Page 53 of From Nowhere

Bitterroot is Montana’s state flower. I couldn’t harvest any because you need permission from a Native American elder. Hope you love them!

Ozzy x

Chapter Fourteen

I’ll hand it to Lola; my ten-year-old kept the secret for the rest of the night and the first five minutes of breakfast this morning. That’s an entire week for an adult.

It’s not that I want my daughter to lie. I didn’t make that request. On the way home from Build a Bowl, I asked her not to mention seeing Maren because I wasn’t in the mood to answer Tia’s questions. I know it’s controversial, but when it suits me, I stand on the side of the omission of truth not being an actual lie. Will I support the other side of that argument when Lola’s a teenager? Absolutely.

Parenting is the art of hypocrisy.

“We’re going to see a cat after Dad gets home from work,” Lola announces between bites of her cheese-and-mushroom omelet.

Tia and Amos eye her before looking to me for further explanation while I chew my toast.

“A friend from work has a new cat.” I shrug like it’s no big deal.

Like I haven’t been texting Maren all week.

Like I’m not dying to sneak around with her again.

“Does this friend live close by?” Tia asks diplomatically, but I know she already has her back up at just the mention of me having a friend.

In Tia’s mind, I’m not allowed to have anything or anyone outside Lola. And she’s right; Lola is enough. But who lives life confined to merely enough?

“She’s twenty-five minutes away,” Lola replies.

“She?”

“Yes. Her name is Maren. She’s a pilot who fights fires. Dad fixes her plane. And she has a cat named Bandit. I said the cat’s middle name should be Mouse because I’d name it Mouse if I had a cat. And guess what?” Lola widens her eyes in irresistible animation. “Maren said Bandit’s middle name can be Mouse!”

Amos chuckles. “That’s nice of her.”

“When did you talk with this Maren person?” Tia pulls out her dick, which is twice the size of Amos’s, and pisses all over the conversation. Only Lola doesn’t see that. She doesn’t understand why I didn’t want her to say anything about Maren.

Lola’s eyes bug out. I call it her oh-shit-I’m-in-trouble face. Well, I don’t tell her that’s what I call it, but it’s one of her signature expressions. With this one expression, Tia knows I told her not to say anything. Now I’m guilty of telling my daughter to keep secrets (a.k.a. lie), and I’m guilty of having a female friend.

“When we went to Build a Bowl after Lola’s appointment with Victoria, we saw Maren there.”

Tia twists her dry, wrinkled lips and hums. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence?”

We have no alcohol in the house, but I sure could use a drink. No wonder Amos gets his rocks off to late-night porn. This woman is an anti-erection. The original ballbuster.

I bet if they have sex, she ties him to the bed and gags him.

“What’s that look?” Tia asks.

“Huh?” I narrow my eyes.

“You winced,” she says.

I thought of you having sex, Tia. It’s pretty fucking cringeworthy.

“Nothing. Does anyone want the rest of the orange juice?” I hold up the small glass pitcher with a few ounces left.

No one answers, so I pour the rest into my glass and carry it, along with my plate, to the kitchen.

“Don’t let her guilt you, son.” Amos sets his plate on the counter and opens the dishwasher.

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