When she turned around, Joe’s dad nodded in satisfaction. “Yeah,” he said. “You’ll do.”
She looked up and found Joe watching them both, his expression unreadable. “Kitchen,” he said, and vanished.
She and his dad exchanged a look.
“He’s probably getting his period,” his dad said.
Something slammed in the kitchen and his dad grinned. “Yeah, definitely he’s getting his period. Maybe we should buy him some of that shit, what’s it called? Midol.”
There was another bang in the kitchen.
Joe’s dad laughed. “For such a tough guy, he’s an easy target.”
Kylie bit her inner cheek. “You’re messing with him.”
“Well, of course I am.”
“Why?” Kylie asked.
His dad shrugged. “I cheated on Joe and just finished a season of Pretty Little Liars without him. I’m bored.”
Joe stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Hey, PLL was supposed to be our dirty little secret.”
Kylie was smiling. “You watch Pretty Little Liars?”
Joe scowled and vanished back into the kitchen.
“Told you,” his dad said, grinning at her. “He’s sensitive as a little . . . boy.”
“Food,” Joe yelled. “Come and get it or I’m eating it all myself.”
They entered the kitchen. Joe’s dad went straight to the sink and jabbed a finger at the stack of dirty pots and pans. “What’s that?”
“Dinner first,” Joe said. “I’ll do dishes after.”
“Around here, we always do dishes first.”
“Not tonight, Dad.”
“Since when?”
“Since it’s midnight and I’m tired and you’re being an asshole. On purpose.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the table. “Sit.”
“I’m already sitting,” his dad said, sounding irritated, but when Joe turned his back, the guy winked at Kylie, in that moment looking very much like his son.
Joe served pasta and sauce and a salad. Kylie smiled when she saw that the pasta was little noodles in the shape of the alphabet.
“Hey,” his dad said, poking at it. “This isn’t Chef Boyardee.”
“Nope,” Joe said.
His dad pushed away his bowl. “You know that I only eat my SpaghettiOs from a can. That’s how I like ’em.”
Joe pushed the bowl back at him. “We’ve been over this. The stuff in a can that you ate all through the eighties like it was going out of style has way too much sodium. Your doctor said you have to cut back. And it’d be a lot easier to feed you if you’d agree to eat something other than pasta.”
His dad picked up a fork. “You know what you are? You’re a pants-wearing, sodium-hating commie.”
Joe nodded. “Impressive. You managed to fling insults without using the F-bomb.”
“My PT and nurse both threatened to quit if I didn’t stop saying it,” he confessed. “They gave me a book on how to swear without swearing. I don’t give a shit what Nurse Ratched thinks, but my PT’s alright.”
“Well look at you, learning to be social,” Joe said.
His dad snorted, but still only poked at the food.
“Dad, just try it.”
“Fine.” He took a bite with exaggerated caution.
“Well?” Joe asked.
“Eh.” He chewed. Swallowed. Took another big bite. And then another. “It’s nothing you’d see on Iron Chef but it’s okay.”
Joe rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks. Do you remember that time the power went out and in order to eat we had to heat cans over a fire pit we made in the backyard?”
His dad took another bite. “The power didn’t go out. It was turned off because those fuckers—er, I mean those effers didn’t tell me that my check had bounced. And since you couldn’t find a can opener, you used a battery-powered screw gun from the garage and poked holes in the can. And also in your own damn finger. Bled like a fire hose. It was so bad we couldn’t tell the difference between the sauce and the blood.”
“Needed stitches,” Joe said fondly, as if proud of this moment. “We used superglue, remember?”
“Hell yeah, I remember. We saved hundreds of dollars in ER bills.”
Kylie stared at the two of them laughing together over this rather horrifying memory. She was starting to realize just how much responsibility Joe had on a daily basis. How much responsibility he’d always had, starting from way too young an age, taking care of both his little sister and his dad.
She might not have had her parents, but she’d had her grandpa. He’d taken care of her, always. She’d never felt the weight of the world on her shoulders as surely as Joe had felt it. Still felt it.
When his dad’s bowl was empty, Joe nodded in approval and rose, collecting all the dishes, ruffling his dad’s short hair as he moved to the sink. It was a small thing, a quick little gesture, but it portrayed such love and acceptance that Kylie felt her throat go tight.
Joe’s cell buzzed an incoming text. He glanced at it and his expression went grim.
“What’s up?” his dad asked. “Work?”
“Yeah. I’ve got to go back in. We’ve got something going down tonight.”
“Kick ass,” his dad said.
Joe opened a drawer filled with prescriptions and pulled out a notepad to check the entries.
“I’ve been taking everything,” his dad said. “Jesus. I’m not a baby.”
“Taking them as in actually swallowing them,” Joe asked, “or taking them to flush them?”
“I don’t flush them anymore. They cost too fucking—er, effing much.”
Joe nodded, put the pad away, and looked at Kylie.
“Don’t worry about me. I told you, I’m a delight,” she said. “I can Uber home from here.”
“I’ll drop you off.”
She didn’t bother to argue with him as they left. She waited until they were in his truck and on the road. “Your dad’s pretty great,” she said.
Joe snorted.
“He is.”
Joe reached over and grabbed her hand, bringing it up to his mouth. “Thanks. You handled him well, so thanks for that too.”
“There was no handling anything. It was nice to meet him.”
He slid her a glance that she couldn’t read.
“What?” she asked.
“I told you, he doesn’t usually talk to anyone except people he knows and is comfortable with. But he talked to you. He liked you.”
“A lot of people like me,” Kylie said and made him laugh, which in turn warmed her because she felt like he needed the laugh, and also . . . it felt good that she’d given it to him.
The next day after work, Kylie walked into the pub and found some of the gang at the far right side of the bar, where they always hung out. Pru, Elle, Willa, and Molly. Kylie took the only empty barstool and paused when they all stared at her.
“What’s up?” she asked, looking down at herself. “Am I trailing tissue paper on my shoe or something?”
“Yeah, you’re right, Willa. She’s most definitely sleeping with him,” Pru said and slapped a ten down on the bar. “She’s got the postcoitus glow.”
Molly grimaced. “Come on, guys. I can’t take that bet.”