Answering machine! Crap!
She closed her eyes, tried to think, but the beep rattled her. “Ah . . . hi. It’s me,” she said, and punched herself in the leg for her timidity. “Me, Rachel. Ah . . . well, I am calling to say I missed you today,” she said, remembering what Dad had said. Mature woman, too good for him. “And I’m sorry you didn’t come,” she added, opening her eyes and lifting her head. “I was wondering if perhaps you didn’t come because you were scared off by what I said. If that is the case, I would like to set your mind at ease. You have nothing to worry about, Flynn. I am all grown up and can handle it. I just hope that we can continue to see each other until you have to go or I have to go or whatever, because I enjoy your company, and . . . well, and that, too . . . so if you could please call me, I would appreciate it. If not . . . I would like to say I really enjoyed meeting you.”
She clicked off, and shook the phone to the ceiling. “I enjoyed meeting you?” she complained. But she was feeling a little lighter when she put down the phone.
Subject: Un. Bee. Leevable.
From: <[email protected]>
To: <[email protected]>, <[email protected]>
Hey, Happy Thanksgiving. So you will not believe what happened. Dad came for Thanksgiving even though I sort of begged him not to, and guess what. He was NICE. I mean nice, as in very pleasant, very nice to my guests, and he did not criticize me even once in front of them or at all! And he didn’t insult anyone! What is happening to the world as I know it? I’ve been through some pretty strange full moons, but this one takes the cake. Not only was he NICE, but he said he thought I was pretty and smart and had the world at my fingertips. And then he told me—GET THIS—that he loved me. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. Apparently he and Mom are getting more than just marriage counseling. So be on the lookout for a person who looks like Dad but isn’t really him. All kidding aside, the new Dad is way better than the old. It’s un-freakin’-believable.
P.S. Did Grandpa make his fried turkey again? That always makes me sick.
P.S.S. I don’t think I’ll be really busy anymore, so write me! Love you guys, Rachel.
Subject: RE: Un. Bee. Leevable.
From: Rebecca Parrish <[email protected]>
To: Rach <[email protected]>
Hi Rach. We knew Dad was there—Mom had said he was really starting to come around after weeks and weeks of therapy and that he was going to Providence whether you liked it or not. So we were wondering how it went.
Dad’s going to have to go in for surgery whenever they can schedule this one surgeon, and I can tell Mom’s really worried about it. Did he say anything? Anyway, Rachel, you ARE pretty and smart and have the world at your fingertips and you are a colossal moron because you don’t see that. So I am sure Dad was relieved when you told him that Myron is just a friend. Did you mention anyone else to him? Rebecca.
Hey, Robin here on Bec’s mail. Can you believe she still uses AOL? Anyhoo . . . first of all, yes, Grandpa made his fried turkey again and almost sent all of us to the hospital. I think he must use all the oil in Texas to fry that damn thing. And he made his world-famous fried okra, too, only the okra were the size of baseball bats. Jake says I am paranoid, but I will not let my baby anywhere near his garden, because I am certain there is something very illegal going on out there. How can okra possibly get that big? Okay, so, about you not being busy anymore—what happened? I thought things were going pretty well with you and mystery guy 1 and 2, or however many there are, seeing as how you never write and you STILL haven’t sent the book. Tell Dad we said hi and we love him, too, especially the new and improved him, although I will have to see it to believe it. And then write back and tell us what happened with the guy(s). Bec and I are sneaking out to get some vodka and a pack of smokes. She’s all nervous about the kids seeing us and thinks we’re going to hell for it, like that’s news or something. Happy Thanksgiving, kiddo. We miss you!! TTFN
Robbie.
Rachel made Dad a gourmet breakfast the next morning, thanks to the last of Dagne’s eBay money. They talked about the house—he said he intended to sell it as soon as she finished her dissertation and surprisingly, Rachel was okay with that.
She finally found the nerve to ask about his surgery. “What sort of surgery is it?”
“They need to remove part of my colon. And maybe some other stuff, who knows. But I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ve come to terms with it, I think.”
“Don’t say that, Dad,” she pleaded. “That sounds like you’ve given up!”