Page 59 of Hoax and Kisses
A huff of a laugh escapes me as Matt coughs into his fist.
“Daphne,” he chides gently, “we don’t say that to people we just met.”
“It’s fine,” I cut in, still chuckling. “You’re right. My shoes are ugly. I have prettier ones at home, but I can’t wear them here.”
I give Matt a cheeky wink, a strange thrill zipping through me as his panic morphs into confusion.
“Why not?” she asks.
“Because they’re not very… practical. Right, Matt?”
“Right,” he rasps, still watching me like I’m from another planet.
“What’s in there?” his sister nods to the bag.
“I brought breakfast for you guys.” I hold it out.
She lets out a little gasp, her hands fluttering at her sides. “Are you eating with us?”
“I have to get back to work, but it would’ve been lovely.”
It really would have been, but I have a feeling one person in this group wouldn’t be so comfortable with the idea.
“Daph, go put on socks. I’ll be inside in a minute, okay?”
“Okay. Bye! Thanks for breakfast.”
“You’re welcome!” I wave, but she’s already disappeared behind her brother.
“I’m sorry.” Matt rakes his fingers through his long hair. “That’s my sister. She doesn’t mean to be rude. She’s autistic.”
“I figured,” I say, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “I didn’t think she was rude at all. Honestly, she was kind of funny.”
Matt’s frown deepens. “You figured that she was autistic?”
“Yeah. She was very blunt, and when she got excited, her hands flapped a little. Both are pretty typical signs, though I didn’t want to assume.”
He exhales a quietoh, then goes silent, like his brain is still catching up.
“Anyway,” I say as I backtrack to my car. “I’ll leave you to your morning. Enjoy breakfast, and I’ll see you at Cooper’s this afternoon, right?”
He swallows, his eyes finally coming back into focus. “Yes. And Zoey?”
I pause with my hand on the car door. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
My heart gives a small, unexpected thud. “Of course.”
There’s a weight to those two words, as if the simple thanks is for more than just the breakfast.
“Have you secured it yet?”
“I’m working on it, Dad,” I say, trying my best to keep my tone even. “I’ve hit a few bumps in the road, but nothing I can’t fix.”
“Ah.”
The single syllable hangs heavy in the air. No rant, no questions. Just that quiet, clipped sound. My grip on the phone tightens. My father has never yelled at me in his life. He doesn’t need to. His silence is so much worse.
