Page 13 of Something Spontaneous

For better or worse, Dad is helping take my mind off those memories today from his perch at the desk. The sound of his whistling picks up, and I drop my head to the pad on the creeper and groan.

Working alone is a privilege that I lost one way or another after my accident. This reminds me that I miss some time to myself. It’s not that he doesn’t trust me—or anyone else—to be alone in the garage. I just think it’s that he hasn’t forgiven himself. At least that’s what I’ve convinced myself over the last few years, every time he hangs around ordering parts or doing what amounts to ‘busy work’. I guess it makes sense to have a second desk out here besides the one in the office because I can tell him what parts we need to order without having to stop my work.

Combined with his worsening arthritis, he’s not that handy when it comes to fixing cars anymore. He is, however, far better at talking to customers than me, and somehow always makes them laugh. It’s better for all involved that he handles most daytime conversations, but at this point, with his whistling, I know he’s either trying to annoy me or fuck with me. It’s working, and today, it’s both—even if it’s not an entirely unwelcome distraction.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I grumble from under Josie’s van.

The whistling and sound of his typing stop.

“What am I enjoying?”

“You’ve been over there whistling nonstop since lunch. You even managed to whistle while eating lunch—which side note, is impressive, but still annoying. You must think you’re really funny today.”

“I don’t know how that makes me funny,” he replies, and I hear the amusement in his voice.

My eyes roll back on their own, even though he can’t see my reaction from under the van. “You’re awfully pleased with yourself. You know damn well what I mean.”

He lets out an unconvincing hum. “No. I don’t think I do.”

His old office chair squeaks as he spins around. I crane my neck to see his feet pointed in my direction.

Groaning, I roll out from under the van and see the same shit-eating grin he had plastered on earlier at the diner.

I point my wrench at him like I’m scolding a child. “You knew she was the customer getting dropped off last night, and you conveniently left that detail out when you called me.”

He shrugs, but his silly grin doesn’t falter. “Maybe it slipped my mind,” he says, tapping the side of his head. “I am getting old after all.”

I sigh and rest my head back before rolling all the way out from under the van.

“Speaking of, you’re not getting any younger either, son.” He chuckles. “Maybe it’s time you start thinking about that.”

I peel myself off the creeper and stand up to face him, still sitting at his desk next to the open garage door. I grab a shop rag and start wiping off my hands, responding to his grin by raising a brow skeptically. “Are you going to admit you’re trying to play some game with me and Josie?”

“Nope. Still haven’t got the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” He holds his chin between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing his stubble in an exaggerated look of contemplation. “You know, it is awfully nice that she’s here though. Your sister was thrilled to catch up with her. Maybe you could learn something from her. Would hate for that chance to go to waste.”

I scrub my hand over my beard, partly out of exasperation and partly because I admire his brazenness. I love him, but his shameless meddling gives the Housewives of Honeycomb Ranch a run for their money.

“Welp,” he says, clapping his hands together before making a shooing gesture. “I’ve got work to do. Go grab us some sodas.”

My jaw drops. “Are you serious right now? You’re the one who was just starting shit, Dad. Why don’t you grab them?” I let out an irritated sigh and wave dismissively at him. “You know what? Never mind. I got it. I need a break from you.”

“Perfect.” He starts whistling again as he turns back to his computer, leaving me shaking my head. As I head to the office where the fridge is, I hear him call back to me. “Oh, make that three sodas.”

“What?” I groan and turn to see Josie leaning against the open garage door.

Goddammit.

The way the sunlight comes in behind her puts her profile on full display. She’s still petite and can’t be an inch over five-three, but her curves have filled in, accenting her hips and the dip of her waist. Then there’s that fucking hair. I always loved her red hair, which she used to keep longer and in a French braid, but now her short cut fits her personality perfectly. She was always fiery and intense, and now, she has the hairstyle to match her confidence.

I shake my head, half to feign annoyance and half to try and regain some shred of composure. I lift my hand just above my waist and flick my wrist, mustering the tiniest two-fingered wave.

“Water or soda?” The words come out gruff and agitated. I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings, and today is no fucking exception.

“Wow, so hospitable today,” she replies in her sarcastic tone that hasn’t changed.

Dad laughs. “Yeah, you just missed one of his little tantrums.”

She giggles and slaps him on the shoulder. Yeah, this certainly is some level of fucked up déjà vu from my teenage years. Just like those days, I give them both the middle finger. “Do you want a drink or not, Josephine?” I ask, still holding that finger up.