Page 51 of Cuffed to my Roomies
If I could just get away with not telling him. Not sharing private details of my sex life with him. Most people my age didn’t tell their parents who they were sleeping with or how anyway.
By failing to acknowledge my relationship with the guys, though, I was hurting them. If I had a boyfriend, as in singular, one and only one boyfriend, I’d obviously introduce him to my father. I’d invite him to join us for lunch. I’d hope they got along and liked each other. So refusing to admit I was romantically involved with Derek and Brett was like saying that they didn’t count. That neither was my boyfriend. That what we shared wasn’t real.
I even flirted with the idea of asking one of them to come to lunch as the boyfriend, and the other one to be the platonic roommate. Although my dad wouldn’t be happy with me living in the same apartment with a boyfriend either. Even if I had a separate room, he wouldn’t want me doing that. I shook my head. That wasn’t a compromise that would work. It would still disappoint my father, and it would hurt at least one of the guys. It was simply a no-win situation no matter what way I looked at it.
Exhausted and no closer to a solution, I finally drifted off to sleep.
22
At my internship, I asked for the afternoon off because my dad was in town. My supervisor was really nice about it. Since I knew from Celia that Liz Markham was out of town, I wasn’t worried about missing an opportunity to talk to her about what I’d sent her. I did some copies and a latte run and left at eleven. I had asked my dad to meet me at Richie’s, a place near work that had great burgers. I didn’t want to take him anyplace that would make him uncomfortable, like the French place with the fantastic soup where Celia and I sometimes went. Or the salad place that was stupidly expensive for a bowl of lettuce. I wanted him to feel like he was in his element, not out of place. So I took care to select a venue where he would be familiar with everything they served, and no one would be snooty or wearing a suit and tie.
I wore my pencil skirt and my blue blouse. I looked neat and professional, but I didn’t wear any fancy sample-closet shoes or a silk scarf. He wouldn’t like it if I was too into my appearance. Vanity was something he’d talked to me about when I wanted to start wearing makeup in middle school. I was allowed lip gloss—clear gloss only—until I was sixteen. Then I got to wear mascara. I thought I was as glamorous as freaking Kate Upton when I was finally allowed to wear mascara. So I’d kept my makeup understated—no contouring and highlighting, no perfect cat-eye liner.
I fidgeted and sipped my water. I’d ordered my dad iced tea and waited for him, impatient, nervous. When he walked in, I felt a rush of affection at the familiar sight of him. Here was the man who’d always loved and protected me and worked so hard to give me the best life he could. The flood of love, of having missed him so much, just overwhelmed me. I stood up, hugged him when he reached the table.
“It’s so good to see you, Daddy,” I said.
He patted my shoulder, “You look great, sweetie. City life agrees with you all right,” he said.
“Yes. I really like it. Have a seat. I got you some tea.”
“Thanks. I was afraid you’d pick some snooty sushi joint, but this is okay,” he said, seeming relieved. I was glad I’d picked a burger place.
We looked over the menu. I asked about his drive. He hated city traffic, but the place he was staying had free breakfast, so he had all the coffee and hotcakes he wanted that morning, he said.
“How’s work?” I asked.
“Same as ever. Ronnie Newton’s retiring. He and his wife sold their house and got a boat. They’re moving out to the lake.”
“Isn’t Ronnie the one who likes fishing?” I said.
“Yeah. He’s always wanted to go on the bass fishing tour. He’s not gonna do that, but he’ll relax out on the boat, drink beer and nap probably,” Dad chuckled.
“He’s earned it. He’s been there even longer than you,” I said.
“Old Ronnie started four years before me. But he’s been full time all that time. I didn’t go full time till two years after I started. I had to work the janitorial staff at the nursing home for a while to make ends meet, remember?”
“I remember you telling me about it. I was a baby, I think,” I said, biting my lip, thinking of my dad having to mop floors at a nursing home after working all day fixing cars.
