could park it here on the property for a visit.”
My spine stiffened at the idea of my father visiting.
“I can see how happy you are about the idea. He’s your dad, John. The only parent you have. You only get one set to start out with and there isn’t a return policy.”
“I know,” I grumbled and picked at a spot on her counter with my thumbnail. “I’ll play nice when they come. I promise.” Even to my own ears I sounded like an insincere child.
“You have a couple of months to practice.” She sighed and patted my arm.
A change of subject was needed and she chose the exact one I’d rather not discuss with her. If only my code word worked with everyone.
“Diane seems like a nice girl.”
Pyramid.
I leaned back and peered around the corner to see Peter and Diane in the living room. Her soft laughter carried into the kitchen. Nothing appeared out of sorts, nor did she sound uncomfortable.
“Yeah, Diane’s nice. We’ve been hanging out.”
“Is that code for dating?”
“No, in this case it means spending time together, but not dating.”
“Is that the same thing as hooking up?”
Pyramid.
“No, not hooking up. Hooking up is the benefits of dating without the dates if you know what I mean.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Well.”
“Yeah. Not that.”
“Good. A nice girl should be respected and treated like a lady. I think your generation would benefit from courting.”
“Seriously? Courting? My generation? You’re not that old. Dad got Mom pregnant before they got married. Sounds like your generation could have benefitted from it too.” I bumped her hip with mine to emphasize my teasing.
“Oh, those things have always happened.”
‘Those things’ were my brother James, born fourteen months before me.
“Speaking of the bastard child, how is Jim?”
“Don’t call your brother a bastard. Haven’t spoken with him, so I guess he’s fine. You should call him.”
Pyramid.
“Sure. I’m going to check on Diane. We should probably get going.”
Peeking into the living room, I spied Peter showing her a framed photo. The familiar frame and the picture in it would open a whole big box of pyramids.
Why did I think bringing her to dinner was a good idea?
D IANE WAITED UNTIL we climbed in her car and hit the main road to ask the question. It would have to be asked sooner rather than later. Either way I knew she’d give me the out if I needed it.
“What happened to your mother?” she asked, her voice soft, concerned. Full of pity.
Fuck.
I sat in silence while I debated which answer I’d give her. “Pyramid?” I said, the question evident in my voice.
“If you want. I won’t pry, but I’m curious. Your uncle didn’t tell me, if you were wondering. He showed me a couple of family pictures and in the later ones she’s missing.”
“She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
Her hand found mine on my thigh and she gave it a squeeze before saying, “Pyramid.”
The word conveyed more empathy than any frown or words of pity. Diane got it. She wouldn’t push and accepted death for the answer. The how’s and why’s didn’t matter.
“Favorite sport?” Diane asked.
“Soccer.”
“Do you still play?” Her question was innocent.
“Not anymore.”
“But you did?”
“I did.”
“But now you don’t?”
“Nope.”
We’d run out questions of ice cream flavors and childhood memories. Lately our conversations wandered more into first kisses, weird scar stories, and beloved, but dead pets.
“I blasted out my knee in college. Tore both the ACL and MCL.”
“Playing soccer?”
“Yeah. I played goalie. If YouTube had been around then, the video probably would have gone viral. Legs aren’t supposed to bend in that direction.”
I watched Diane cringe and curl up further into a ball in one of my leather chairs. Rain beat the windows and we had blown off a hike for sitting around, watching movies, and waiting for the storm to
My spine stiffened at the idea of my father visiting.
“I can see how happy you are about the idea. He’s your dad, John. The only parent you have. You only get one set to start out with and there isn’t a return policy.”
“I know,” I grumbled and picked at a spot on her counter with my thumbnail. “I’ll play nice when they come. I promise.” Even to my own ears I sounded like an insincere child.
“You have a couple of months to practice.” She sighed and patted my arm.
A change of subject was needed and she chose the exact one I’d rather not discuss with her. If only my code word worked with everyone.
“Diane seems like a nice girl.”
Pyramid.
I leaned back and peered around the corner to see Peter and Diane in the living room. Her soft laughter carried into the kitchen. Nothing appeared out of sorts, nor did she sound uncomfortable.
“Yeah, Diane’s nice. We’ve been hanging out.”
“Is that code for dating?”
“No, in this case it means spending time together, but not dating.”
“Is that the same thing as hooking up?”
Pyramid.
“No, not hooking up. Hooking up is the benefits of dating without the dates if you know what I mean.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Well.”
“Yeah. Not that.”
“Good. A nice girl should be respected and treated like a lady. I think your generation would benefit from courting.”
“Seriously? Courting? My generation? You’re not that old. Dad got Mom pregnant before they got married. Sounds like your generation could have benefitted from it too.” I bumped her hip with mine to emphasize my teasing.
“Oh, those things have always happened.”
‘Those things’ were my brother James, born fourteen months before me.
“Speaking of the bastard child, how is Jim?”
“Don’t call your brother a bastard. Haven’t spoken with him, so I guess he’s fine. You should call him.”
Pyramid.
“Sure. I’m going to check on Diane. We should probably get going.”
Peeking into the living room, I spied Peter showing her a framed photo. The familiar frame and the picture in it would open a whole big box of pyramids.
Why did I think bringing her to dinner was a good idea?
D IANE WAITED UNTIL we climbed in her car and hit the main road to ask the question. It would have to be asked sooner rather than later. Either way I knew she’d give me the out if I needed it.
“What happened to your mother?” she asked, her voice soft, concerned. Full of pity.
Fuck.
I sat in silence while I debated which answer I’d give her. “Pyramid?” I said, the question evident in my voice.
“If you want. I won’t pry, but I’m curious. Your uncle didn’t tell me, if you were wondering. He showed me a couple of family pictures and in the later ones she’s missing.”
“She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
Her hand found mine on my thigh and she gave it a squeeze before saying, “Pyramid.”
The word conveyed more empathy than any frown or words of pity. Diane got it. She wouldn’t push and accepted death for the answer. The how’s and why’s didn’t matter.
“Favorite sport?” Diane asked.
“Soccer.”
“Do you still play?” Her question was innocent.
“Not anymore.”
“But you did?”
“I did.”
“But now you don’t?”
“Nope.”
We’d run out questions of ice cream flavors and childhood memories. Lately our conversations wandered more into first kisses, weird scar stories, and beloved, but dead pets.
“I blasted out my knee in college. Tore both the ACL and MCL.”
“Playing soccer?”
“Yeah. I played goalie. If YouTube had been around then, the video probably would have gone viral. Legs aren’t supposed to bend in that direction.”
I watched Diane cringe and curl up further into a ball in one of my leather chairs. Rain beat the windows and we had blown off a hike for sitting around, watching movies, and waiting for the storm to
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