Page 41 of Your Rule to Break
We both take a long drink before he says, “Tell me something about her.”
“She’s so smart. Probably too smart for someone like me,” I make the small self-deprecating joke that I whole-heartedly believe. “She’s the kind of person who can learn almost anything and do it like she’s damn near an expert.”
I launch into how she’s helped Tripp and Willow start a new non-profit and a record label. How much she’s figured out. How no task is too small. How she’ll lend a hand even if she’s drowning, personally.
I only stop when my food arrives. My cheeks are probably warm, a touch embarrassed from the rambling.
“Damn. She sounds like quite the woman.” My dad looks at me over his plate, beaming, matching the smile on my own face.
Dinner is quiet, with both of us hungry enough to clear our plates. Dessert is a must, and when we can’t choose, we get the crème brûlée and bananas foster.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” the woman who brought the dessert asks, but I already have a forkful of pie in my mouth.
I shake my head, and my dad chuckles at my full mouth.
“Anythingat all?” She puts both hands on the table, leaning over a bit with her eyes on me.
I know this bit. She’s trying to get my attention. When she says anything, she means in the bedroom when she’s done with work. I’ve dabbled in anything, but not tonight, not now.
“Nope. All set. Thank you.” I look at her briefly before focusing back on the dessert.
She takes a piece of paper from her cleavage, puts it on the table, and says, “Here. If you change your mind, any time you’re in town.” She gives me a wicked smirk before turning and walking away.
I grab the number, put it in my pocket, and make a mental note to throw it away when I get to the hotel. I press my lips in a thin line, waiting for her to be clear from our table, and glance up to see my dad’s eyebrows scrunched as he looks at me.
“Wild times,” I say, hoping to put an end to this.
“Are you kidding me? What are you doing?”
“Do you want to start with the pie? That’s cool—”
“No, not the fucking dessert. With that woman. You just went on a rant about Emilie. Praising her up and down. Smiling like an idiot talking about someone you could be in love with. Start a life with. Do big things with.”
“What are you talking about?” I’m confused. What happened?
“Don’t interrupt me.” Dad points a finger at me, and it feels like I'm in trouble so I do my best to listen and not move, evenas an adult. “You’re better than this, Zack. Your mom and I worked hard and taught you to be a respectful human being; one you could trust, one whose word meant something.” He stops, sits back in his chair while crossing his arms and maintaining eye contact.
“This is about that?” I gesture to the woman who walked away. “For an interaction I didn’t ask for or entertain?”
“You took her number.” His voice is cold as ice.
“Yeah, to throw it away. I don’t need some creep picking it up and calling her. You did teach me to be a respectful human being and that’s what I was doing.” I mean to stop but the words are flying out of my mouth before they get the memo. “I am someone you can trust. I'm someone Emilie can trust. It’s fucking bullshit that you’re upset with me over an interaction with a stranger I didn’t ask for.”
“You’re not going to call her?” he asks and this part stings. I don’t know if he believes me.
“No, I’m not going to call her. Here, you take the number and throw it away, call her in a week to see if I was telling the truth, whatever you want to do.” I pull the piece of paper, small and wadded up, and give it to my dad.
He sighs a long breath out as he stares at the piece of paper.
“I just want you to have everything you deserve. People you deserve. Emilie seems like someone who falls in that category.”
My brain is trying to make sense of this whole thing, and that’s when I remember what Riley said. She noticed something about my dad not being quite right—this conversation falls in line with that.
“Is everything okay? Are you about to tell me you’re sick or something?”
My dad has the spoon in the crème brûlée, tapping the torchedsugar topping.
“What? No! I'm not sick. Healthy as a horse. ” He knocks on his chest for emphasis. “When you get older, you think of these things more, or maybe I'm tired from the flight.” He takes a bite of dessert. “Sorry, didn’t mean to jump to conclusions there. That’s not fair.” He offers me a smile.