lift my ass and grab his hand and hold it to my cheek.
He pulls away. "Bedilia look at me."
I settle on my knees, hands folded over my belly-button, and I look.
"What about your job?" Dad always looks so hopeful when he tries logic on me. It kind of breaks my heart that he never loses hope I can be reasoned with on his terms.
"What job?"
He stares. He can read people. Just not me.
"The job you went to Chicago for. White Enterprises?" He's so patient. Behind that mustache…mercy.
"I um…I don't have it…anymore."
He's sitting straighter. "What did you do with it?"
"Nothing I…I lost it."
I have his eyes. I can see what a responsibility they are now, looking into his. Marcus's penetrate, and that's something else entirely, something I'm almost ashamed to think about right now. But Dad's eyes radiate faith. He's not searching for the truth. He can't imagine I'd hide anything. Dad doesn't just believe me, he believes IN me.
So I'm dying a little. For us both.
"Why?" he finally asks.
"It was a conflict of interest between myself…and my boss. That's how he put it."
"And what was that conflict of interest?" Dad has seen it all, pretty much. But with me, he's so easily bewildered.
"I…wouldn't marry him."
"You mean to tell me…that's harassment!"
"No," I breathe. "It's…he didn't do it with malice, Dad. He did it…as a favor."
"What? A favor to himself! Does he know who he's messing with?" Dad loves to say that.
"It was…Dad I just don't want to talk about it. I will…maybe. But now…I just want to be home. I just want to be with my dad."
And Marcus. Juney. Dad, Marcus, Juney. My men. Sort of.
Chapter 21
Juney comes over, scrubbed shiny and in a big T-shirt and knit pants and moccasins. He's carrying a bag of his stuff, and the pillow that's really a teddy bear disguised as a pillow.
"Moving in?" I ask seeing him setting the living room for an all-night party. He even has his own Cheetos.
Artie has a sport's program on. I figure Juney will be good for him while he digests the hand grenade I threw in his lap when I told him about my reality show in Chicago.
After the conversation with Dad, I made the dough for my pies and wrapped it and set it in the fridge. I need a break and some air. If I smoked, I'd need a cigarette, but since I don't, I eat a Twinkie.
I'm licking my fingers and holding my hoodie under my arm as I head for the front door. Artie and Juney are in a deep discussion about that duck show they both love. I slip out the front door.
He's over there maybe. I have no idea. I'm walking. So I put my hands in my pocket in front of my sweatshirt and I swear he opens the door dressed like me, and he sees me and pulls up his hood as he closes the door and I am reaching the end of my walkway as he's reaching his and we both turn and walk side by side down the middle of the dark moonlit street.
"They're watching the duck thing," I say.
He laughs a little, and says, “good” under his breath.
"You talk to him?" him
"Some. He's tough." me
"Pick it up," Marcus says, and I increase my pace.
"I have to take almost two steps to your one," I complain.
"I'll keep that in mind," he says. "You want equal rights, this is it."
"Yeah? When you can make a baby, Stover, let me know." I'm trying not to sound consumptive.
"Been there, done that," he says easily.
"Oh yeah? You push him out?"
"Put him in."
Oh, the world blows up, right there. Did he really want to say that? Take us there?
Oh.
"That was bad," he laughs, slow then louder. He has to stop and bend over. Then he straightens up quick and easily catches up to me.
"Hey, it's Juney. You get a pass," I say pretending to be cool about him…putting it in. I am jealous, but what good is that? I may be ten years old with Artie, but here I have to get real.
"A pass for making the most unfortunate marriage…."
"You have Juney," I say again.
"I got what I deserved, but he deserved better."
"Looks pretty healthy to me."
"C'mon. We both
He pulls away. "Bedilia look at me."
I settle on my knees, hands folded over my belly-button, and I look.
"What about your job?" Dad always looks so hopeful when he tries logic on me. It kind of breaks my heart that he never loses hope I can be reasoned with on his terms.
"What job?"
He stares. He can read people. Just not me.
"The job you went to Chicago for. White Enterprises?" He's so patient. Behind that mustache…mercy.
"I um…I don't have it…anymore."
He's sitting straighter. "What did you do with it?"
"Nothing I…I lost it."
I have his eyes. I can see what a responsibility they are now, looking into his. Marcus's penetrate, and that's something else entirely, something I'm almost ashamed to think about right now. But Dad's eyes radiate faith. He's not searching for the truth. He can't imagine I'd hide anything. Dad doesn't just believe me, he believes IN me.
So I'm dying a little. For us both.
"Why?" he finally asks.
"It was a conflict of interest between myself…and my boss. That's how he put it."
"And what was that conflict of interest?" Dad has seen it all, pretty much. But with me, he's so easily bewildered.
"I…wouldn't marry him."
"You mean to tell me…that's harassment!"
"No," I breathe. "It's…he didn't do it with malice, Dad. He did it…as a favor."
"What? A favor to himself! Does he know who he's messing with?" Dad loves to say that.
"It was…Dad I just don't want to talk about it. I will…maybe. But now…I just want to be home. I just want to be with my dad."
And Marcus. Juney. Dad, Marcus, Juney. My men. Sort of.
Chapter 21
Juney comes over, scrubbed shiny and in a big T-shirt and knit pants and moccasins. He's carrying a bag of his stuff, and the pillow that's really a teddy bear disguised as a pillow.
"Moving in?" I ask seeing him setting the living room for an all-night party. He even has his own Cheetos.
Artie has a sport's program on. I figure Juney will be good for him while he digests the hand grenade I threw in his lap when I told him about my reality show in Chicago.
After the conversation with Dad, I made the dough for my pies and wrapped it and set it in the fridge. I need a break and some air. If I smoked, I'd need a cigarette, but since I don't, I eat a Twinkie.
I'm licking my fingers and holding my hoodie under my arm as I head for the front door. Artie and Juney are in a deep discussion about that duck show they both love. I slip out the front door.
He's over there maybe. I have no idea. I'm walking. So I put my hands in my pocket in front of my sweatshirt and I swear he opens the door dressed like me, and he sees me and pulls up his hood as he closes the door and I am reaching the end of my walkway as he's reaching his and we both turn and walk side by side down the middle of the dark moonlit street.
"They're watching the duck thing," I say.
He laughs a little, and says, “good” under his breath.
"You talk to him?" him
"Some. He's tough." me
"Pick it up," Marcus says, and I increase my pace.
"I have to take almost two steps to your one," I complain.
"I'll keep that in mind," he says. "You want equal rights, this is it."
"Yeah? When you can make a baby, Stover, let me know." I'm trying not to sound consumptive.
"Been there, done that," he says easily.
"Oh yeah? You push him out?"
"Put him in."
Oh, the world blows up, right there. Did he really want to say that? Take us there?
Oh.
"That was bad," he laughs, slow then louder. He has to stop and bend over. Then he straightens up quick and easily catches up to me.
"Hey, it's Juney. You get a pass," I say pretending to be cool about him…putting it in. I am jealous, but what good is that? I may be ten years old with Artie, but here I have to get real.
"A pass for making the most unfortunate marriage…."
"You have Juney," I say again.
"I got what I deserved, but he deserved better."
"Looks pretty healthy to me."
"C'mon. We both
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