Fake Skating(68)

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

He looked like he wanted to smile (but of course he didn’t). “She said she knew I’d end up in the box at some point, and she thought if I saw her sitting there, I’d have to settle my ass down and focus.”

“Grandma said the word ‘ass’?” I said with a laugh, feeling shocked by the thought.

“Maybe I’m paraphrasing.”

“Or not,” I said, for some reason intrigued by this new-to-me version of her. “Did it work?”

“Like a fucking charm,” he said, and then he didsmile.

“Smart lady,” I said.

“The smartest,” he agreed, and then I felt guilty for even bringing her up.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For…?”

I shrugged. “For bringing her up, I guess.”

“Don’t be,” he said quietly. “My favorite thing to talk about.”

His face was softer for a second, and a small part of me felt like hugging him.

“Okay, then—question three,” I said, because I didn’t think he’d appreciate the hug. “How many times did she turn you down when you asked her out the first time?”

I used to love this story.

“Twelve,” he said with a smart-ass grin. “I asked her out for twelve days in a row, showing up at her mom’s house every morning with a cruller from Kriz’s and an invitation to the movies for that night. And for twelve days in a row, she took the donut, said, ‘ Thank you but I must decline,’ then walked her sweet ass back inside.”

I laughed even though I knew this one, because it was so romantic.

“And on the thirteenth day…?” I prodded, loving this part.

“And on the thirteenth day, I opened my front door to see her standing in my yard with a donut in her hand. She told me she’d broken up with her long-distance boyfriend—who I hadn’t even known existed—and she was wondering if I’d want to go to the lake with her.”

“And the rest was history?” I leaned against the doorframe and wondered what it’d be like to have the power to make a man so tough fall so hard.

“The rest was fucking legendary,” he said with a grin. “Any more questions?”

“Actually,” I said, not wanting to let him walk away when he was sharing like this. “Question four: Was there ever a time that you got along with my dad?”

Since he was opening up (as much as he opened up), I wanted to know more about why he hated my dad so much. Grandpa Mick was a grumpy jerk in general, but now that I’d been around him a little more, I knew he wasn’t like that to everybody.

So why was he like that with my dad so very much?

“What kind of question is that?” he asked, lowering his voice like he didn’t want my mom to hear.

“I don’t know. I was just wondering, because my parents got married in college, but it wasn’t until years later that you…” I hesitated for a second, my voice going soft before I said, “That you… flipped out on him.”

I’d always been scared to bring up this black mark. This scar of a memory between us was still tender, but I felt like it was now or never.

“Yeah?”

“So I guess I want to know if you got along when they first got married, or if you’ve always… hated him.”

He sighed. “Maybe you should ask your mother about this.”

“No,” I said, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him into my room. I closed the door behind him and said, “I don’t want her version of this. To be honest, I think you’re unfair to my dad, but I want to know why. There are two sides to every story, right? I think it’s maybe fair to hear it from your point of view.”

He sighed. “I’m not going to bash your dad, kid. I think he’s a prick and I can’t stand him, but he’s your father.”

“You do know that calling him a prick is bashing him, right?”

“Eh,” he said, like he disagreed.

This made me smile a little. “Okay, so tell me about the first time you met him.”

I knew I wasn’t going to agree with what he said, but I was curious what things had been like in the beginning. Or if it had always been capital B-A-D bad.

“I’m only gonna state the facts,” he said like he was dropping a legal disclaimer.

He walked over to my bed and sat down. “The first time I met your dad, I acted like a jackass.”

“Wow, the self-awareness,” I said, the smile I had tugging harder at my lips.

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Sorry.”

He cleared his throat. “So your ma told us she met a guy in one of her classes and they were dating. He was stationed at the base an hour away but was working on his master’s. Sounded like a decent guy, but right away I didn’t like that, because she was only a freshman.”

I wanted to explain to him that this wasn’t reason enough to hate my dad. But I kind of understood. The fact that he was five years older than my mom wasn’t a big deal now, but when she was eighteen?

That would’ve felt huge. Especially to her parents.

As if he’d read my mind, he continued, “Not a reason to hate him so much, sure. But when she called a few months later to tell us she was quitting school to marry him?”