Cold Comfort: Sunday, July 14, 2024 – Alyssa (1)

I wait Dad out. It doesn’t feel good, but I wait Dad out. He’s got his mental checklist, so he’s laying it all on the table for me: how I don’t know Truman at all. How I’m isolated up here and it’s messing with my thinking. How this story will break and will mess with possibilities for future employment. How I need to get out from under all of this immediately and get back to my life the way it’s supposed to go.

And man, I have arguments for every single point, sometimes in triplicate. I want to start making that list myself, like I’ve got more cards to put on the table than he does. I want to rise to the argument and defend Truman and my own thoughts and feelings and just … argue.

It’s not all Dad, but this just isn’t a good time for a confrontation. Emily’s still missing, Percy and Mary are still out there somewhere, Henry’s off on his own to wreak havoc with his renewed internet and cell phone access … things are going to get worse before they get better. That’s true. There, Dad and I agree. We just disagree on how I should weather the worse.

So I don’t jump in. It’s hard, and it feels wrong to be my customer service self with Dad, but I keep my face as neutral as possible, even if my hands grip my mug too tightly. I try not to give him any nods, because he’d see my I’m listening nods as you’re so right nods. I just … wait him out.

My back’s to the entryway of the lodge, which means Truman can probably hear Dad’s every word. Dad might even be able to see him.

I wait for Dad to wrap up, or run down, or whatever it is that means he’s not talking anymore and just looking at me expectantly, and I take a deep breath and hold his eyes. “So you’re saying if I don’t come home now, I can’t come back ever again?”

He blinks, then blinks again. “What? No. No, honey.” Dad reaches for my hands, catching them between his and the mug. “Honey, you can always come home. Any time.”

Bingo. I nod. “Okay. I’m staying here for the rest of the summer.”

He blinks. I’m ready for him to accuse me of entrapment, because hey, it kind of feels that way, but instead he bursts out, “You can’t just throw your life away for some wood sprite just because he’s got curls and soft brown eyes!”

I almost laugh. It nearly busts out of me—Tru, a wood sprite?—but no matter how he worded it, Dad’s serious. And I’ve got so many protests, all the ways I want to defend Truman and myself, but … I take a slow breath, and at least he’s let go of my hands so I can pull them back and clasp them together in my lap. “I didn’t tell you his full name and about his brother because I’m leaving.”

“Yeah, well, I wish you hadn’t told me at all.” He flaps a hand at me, a violent gesture that almost knocks over his own coffee cup. “You can’t be serious, Lyss. You can’t want to get us into something worse.”

I mean, I don’t. I just want to be with Truman.

“You know what?” Dad stands up. “When you come to your senses and get sick of this granola mushroom shit, we’ll still be there. Until then, I guess …”

I wait, because hey, I want to know if he’s got some sort of biting valedictory, but he just waves both hands at me in a final dismissal and stalks off.

Instead of slouching back I take a deep breath and hold it as long as I can before letting it out in a gust, but when I turn around it’s Edgar in the doorway, not Truman. He holds up his hands, empty palms displayed. “I won’t lie. I heard a lot of that.”

“I’ll make you a latte if you skulk by the window and let me know when you see them leave.” Okay, it sounds more like a threat than an offer.

He blinks. “Skulk.”

“Yeah.” I get up and start gathering our breakfast dishes. “Skulk.”

“Good word. Don’t hear it very often. Skulk I shall.” He turns around and, after busing the table, I concentrate on the espresso machine and try to figure out how I’m feeling.

It’s a challenge, because that went better than I thought it might. At least, I handled myself better than I have in the past, so count all gains, I guess. And yeah, maybe I did trap Dad, but come on. I’ve been out of the house for five years, out of college for one, and maybe he’s projecting a little because neither of us is where we thought we’d be right now. He’s supposed to have a second kid with Dina, one to make Dani Jay a big sister, and I’m not entirely sure what all he had planned for me, but …

Granola mushroom wood sprite, huh? I halfway want to put that on a T-shirt.

“You might not want to come over here,” Edgar cautions from his place at the edge of the window when I start to carry his latte out. He barely looks away from the path long enough to take his drink and, for once, doesn’t admire the latte art.

Outside, Dina holds up a hand to Dad, leaving her big wheeled suitcase on the path next to him and turning to take the stairs up to the lodge. Edgar tries to step back and extract himself from the family drama, but he’s in a corner, and Dina’s inside and hugging me before he can escape.

She squeezes me tightly before grabbing my shoulders and pushing me back, the most intense I’ve ever seen her, but then she turns to Truman instead. “I’d say take care of her, but …”

Truman, arms crossed, gives a little shrug. “I can watch her take care of herself.”

“Okay. Good.” Dina squeezes my hands and smiles. “I know how to contact you. I’ll stay in touch.”

I nod, but there’s not much more to say. We both know Dad, and maybe he’ll come around, but it’ll take him a while if he does. She’s going with him, but not without saying goodbye to me, and that’s enough of a stand. He’ll lecture her on it, on how she’s just encouraging my rebellion or whatever he thinks this is, but she’ll endure. She’s tough.

Dina nods, once to me and once to Truman, and then she’s gone again, out and grabbing her suitcase and walking toward the parking lot like she doesn’t see Dad’s exaggerated Well, finally gesture.

When I turn back to Truman, he’s chewing on his lip and it takes him a moment to realize I’m looking at him. “I, uh. No one’s ever done the whole romance novel choose me thing before.” I go around the desk to hug him, and at some point, Edgar makes good on his escape and leaves Truman and me alone, where we say nothing and everything at the same time.

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Cold Comfort: Sunday, July 14, 2024 – Henry (2), coming August 31