Trade Me (Cyclone #1)

He slams his fists on the table. “Fuck me.”


“I know I’m leaving a hole in the launch,” I say. “I know my timing couldn’t be worse. I’m sorry. And I know this just makes it worse for you. I’ve been telling myself I can do this for weeks. But I can’t. I just…can’t.” I start to stand up.

Dad points a finger at me. “Sit the fuck down, Blake. Sit down and eat.” His pointing finger falls slowly, clenching back into a fist. “Shit. You’ve been telling me for months and months that you can’t do this, and did I listen? No. I was so fucking self-centered that I never let it register. I didn’t see it.” His voice is shaking.

“I wanted to be someone you could rely on,” I say. “I wanted it so badly. I’m just not. I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Why the fuck are you sorry?” He looks at me. “Goddammit, I know I’m an asshole. But I never, ever wanted to be an asshole to you. It’s just… I’ve been stuck in my head, seeing only my own shit this whole time.” He inhales. “No. No excuses.” He stands and crosses over to me. “Blake. I’m so sorry. I never, ever wanted to…”

He bows his head and clears his throat.

And that’s when I realize he’s choking back tears. My dad. I’ve only seen him cry once before in my life, and that was horrifying.

“I should have realized,” he says in a low voice. “I failed you.”

I thought nothing could hurt worse than my dad being disappointed in me. But he looks ravaged right now.

It turns out I was wrong. There is one thing that’s worse: the look on his face when he’s disappointed in himself.

I stand up. “No.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you dare. You’ve been the best dad I could have asked for. It’s not your fault. I didn’t want to tell you. I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

He puts his arm around me, pulling me close. “Never,” he whispers. “Never, ever, ever, Blake. I’m proud of you. Now and always.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Hell. You think I’m lying? It took me until I was fifty to realize I needed to get out. You figured it out at twenty-three. Good for you.”

He squeezes me hard and I squeeze him back. We hug each other like we’re afraid to let go. I’m afraid that if I look at him, this will all disappear.

“What are we doing to do?” I finally ask.

He sighs. “Well. Let’s break this down. I obviously have to rethink tomorrow.”

“You mean, we have to—”

He holds up a hand. “Not your worry now, Blake. I’ve got it.”

He says it so calmly, so precisely, that I know it’s true. He’s got it.

“But—”

“This is why God invented caffeine,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’ve made bigger changes on less notice. Only wusses need twenty-four hours to craft a major international announcement. I’ll manage this one.”

“But—”

“But for now...” He gestures to the table. “For now we’re going to sit. And we’re going to eat. And we’re going to have a normal fucking conversation like a normal goddamned family. Because I’m still trying to convince Tina I’m not a complete fucking barbarian.”

“Give it up,” Tina says. “It will never happen. I know too much about you.”

Dad sits. He picks up his fork again. “Tina. Did you—were you—” He stops short, shaking his head. “Never mind. Stupid question. It’s obvious you knew. And that you helped him…get here.” He picks up his fork, cuts off a piece of the roasted tenderloin. “Thank you.”

That’s all we say about it for the rest of dinner. Dad tells a story about a hilarious translation issue that arose in our Singapore office, and we all laugh—a little too hard, more than the story deserves, as if the universe has earned our mirth. As if we’ve had one too-close escape, and we have to smile in the teeth of the future that could have been.

The food has grown cold, but I don’t pause between bites. I don’t have to ask myself if I want this food to turn into me. For the first time in months, I know the answer.

I don’t want to vanish. It’s going to be okay.

I look over at Tina, and I let myself feel all the wistfulness that I’ve been holding onto. God, I just want it all to be okay.

TINA

After dinner with Blake’s dad, after a leisurely dessert and coffee where we sit in the living room and Adam Reynolds tells me stories about Blake that embarrass him, but which I can’t help but find adorable—Blake stands.

“Still have something you want to show Tina tonight?” Adam asks.

Blake glances in my direction. “Yep.”

Adam waves a hand. “You kids have fun.”

“Are you sure? Because I can—”

“Fuck off, Blake.” He says it with a smile. “Seriously. I can handle this. I’ll have it figured out by midnight, tops.”