Funny Feelings (39)

“Oh, hey,” I offer back, still walking.

“It always surprises me when I see you at these things,” the man says. “I’m Pete, by the way. Riley’s dad.”

I continue to smile politely, but crane my neck to look for Meyer.

“Yeah. It’s like I can’t reconcile it, you know?” he adds. And I do suspect that I know, actually, because I’ve caught this guy’s eye before at these things. Have felt his judgmental stares. And yet, I ask.

“What do you mean, Pete?”

“Seeing you here, at these kids' events all the time. I see you with your little girl, all cute and heartwarming, but all I can hear is you talking about wanting men to up their dirty talk game, and that bit about being Dora the Expl-whore-ah in college with a backpack full of condoms and dreams. That shit is funny as hell, by the way.”

“It’s called a joke, Pete,” I say with force. Not here, just not here, please. It touches some raw and tender spot in me, a hot iron to broken flesh.

He seems like he means no harm, and I’m sure he only meant to be relatable, but the last thing I want is to wonder if everyone here is judging me, thinking I’m not fit to be in Hazel’s life.

“Hey angel, you doing okay here?” Meyer’s voice finds me as his hand presses into my back, and I turn to see him glaring daggers at Pete. “Pete. Riley’s about to head onstage. You’re going to miss it.”

Our dear Pete remains completely unaware. Clueless as to the emotional grenade he’s just pulled the pin from. “Ah. Okay. See you guys.” He says with a pointedly dumb smile and wave. Hope your pillow is always hot, Pete.

Meyer’s eyes lower to mine, then. “What the fuck did he say to you?” He seethes.

“Nothing that I didn’t already think myself, My. It’s okay. He’s stupid, but meant no harm.”

“Meant or not, if there’s harm we’re going to address it.”

“Oh, are we now?” I raise a brow. He raises one back. “No harm here,” I say, blinking lazily, wishing my mind was like one of those View Master toys I had as a kid. I’d simply click away from that last picture, focus on the next one. The one that’s right before me and the one that’s coming up on that stage soon. I smile.

“You know you have the best smile? It’s really hard not to automatically smile back, even when it’s one of your sadder ones.” Meyer says.

It’s almost an audible thing, really, the way my heart punches against the bones in my chest. It’s like the drum solo in that fucking Phil Collins song, it becomes so all-consuming. “Maybe you shouldn’t fight it so hard, then.” He just nods in response, his head swiveling down as he steps even closer.

“I— I didn’t think about people being here and asking you about… about us. Or trying to take more pictures or anything,” I say.

His frown snaps up to my face. “Don’t worry about that, Fee. It’s in the contract for the school and for their dance program. Too many other famous people’s kids go here for them to be lax on those things. It won’t be an issue.”

“Oh. Okay. Okay good.” I suppose that posturing must’ve been just to put Pete in his place, then…

“You ready to head in?”

“Yep.”

He lays out an arm and holds open the door with the other for me. As I pass him and step into the darkened room, his free hand slips up to the back of my neck and lightly presses as we walk. He keeps me close to his side this way, I feebly try to tell myself. It’s just to guide us to our seats. It’s not a possessive hold. It’s a practical one.

It’s for show. It’s in case anyone’s watching.

But it’s difficult to see anything outside of the illuminated stage in this room.

No one would be able to see the way his thumb lightly traces the knobs of my spine there.

No one would be able to see the way his arm dangles over his armrest and onto my seat, either. The way his knuckles trace the skin of my thigh every so often throughout the show. The way I lean to the side to get closer, until the outside of my breast touches the side of his bicep.

Even if they were all looking this way, they’d surely miss how he looks down at me and smiles, mouths “thank you” silently after Hazel’s contemporary solo moves me to tears.

They wouldn’t see the way he leans down to kiss my cheek, or the way I shamelessly turn into it at the last second so that it lands on the corner of my mouth. How, in the dim lighting, I see one of my tears glisten on his bottom lip, and the tip of his tongue as it darts out across it.

No, no one else could see that but us.





16





NOW





“When humor works, it works because it's clarifying what people already feel. It has to come from someplace real.” - Tina Fey





FARLEY


I’m a woman distracted.

A woman on the brink of my truest vision of success, and yet one who can’t seem to think up a joke to save my life.

Anytime I attempt it, my mind wanders to Meyer. To the way he looked when Marissa and I joined him and Hazel on Thanksgiving. The house was warm, with music on full blast as we walked in. We’d knocked, but weren’t heard over the volume. He never has music going on continually in the house, let alone blaring like that. I’ve always assumed this was just a byproduct of having his only other cohabitant unable to hear, of course. Still, it caught Marissa and I both off guard when we let ourselves in, only to find them dancing in the kitchen. What caught us more off guard was how, when he saw us standing there, wearing dumbfounded expressions, he wasn’t at all deterred.