“Damn, Char, right for the jugular,” he says.
“Sorry.”
“Cleo’s has two-for-one happy hour beers,” he says, nodding his head toward my staircase. “Want to get a drink?”“This better not be that Loveless shit,” I tease as Daniel puts a beer in front of me. “I get that for free.”
“It’s that horrible peach IPA from River Run you love,” he says, sitting across from me. “The one that tastes like licking a jolly rancher’s butthole.”
“At least call it tossing a Jolly Rancher’s salad,” I say, taking a sip.
“It tastes like heading to Downtown Jolly Ranch on the brown line,” he says, and I nearly spit my beer out.
“You made it grosser,” I say. “How the fuck did you make that grosser?”
He just shrugs and takes a sip of his own beer, looking pleased with himself. There’s a long moment of silence.
“I’m sorry for being a dick,” he finally says. “But I do wish you’d keep dangerous stuff away from her a little better, at least until she has some impulse control.”
I bite my lip as my annoyance flares, take a deep breath, and tell myself not to restart the argument.
Particularly because he’s being totally reasonable, and I know it.
“I’m sorry for not keeping better tabs on her,” I say. “But it’s also not my fault she stole something.”
“I know,” Daniel says. “We talked about that last night after you left. Also, she’s grounded for a week. Missing Jody Richter’s birthday sleepover this weekend.”
I gasp, involuntarily, and Daniel pauses, his beer halfway to his mouth.
“Is that the unicorn themed party?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“She’s been looking forward to that for weeks!”
“Then maybe she’ll remember not to steal things,” Daniel says, calmly.
And now I feel bad that Rusty doesn’t get to go to this cool sleepover. Kids are a total mindfuck.
“I’m also sorry I brought up how you were a total shithead when you were a kid,” I say, looking down into my beer.
“You’re not wrong,” he says, shrugging. “I was pissed when you said it, but…”
“You really were an asshole,” I say, finishing his sentence for him.
“The first time that Pat Sherman took me down to the station and gave me hell for taking a Snickers and a forty it scared the shit out of me,” Daniel admits. “But then he just let me go because he felt bad about Dad, and I realized that nothing was ever gonna happen.”
“Monster,” I say.
“It’s the worst part of being a parent,” he says, sighing. “Being afraid they’re going to turn out exactly like you.”
“Don’t worry, she’s already smarter than you were,” I say, grinning, and Daniel laughs.
“God, I hope so,” he says, then takes another sip of his beer, watching me over the glass. “Do I have anything else to apologize for?”
I take a long look at him, trying to corral my thoughts into some sort of order, because I still feel bad on some deep-down level, still feel like I’m lacking somehow, like I’m forever the girl who forgets lit candles, forever the girl who leaves saws sitting on chairs and would forget her own head if it wasn’t attached.
I wish I wasn’t that girl. I wish I wasn’t irresponsible, impulsive, flighty. I wish I had a daily planner that predicted my life exactly and I wish I had to-do lists with every item neatly checked off, but instead sometimes I lose my keys and find them in the fridge.
But none of that’s an apology. None of it’s in the scope of this conversation, a whole list of ways I want to be different but can’t be, so I take a long drink of beer and say something else.
“You keep getting beard hairs on my sink,” I say.
Daniel just narrows his eyes at me.
“And you rearranged my spice drawer,” I go on.
“I put them in order,” he protests.
“They were in order,” I say. “It took me ten minutes to find garlic powder the other day. I had a system, Daniel.”
He makes a face that clearly indicates what he thought of my system, but then he catches himself.
“I’m sorry about the beard hairs,” he says. “And I’m sorry for organizing your kitchen.”
“You mean de-organizing.”
He makes a perfectly neutral face.
“De-organizing,” he says, and then looks down and quickly checks his phone.
“You just looked to see if we’ve got time,” I say, and he looks up at me, half amused and half guilty.
“I have to go get Rusty in twenty minutes,” he says. “I have perfectly legit reasons for knowing the time.”
“Nah, you checked to see if we have time for make-up sex,” I tease.
Daniel just raises one eyebrow, then takes the last sip of his beer, puts the glass down, leans in.
“Cleo’s has a bathroom,” he says, his deep blue eyes practically sparkling.
I lean in too.
“No,” I say, fighting a smile.
“Come on.”
“They will never let us come back here,” I say, and he just shrugs.