Page 123 of Score
“Not worried, necessarily. It just puts things in perspective. He always seemed larger than life when I was growing up. I know he’s human, but the older he gets, the more I’m reminded he’s mortal. He won’t always be around.” A beat passes before he goes on. “I thought a lot about what you said. You’re right. The man made mistakes. We all do. My mom managed to forgive him, so maybe I should try a little harder, too. I’m not big onresolutions, but I have promised myself I’ll spend more time with him this year.”
I’m happy for him, and inordinately pleased if I had anything to do with this development. My feelings for my own father are so complex, I have no room to judge. It’s hard to separate my resentment for what he did from the reality of what I know he was battling since I have my own challenges. Only he never had the benefit of a therapist, a psychiatrist, medication, support groups. Yeah, every time I want to give that man grief, I find myself extending grace. Dr. Palmer says I should learn to do that for myself. Easier said than done.
“You mentioned a therapist before,” I say. “That surprised me.”
“Am I that regressive? Backward? Emotionally unavailable?”
“Which should I address first?” I ask teasingly.
“Come over here and say that to my face.” His deep voice drops to a guttural threat and promise.
“I feel like the subtext is ‘come over here and say that to my dick.’”
“Perceptive.”
“So that’s an invitation?”
“Do you need one? Most of my friends are out of town. You could hang out here for a few days till New Year’s Eve. Pack a bag.”
The smile melts from my mouth and my jaw unhinges. “Seriously?”
“You’ve spent the night before, Vee. Why’s it so different?”
It’s one thing when you have sex and fall asleep at a guy’s place. That’s still just hooking up. But planning to stay for a couple of days, packing a bag, feels like arelationship. And I know that’s not what this is. It’s not what Monk wants, or probably even believes I’m capable of.
“Bring your ass on over and explain it to me when you get here,” he says, amusement in his voice, but also affection.
“I was gonna work on my pitch.”
“I got work to do, too. Bring it with you.” When I don’t answer, he huffs a breath. “Forget it. You don’t have to come. I just thought you might—”
“I’ll come,” I cut in. “But I’m hungry.”
“I’ll cook something.”
“Cook?” I scoff, sitting on the kitchen stool and resting my elbows on the counter. “You?”
“Very funny. I used to cook for you all the time.”
“I know you ain’t talking ’bout them fried baloney sandwiches,” I laugh.
“I don’t remember you complaining.” The smile is clear in his voice.
We don’t allude to the past much. Things go smoother when we focus on now and how good the sex is instead of then, and what we were to each other before.
“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?” he asks.
“I was either staying home and watching somebody’s ball drop, or I got invited to Galaxy Studios’ rooftop party.”
“I was invited to that, too. Thinking about attending. Best food and liquor in town. Bring your clothes and we can go.”
“Not together! We said we’d keep this low.”
That came out a little more vehemently than I intended, and a tight silence follows my words.
“We can drive separately,” Monk answers stiffly. “We don’t even have to acknowledge each other, if you don’t want.”
“I didn’t mean… It’s not that serious.”
