I knew it was early days (or actually, early minutes).
But even with Buck’s warning, I was unprepared for just how much she visibly, not-making-that-first-attempt-to-hide-it disliked me.
In truth, what I wanted was to take off my shoes, my feet were killing me.
But my shoes were the only thing that made my outfit even a modicum of cool.
And by appearances, both of Buck’s kids had inherited his coolness.
Gear even had his mysteriously cool styled-but-not-really hair.
Thus, I decided, I needed to keep my shoes on.
After I made that decision, I figured I was going to need more margaritas and wished I’d made a pitcher.
I looked into the house and saw Tatiana standing, doing something at the counter, her back to me, her head turned and tilted back. She was smiling up at her dad, who was close and grinning down at her.
She was very pretty when she smiled.
Gorgeous.
She said something, and he threw his head back and laughed, which made her smile bigger, and she leaned into him, bumping his chest with her shoulder.
My heart skipped at the sight.
It was cute.
It was sweet.
I liked that Buck could be like that with his girl. I liked that Tatiana had that because every girl should have that.
At the same time, I was jealous because I never did.
And the emotion wasn’t jealousy that I felt at knowing I’d never see a daughter of mine do that with her father. A father that was my husband, my man, my lover, someone I trusted and loved who I intended to spend the rest of my life with.
No, that feeling wasn’t jealousy.
It was something else altogether and that something caused not a small amount of pain.
I decided against going in and making a pitcher of margaritas in favor of giving father and daughter more time.
I walked to a teak deck chair that had thick maroon pads, dragged it toward the railing, sat and lifted my feet to rest the soles of my shoes on a lower rung.
That was better.
I sipped my margarita until there was nothing but ice and stayed outside, wondering if I was beginning to appear rude.
On that thought, I saw a shiny, black car that wasn’t anywhere near new but was definitely cool growling loudly up the lane. I didn’t know the make or model, but I did know, whatever it was, it was awesome.
Gear was home.
Five minutes later, Gear with his can of Coke was out on the deck with me.
I turned my head and smiled at him as he pulled a chair beside mine, sat in it and put his feet up on the same rung as mine.
“Dad says grub’ll be up in twenty,” he told me.
“Great,” I replied, my stomach roiling, suddenly not in the mood for grub because eating it meant being around Tatiana, and I still hadn’t come up with a plan.
I felt his eyes on me, so I looked at him.
“What’s with the shiner?” he asked, a grin playing at his mouth in an effort to take the nosiness out of his question.
Though the grin didn’t hide the concern in his eyes.
Really, so like his dad.
“Long story,” I answered, saying it softly so he wouldn’t feel rebuffed.
“That’s cool,” he muttered, letting it go and obviously not feeling rebuffed, which was a relief.
“Was the drive down okay?” I asked, looking for something to talk about.
“Could drive it blindfolded, done it so often.”
“Right,” I whispered.
He studied me only a moment before he announced on another grin, “You’re nervous.”
My head jerked at this straightforward comment, then I couldn’t help it, I emitted a short laugh.
“Um…yes,” I replied when I stopped laughing and I did it on a smile. “Is it that obvious?”
“Totally.” He smiled back.
“Bummer,” I muttered.
“No, it’s cool that you’re nervous and all,” he stated. “But don’t get wound up about Tatie. She and Dad are tight, but she’s cool.”
Again, straightforward.
So like his dad.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
“She’s not good with women,” he informed me, and his open sharing surprised me, so I couldn’t quite stop myself from staring at him. “She and Ma…” He shook his head. “They butt heads. When Dad and Mom were together, it was all good. When we first moved up to Flag, it was okay. Then something gave, and now Mom’s a total bitch to her. They’re always fightin’. Tatie hates bein’ home, she wants to live here. We both like it here better than there. Me, because I hate Ma’s old man, he’s a dick. And sometimes Ma can be not-so-great with me either. Tatie, because Ma’s in her face all the time and because she thinks Knuckles is a dick.”
“Knuckles?”
“Ma’s old man.”
“I’m sorry, that doesn’t sound good,” I noted carefully.
“It isn’t, it sucks. So when Dad told us he got himself a woman, Tatie got pissed. She wants it to be just the three of us. She likes it like that. Reckon she doesn’t want to face the possibility of a female Knuckles here while she’s dealin’ with that dick back home. But, like I said, she’s cool. She gets wound up, like Ma, but in the end, that isn’t really her. It’s just what Ma and Knuckles make her, or maybe it’s that plus teenage girl stuff. Whatever. She’ll come around.”