Fake Skating(6)

“Yup.”

Just as she said that, someone laid on their horn outside. I turned around in time to see a big black truck pull up behind the fancy car, and whoever was inside impatiently hit their horn—over and over—until Ben finally pulled away.

It made me laugh, imagining Benji’s distaste for the slush-covered F-250, until I saw the truck whip into our driveway behind the moving truck.

Then I saw him get out.

The man somehow looked taller—and tougher—than I remembered, and I swear to God he was cursing as he slammed his truck door and gestured toward Benji’s house.

Grandpa Mick.

“Looks like Daddy’s home,” my mom said, but she was smiling like his behavior was amusing.

I knew my mom had had a lot of phone calls with him since my parents separated and we ditched Germany, so it was possible that my grandpa had earned my mom’s tolerance for his grumpiness.

But he hadn’t earned mine.

Because what kind of grandfather just stopped talking to his grandchild?

I braced myself for his entrance, dreading the reunion because there was no way it wasn’t going to be weird. He was probably going to make some big apology, and I was probably going to have to lie and say oh, it’s fineand hug him and pretend that it was all water under the bridge.

I hope he doesn’t cry.

The door flew open, almost as if he kicked it in, and suddenly there he was, looking more like a character from an action movie than somebody’s granddad.

“I can’t believe that little shit was blocking my driveway—why was Worthington here?”

He pulled off his Ray-Bans, and in spite of the rant about his neighbor, I felt something warm in my chest when I saw his eyes. Probably because his eyes looked exactly the same as they had when he’d been my favorite human.

Even though he was a colossal jerk, some part of me wanted to hug him. Desperately.

“He helped Dani carry a box,” my mom said as she crossed the room to hug him. “Benji was being nice.”

“Sure he was,” he muttered, sounding like a grump but wrapping her up in a big hug and kissing the top of her head. “How was the drive?”

“Good. Cold,” she said, and when she pulled back, I couldn’t ignore the expression on my mother’s face. She looked relaxed for the first time in… wow, maybe everas she grinned at her father and added, “Dani’s officially an ice cube now.”

“Eh. It’s not too bad out there today,” he said with a shrug, looking over at me.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just made a weird noise, like a harrumph, because Grandpa Mick’s gaze was locked in on me and it was… unnerving.

He stared at me like he was searching for something, like he was trying to find an object that’d been hidden on my person or something. I bit down on my lip and fidgeted under his hawklike watch, but then I realized he was probably just searching for the right words to apologize with.

I mean, how does one intro an apology for years of absence? Listen, kid, I’m a dickcould work, or perhaps let’s talk about the jackass elephant in the room.

I crossed my arms, and my breath felt a little bit stuck in my chest as the silence hovered, but then he finally opened his mouth.

And said, “You got tall.”

You got tall.

What?

“You got tall”?

That is all you have to say to me?

I cleared my throat and tucked my hair behind my ears. “I’m five-seven.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding like I’d confirmed something. “Pretty tall for a girl.”

What is happening?

He kept looking at me, and nodding, and I wanted to die from the embarrassment of this reunion. The man who’d let me steer his boat when I was four because I was his “Danigirl” could only muster up enough politeness to hit me with the small-talk gold of tall for a girl.

Such a poignant moment.

Such a glowing apology.

“I’m going to go get more boxes,” I said, pointing toward the door, and then I quickly left the room before he had a chance to offer a follow-up inquiry about my shoe size or perhaps question whether I liked pickles on my hamburgers.

“We’re right behind you,” my mom sort of yelled, but I didn’t care.

I was suddenly all in on the box moving, because it gave me a reason to avoid my life for a couple more hours.

And it worked.

When the U-Haul was finally empty, I was about to go inside and close myself into the bedroom that was now officially mine when my mom said, “You guys ready to go get some dinner?”

I wanted to remain distant and unapproachable, really, I did, but the truth was that I was famished. And frozen. And exhausted.

A hot meal sounded heavenly.

“I’ll drive.” Grandpa Mick pulled out his key ring and hit the start button on his truck. “They still live on Fairacre, right?”

Wait.

“Yep,” my mom said. “I’ll go grab my purse and lock the door if you guys want to get in the truck.”

Wait, wait, wait. Fairacre Road.

What??

“Where are we going?” I asked calmly, even though I already knew the answer and my stomach had suddenly dropped to my feet.

“We’re going to the Barczewskis’,” my mom said as if it was a given. “Sarah cooked us dinner.”