“Does Codi know you’re spending time with Rocco?” he rebukes.
That makes me laugh. “You should really stop having me followed.”
“Do you really mind?”
I tip my bottom lip out in indifference. “No. Not particularly.”
“I wish you would stop calling the police, it causes an unnecessary amount of paperwork for me.”
He’s smiling, no anger in the way he chides me, just an exasperation at my childish games.
“Just trying to keep them on their toes. They should really learn to be more inconspicuous.”
“Hm,” he comments, checking the caller ID on his cell before silencing it.
“Rocco is teaching me to fight,” I offer. An explanation for my newfound friendship, not caring for him to read into something that isn’t there. “I was supposed to be there now, but he canceled. For you.” An accusation, one he takes comfortably.
“You can reschedule.”
I nod unenthusiastically. “Thought I’d see if you wanted to have lunch. Codi’s working.”
“Well.” He laughs. “With an invitation like that, how could I say no?”
I throw a cushion his way. “Not what I meant. You busy? There is a new Gyoza place in town, I’ve been wanting to check it out.”
His face lights up with an expected joy. “Never busy enough to stop me sharing a meal with my daughter. Let me make a phone call and then we’ll go.”
He expects me to leave, to offer him the privacy I’ve always given him when he works. But I don’t. I’m done hiding behind my own self-inflicted ignorance. This involves my mother, the woman who despises me more than any other human being on this planet for the greatest imposition of being born.
Accepting my newfound rebellion, my father has his phone against his ear. “Do you have an update?”
He listens carefully.
“Follow him in.”
The voice on the other end raises slightly, the muffled masculine tone drifting through the room.
“I don’t care if he throws an adult-sized tantrum. I don’t trust her. We’ve experienced enough unnecessary deaths by the hand of Marcus and Sarah, let’s not add any more.”
My body goes cold. My veins freezing over in dread at the thought of another death. Blood coating yet another floor, staining the world with the loss of another undeserving soul.
I should be ashamed that it isn’t my flesh and blood, my own mother that I’m concerned about. But I’m not. Possibly a little shocked at the intensity behind the feeling, but my fear is for Rocco and Rocco alone. The sheer thought of him leaving this earth hitting me heavier than I would ever care for it to.
“Ready?” He taps my knee.
“Who did you send with him? With Rocco?”
“He’s fine, Ryn.” He reads my concern easily, his features warming in understanding. “Tivoli is with him.”
“Parker and Codi will never forgive you if… if…” I stumble over what I’m trying to say.
He watches me carefully. “Parker and Codi or you?”
I stand, feigning a look of annoyance. “Wouldn’t cost me sleep at night,” I beguile, lifting my head in a false nonchalance that he sees straight through.
I walk from the room before he can call me out on my lie. “You can drive,” I tell him. “I did an overnight, status update, shattered.”
The small restaurant, aptly titled ‘Gyoza’ is bustling; small clusters of people pushed into the space comfortably. Conversation buzzes through the room; laughter and soft hushed tones a melody to the open layout of the loud kitchen.
Dad and I settle into a modest table toward the back, locked away in our very own cone of silence. Hidden from the bustle, I feel unfavorably exposed. Like with a simple look, my father could look into me and discover every dirty secret I have hidden in the darkest parts of my soul.
The waiter, barely giving us time to settle, approaches, ready to take our order.
Asshole. Give a girl a second to drool over the menu.
Before I can send him away, my dad nods, picking up the menu to peruse. I remain quiet while he orders, nodding along with his suggestions as he looks to me for confirmation.
“And Sake, please,” I add. “Times two.”
Drinks settled in front of us, I watch my dad lift his to his lips, sipping slowly.
We used to do this often when I was younger; when I was more of who he remembers and less of who he sees now. We’d escape the sunshine of Codi or the storm of my mother, hiding in plain sight at new restaurants and hole-in-the-wall cafes. Just the two of us caught up in ourselves. We’d share a meal, more often than not the food going cold as we talked for hours, too caught up in the topic at hand to remember to eat. Even at my youngest, our conversations were never surface, they never involved small talk. There was always depth. Philosophical discussions that tested our individual thoughts.
The meaning of life.
The injustices of the world.
Whether fate is real? And if so, does that remove our right to free will.
Will humans a species become extinct and if so, when?
We’d argue, we’d agree, we’d happily remain indifferent if we couldn’t find mutual ground. It was exciting. It was eye-opening. I felt challenged in the best possible ways, and I know he felt the same way.
Then it stopped.
I couldn’t tell you if that was through a fault of mine or his. Maybe it was us both. I returned from college, lost and broken and I couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting across from my dad discussing the world’s problems. I was too caught up in my own. He was likely scared of who college turned me into, clutching onto his memories of who we used to be rather than making damaged new ones.
I just know through it all, I hated him a little. He was my dad. Wasn’t he supposed to push past those barriers? Wasn’t he supposed to look into my eyes and just know? Or maybe he just didn’t care, maybe his love wasn’t as absolute as I believed it to be. Childish thoughts I’ve never been able to rid myself of.
“You found her,” I announce abruptly. “You found my mother. That’s where Rocco is, hunting Sarah.”
He coughs, the dryness of his Sake catching on his surprise at my forwardness.
“Yes.”
I appreciate his honesty, but it’s not as if he could deny it. I heard his phone conversation. Lying would only create a greater divide between us, one neither of us can afford.
“Why Rocco? Why send him?”
Placing his glass back on the table, he watches me with a depth that should make me shift in my seat. Dark eyebrows pulled together, he pulls at his shirt cuffs before laying his arms along his crossed legs.
He’s always so composed. I’ve never seen him lose his temper or break down. He’s impossible to read. Not unfeeling by any stretch, but someone who is rock solid in their ability to control their emotions. I envy and hate him all at once for that.
“Why not Rocco?”
“You trust him?” I question forcefully.
“You don’t?”
“Depends on the matter in which trust is required,” I murmur. “I guess I’d say he’s honest, in the limited interactions I’ve had with him. But do I trust that he won’t kill my mother? No.”