If It Makes You Happy(44)

His cheeks are flushed. The curved jaw is somehow clearly defined, ticking and denting near his molars as he grinds them in irritation. His forearms flex—corded veins under a dusting of brown hair—with each extension of his defined fingers. And suddenly, I’m very out of breath at the sight of it all.

“I finished work,” Emily fumbles out.

She’s a terrible liar.

“Is this the first time you’ve skipped out on Lisa?” he asks. “Or are we about to have more uncomfortable conversations than I’d like?”

I freeze. Of course it isn’t the first time Emily’s skipped work. I saw her leave the house earlier this month. I know that. She knows I know that. Emily’s eyes desperately catch mine.

Josh takes a step closer to the swinging half door behind the register, holding out his palm. “Hey, dude. I’m—”

Cliff stiffly points a single finger. “I wouldn’t finish that thought, dude.”

To his credit, Josh clams up and lowers his hand. But then none of us speak, all looking cautiously at the on-edge dad in the middle of the video store. Somehow, it’s worse that the only accompaniment is the high-pitched notes of Mariah Carey ringing out from the store speakers.

Cliff threads a hand through his hair, messing up his brown strands and leaving them to hang on his forehead. It’s very grunge rocker of him, making me tense up more—which I don’t think is his intent, but he’s too frustrated to care.

“Emily, go home,” he says. “And call Lisa the moment you get back.”

“Dad—”

“You’re going to apologize. And then we’ll talk later.”

“But—”

“Unless you want to talk now? But I’d really hate to embarrass you in front of—” Cliff snaps his fingers. “What’s your name again?”

I curl my bottom lip in. He obviously knows Josh’s name. Even so, the poor teen opens his mouth to supply it to him but is overpowered by Emily’s huffing groan. She swings a single backpack strap over her shoulder. Her shoelaces snap on the blue carpet, and the key chains rattle on her bag as she steps toward us like she’s going to war.

“God, you’re so annoying sometimes,” she grumbles under her breath as she sidesteps past us and pushes through the door, straining the bell over the door almost as much as Cliff did.

“Hey—” Josh starts.

I shoot him a look because he’s truly playing with fire right now. Thankfully, the boy is smart and shuts his mouth again.

Clenching his fists and releasing them, Cliff finally turns on his boot and pushes through the door. The bell screams again. Josh and I meet eyes.

“I didn’t know she was skipping,” he pleads. “She said some days she didn’t have school.”

His eyebrows are tilted in so close that they might as well be a unibrow.

I sigh. “You do know that school is five days a week, right?”

“She’s smart though. I thought maybe they let her go early or something.” He shrugs so matter-of-factly, so innocently, that it almost makes me smile.

“She’s a smart girl,” I agree. “But don’t let her skip anymore, okay?”

“I’ll try.” He lifts his shoulder again, but the way his lips twist to the side tells me controlling Emily might be a futile effort.

I walk toward the door, then twist back around. “Oh, and word of advice? Maybe next time, don’t introduce yourself to your girlfriend’s dad with hey, dude.”

Color drains from his face. “I freaked.” He wipes a hand down his face. “He hates me.”

I manage a smile, making his shoulders relax a little.

“He’ll get over it,” I say.

I leave the store with the lightest ding that poor doorbell has seen all afternoon and find Cliff sitting on the curb. I squat down and join him. His forearms rest on his knees, hanging limply.

“I forget how exciting it is to be a teenager,” he muses. “There’s nothing quite like skipping when you know you shouldn’t,” he jokes with a forced laugh and a weak smile. Even now, with residual anger beating in his heart like a steady drum, he’s trying to be optimistic. Cliff is always trying.

“Everything’s fine,” I assure him. “She’s just a kid.”

“I know,” he says, wiping his palm over his face. “I know. She’s such a good kid. I feel like we didn’t start arguing until all this boy stuff.”

“I think that’s a common bridge for dads to cross.”

“I get worried. She’s smarter than this.”

“She also has a lot of hormones.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Don’t I know it.”

And I know that wasn’t directed at me, but the low tone and the amusing nature of it all have me looking away and tapping my shoes on the sidewalk.

“Also,” I whisper, “you know his name.”

“Who? James?”

I knock my elbow into his ribs. He chuckles.

“It’s Josh. And you’re a menace. But you’re a good dad.”

His eyebrows rise.

Is he surprised?

“You are,” I repeat, then discreetly check my watch. “I’ve gotta head back. Want me to swing by your house this afternoon and check on her?”