great way to start my morning. I’m sick to my stomach over the whole thing. I did a bunch of research after she told me where she was headed. She’s traveling with two bodyguards and a film crew of three guys. When she’s reporting like this, she pretties herself down, but I’m still nervous about it.

“Yep,” I answer. “They want to do a long series. Guess you knew before I did.” A fact that still doesn’t feel right.

Dad stands over the stovetop, scrambling eggs for breakfast. “She called and said it was a possibility. I’ve been…” His eyes are fixed on the eggs in front of him. “I’ve been wanting to see you, you know. It’s just… I know our lives are pretty different.”

“Uh…” I try not to laugh. “Yeah.” Different is the nice way of saying it.

He nods once, and I’m suddenly kind of afraid I’ve hurt his feelings. He’s weird, not bad, despite my argument to Mom.

“I guess. I mean, I guess I’m trying to say that I’m glad you’re here.” He spoons out two small plates of eggs and hands one to me.

Our eyes don’t meet. Dad looks down as he sits across the small table from me—more like a booth since the table is egg-shaped and half surrounded by a curved bench seat. The thing probably turns into a bed like a motor home or something.

“Uh, thanks.” I don’t know what else to say. I don’t want to be here. Not at all. I want my apartment and my friends in New York. I thought about tailing it back home, and being on my own, but Mom doesn’t need the stress, not with what she’s doing. I owe it to her to at least give this a chance. Well, and I really don’t want to add anything to her—Antony’s spoiled file.

“Lynn and I are headed south to Gig Harbor for some boat parts later on today. I’m sure her daughter Amber will tag along. She’s a home-school kid like you. Smart. Driven.”

“How do you know I’m smart and driven, Dad?” I push the eggs around my plate. I’m sure I sound like a jerk, and I don’t really mean to. I must still be in shock over this whole un-real situation.

Now our eyes meet. “I guess. I guess I don’t. I hear from your mom more than from you, and I know you two are a lot alike. I know you speak a few languages, that you take advanced math, and she says your writing is fabulous.”

Right. I may be in advanced math, but I suck at it. Writing, that’s the one thing Dad and I have in common. “You’re still writing, right?” I ask, even though I know he does.

“Oh, yeah. Couldn’t stop if I wanted to.” He stands up and does a quick wash of his plate. No dishwasher here. Probably no takeout either. Different world.

I couldn’t stop writing if I wanted to either, but I don’t say that. “I’ve got some school stuff to do. I’m going to hang back today.”

“’Kay.” Dad runs a hand over his head and walks back to his room.

I take a bite of my eggs, and damn they’re good. A little green onion and garlic. I down my plate in seconds and then take Dad’s lead and do a quick wash in the miniature sink.

The first part of day one down, and what feels like a million to go.

- - -

The sun’s out, and only the front half of Dad’s boat is under cover. The mast wouldn’t fit under the blue roof of the marina. I stretch out to lounge with my phone and send a text to my friend David back in New York. I tell him that it’s rainy, but that the boat’s nicer than I thought.