Page 65 of Back for Seconds

“So, then who is he interested in being?” I asked, shuffling through the envelopes addressed to me, Mimi, and a litany of former residents.

“A go-go dancer on some billionaire’s yacht.”

“Sal,” I chastised him. “That felt homophobic.”

“What! It’s not! That’s literally what he called it—did you see his post on Instagram?”

I cringed. “No, I unfollowed him after—”

“Weeweegate,” we said in unison.

Two summers ago Vin had posted a selfie of himself in a very low riding pair of sweatpants with an extremely visible penis line. Out of respect for Vin’s thirstiness, I’d muted his posts and told all of our aunts that he’d been hacked, actually. The visible penis in question was not Vin’s but rather that of a very malicious and aroused Russian hacker.

“Text him, June. Don’t be a weirdo like Dad. Vin isn’t avoiding you because he hates you. He’s avoiding you because you’re part of the family pack. Remind him that he can break you free, crack you open, and take a sip.”

“That metaphor…really got away from you, huh?”

“I’ve been awake and on my feet for five hours already. Listen, I’m gonna save you a seat at the bar. Come have Christmas dinner here. I’m bartending. It’ll be just like the old days.”

“Ok.” I laughed. It would be. Me, eating. Sal, pouring everyone drinks. “That’s an amazing idea. I’ll see you tomorrow at…?”

Sal made a soft thinking noise. Some paper shuffled. “Come for three o’clock lunch service.”

“Great. Perfect. I’m going to call Vincent.”

We exchanged five more rounds of I Love Yous, Merry Christmas, and Be Goods before we hung up. When my phone started buzzing in my hand again, I just assumed it was Sal—calling me back. I didn’t think twice before accepting the call, holding my phone to my ear and saying, “Hello?”

“June,” my father replied.

“Dad.” I reached for the kitchen counter reflexively. In case I actually dropped dead—like I said I would before I ever spoke to him again.

Our words hung in the dead air between us. Shocked. We both sounded shocked. After a moment, he said, “You answered.”

“Of course, I did,” I stammered, scrambling to cover my ass. “You’re my dad. A-and it’s Christmas.”

“You’re right, it is. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Same…to you and…”

“Melissa.”

“Melissa,” I repeated her name. “Merry Christmas to you and Melissa.”

Another moment of silence passed between us, and I heard him moving around: a sliding door opening and closing. When he spoke, I could tell that he was someplace different now. I’d never been to his place in Florida, but I could only imagine he’d stepped outside onto a balcony or into a garden. Away from Melissa. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it up there this year. I’m sure you and your mother have something nice planned.”

I cleared my throat. “Mom’s on a cruise.”

“Your mother got on a boat?” His voice stretched with incredulity, like we were in on the same joke. “Are they also wrangling pigs out of the sky?”

“Yeah, she got on a boat,” I snapped. “She’s gotten on a plane before too. Wait til you hear about the train ride she took two months ago.”

“Alright, I didn’t mean—I just always thought she was a homebody.”

“Mmm.” I pressed my fist into my hip. Suddenly, my ears felt very hot. “People change.”

“Listen, I wanted to tell you—I’m gonna be in town for New Year’s, and I have a gift I’d like to give you. Are you free on the thirtieth? Think you have it in your heart to spare some time for your old dad?” He said old dad like it was a joke. A little laugh on his voice.

“Of course, I do.” My voice turned cold. “The thirtieth I’m free. Were you thinking like, lunch or…?”