Everything was not cool.
My dad was furious. (And drunk.)
Ryan looked resigned to whatever fate my father would bestow upon him.
I was sure this would end in bloodshed, one way or another.
So imagine my surprise when instead of kicking Ryan’s ass, my father pulled up another stool, sat Ryan down between us, and ordered him one of the regional beers on tap.
All in the space of about five seconds.
“I don’t even question things anymore,” I said.
“Good,” my dad said. “It’ll make things easier.” He turned his glare back at Ryan. “Now you will sit here. You will drink this beer. And you will be happy about it.”
Ryan drank his beer without question.
“Now,” my father said. “What are you doing here?”
“Besides following me,” I said.
“I’m not following you,” he said weakly.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m not!”
“So you just happened to be in the same place that I am. Again.”
“Maybe you’re following me!”
“Yeah, because I have so many reasons to want to see your stupid face.”
“Oh please. You think my face is delicious.”
“Children!” Dad barked at both of us.
We were sufficiently cowed.
“Ryan, you will tell me why you’re here,” he said. “Sam, you will let him speak, and then, when he’s finished, you may resume your back and forth that is supposed to be snarky banter but is in actuality snarky foreplay.”
“Dad!”
“More stout please,” my father said to the barkeep. “I’m going to need it with these two idiots.”
“No more for him,” I said. “He’s cut off.”
“You’re cut off,” Dad said as the barkeep filled his mug.
“You guys are so related,” Ryan said.
“Shut up,” I said. “We are not.” Then, “Wait. Yes we are. But shut up.”
“Are you drunk?” he asked, sounding amused.
“No.” I was. “I’m not at all.” I was pleasantly buzzed. “Sober as a kitten.”
“Sometimes,” my dad said, “you don’t make sense when you speak, but that’s okay because I love you anyway.”