Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,42
second.
* * *
Chip found me at the bike rack.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey. You were awesome.”
“Lucky shot.”
I shook my head.
“You doing anything tonight?”
“Headed home. My dad’s supposed to be in town.”
“In town?”
“Yeah. He’s been in California for a job.”
“Oh.” Chip’s grin dropped just a bit.
“Why?”
“Trent’s coming over. We’re gonna watch Evie and play games or something. I was gonna see if you wanted to come.”
I blinked.
Sometimes Chip just didn’t make sense.
“You know he hates me, right?”
Chip shook his head. “He doesn’t hate you. And Evie loves you.”
“I don’t think . . .”
But Chip’s phone dinged at him. He grimaced and looked at the message.
“Sorry, I gotta go. Guess no one actually got any dinner.”
“Oh. Sorry. See you.”
Chip sighed.
“Yeah. See you.”
Like I said.
I didn’t know what to make of Cyprian Cusumano.
* * *
Dad was at the table eating leftover khoresh-e-karafs when I got home. He leaped up from the table and wrapped me in a Level Seven Hug.
I held him tight.
“Hey, Dad.”
He held my face for a second and then kissed my forehead.
“How’d you do?”
“Won it in a shoot-out.”
Dad beamed. But then his shoulders kind of slumped.
“I hate that I missed it.”
“It’s okay.”
Dad squeezed my shoulder. “I’m almost done. I’ll do the dishes if you make the tea.”
“Okay.”
I made us a pot of Genmaicha and we settled onto the couch for “Family Business,” which is about Quark’s mother earning profit even though it’s against the law for Ferengi females to do so.
“What do you think would happen if I started calling Mom ‘Moogie’?” I asked.
Moogie is what Quark called his mom.
Dad snorted. “I wouldn’t try it.”
When it was over, we sat on the couch together, drinking our tea. Dad had his arm wrapped around me.
“How’re you doing? Really?”
“Okay.” I chewed on my lip for a second. “Miss you.”
Dad nodded and sighed. He looked like he hadn’t shaved for a couple days, and now that I was sitting right next to him, I could see dark crescents under his eyes.
My father looked rumpled.
I didn’t know people could look rumpled.
“Dad? Are you okay?”
“Me? I’m fine. Tired.”
But there was this thing in his voice, this unquantifiable timbre that sent a chill down my spine.
I scratched the back of my neck.
Dad sighed again.
Stephen Kellner never sighed.
“It’s rough being on the road.”
He squeezed my shoulder.
“Being away from you all . . . it’s harder than I thought it was going to be. I would’ve turned this job down, but we need the money.”
Dad drummed his fingers against his teacup.
And then he sighed again.
“Sorry. I just . . . I’m having a bit of an episode right now. It’s going to be okay.”
“A depressive episode?”
He nodded.
“Can I help?”
Dad squeezed my shoulder again.
“No. I’ve got it under control, and I’ve been talking with Dr. Howell about upping my prescription.”
“I could ask Mr. Edwards for more hours. Or get a second job.”
“Absolutely not. You work hard enough as it is, with your job and soccer and school. And besides, it’s our job to take care of you, not the other way around.”
“But I want to help.”
“You are helping. By being happy. By helping with your sister.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“No buts.” Dad smiled. “We’re going to be okay.”
“Okay,” I said.
Dad let out a long breath.
“Come on, enough heavy stuff. Tell me something interesting that happened while I was gone.”
“Well,” I said. “I got kneed in the balls last week.”
Dad winced, and his hand twitched, like he wanted to cover himself.
“I’m okay, though. Don’t worry.”
Dad shook his head.
But then he chuckled a little.
And then he started laughing.
It felt good to make Dad laugh.
TERRIBLY PEDESTRIAN
“Can you grab two more boxes of Tencha?” Alexis hollered. “And one of Masala Chai?”
I set the Tencha by the door, then went to the black tea shelf. It was in total disarray: Ceylons and Darjeelings and Earl Greys all stuffed haphazardly onto shelves without their labels pointing outward.
I shoved a couple boxes of Ceylon to the side and found the Masala Chai hidden toward the back.
“Got it,” I called back.
I straightened out the shelves as best I could and took the boxes to the front.
“Restock? Good.” Kerry nodded toward the empty shelf space and then turned back to her customer, a twenty-something white guy with long blond hair, a full blond beard, cargo shorts, and one of those colorful sweater-hoodies that looked like it was made out of alpaca wool or something.
Truth be told, the guy looked like he should have been out on a mountaintop, herding alpacas too.
I slipped past Alpaca Man, getting an unfortunate whiff of