“Annie?”
“Yes.” She turned big cow eyes on Dad.
Please be nice, Dad.
“Thank you for all you did to help my son.”
She relaxed her shoulders. “You’re welcome.” Then she looked at Steve. “You know what? We’re done.”
“You’re dumping me,” Steve said, “because of a high school kid?”
Sirens wailed outside the window. More emergencies, and Harry longed for this one to just be over and done.
“I’m dumping you”—Annie looked at Dad—“because of your dickish behavior.”
“Dude, this just gets better and better,” Max said, rubbing his hands together.
“Annie, you can’t—” Steve said.
“Yes, I can. I should have done it a long time ago.” She kissed Harry’s cheek. “Thank you for showing me that I deserve better.”
Harry smiled and hoped he didn’t blush too much. She really was hot. Not as hot as Sammie, mind. He had so much to tell Sammie, but probably not this bit. Or the part about upchucking all over the Harvard Science Center.
Annie left and Steve seemed to shrink into himself. Harry stared down at his hands while Steve squirmed through a brief apology that ended with a dismissive sniff. Even Harry felt sorry for him—until Steve glanced at him with pure hatred. Dad had read the situation well.
“Now—” Dad put a hand on Steve’s shoulder and guided him to the door. “If you’ll step outside with me, we can begin your enlightenment.”
Max gave Dad a high five and then plopped down in the chair. As the door closed, he shoved his feet up on the bed. “That was a beautiful moment, man. And your dad? Fucking awesome.”
“Yeah.” Harry smiled. This time, his head didn’t hurt when he nodded. “He was, wasn’t he?”
FORTY-ONE
“Mom, I’m still fine.” Just like I was still fine when you called half an hour ago. “Better than fine, really. Dad’s been amazing. Yeah, I wish you could have seen him, too. Love you lots.” Harry hung up and watched Max slouch off to the restroom.
Beyond the huge glass panes, snow had begun to fall sideways. Blowing horizontally at the airport windows, firing like a spray of bullets from a giant Gatling gun. Dad continued to pace, his expression set in a scowl.
Their flight had just been delayed by another half hour. And Dad had become distant, shut down. Impossible to reach. Anxious, if Harry had to guess.
Bored. Harry was bored. Which was fan-fucking-tastic. He’d never been bored at a departure gate before. Tense, frightened, ready to puke, yes. But bored? Was this a glimpse into the world of normal? Shudder at the thought!
Dad didn’t look like he wanted conversation, but how Dad looked on the outside rarely reflected what was happening on the inside. One plus one didn’t always equal two. Math was not the answer to the problems of the universe. Max would disagree, of course, but Harry had always found math too logical. Too cold; too right versus wrong.
He should say something. Say anything. Act like a Brit and discuss the weather. He tugged out one of his earbuds. “Weather’s been total crap this year. Worst ever. I mean—a polar vortex? Isn’t that something from a disaster movie? And a Valentine’s Day ice storm?”
“I’m ready for spring. Snow in March?”
“Well, this is Boston, Dad.”
Dad came over and plonked down in the seat next to him. “Maybe you should stick with a college down south. Better winters.”
Harry smiled. That was a very Mom-ish comment. Totally un-Dad. Was Dad trying so hard to be like Mom that he had finally become her? Harry didn’t know, didn’t care. He liked this new Dad who could be scary as shit when he defended Harry’s honor, but also vulnerable. Harry liked vulnerable. Vulnerable, he could do.
Dad crossed his legs, but one of them kept moving back and forth in a quick metronome beat.
Harry put his hand on Dad’s leg. “You doing okay? You seem, you know, wound a bit tight.”