Page 58 of Butter You Up
“No.” I almost hear thedumbasstacked on at the end of the word. “She’s driving home, only stopping to sleep.”
“But, that’s going to take her…” It’s got to be at least a three-day trip.
“You cometoday,” he growls, “andmaybeI’ll let you talk to her. After you and I have a chat.”
“Yes, sir.”
CHAPTER33
MOLLY
Seeingmy dad’s trailer for the first time in eight months is like a fresh breeze hitting my face.
Or maybe it’s because I’ve driven Vaniel for three days straight to get home, and the air inside is stale.
Either way, I park my van right out front next to Dad’s sedan, and before the engine’s even off, the door flies open, and Dad steps out. I have never felt more like a daddy’s girl than I do launching myself into his arms.
“Hey Molly-girl.”
I thought I’d been all cried out—after getting yelled at by my boss and unofficial boyfriend and then giving up on my dad’s dream—but shockingly, tears form in my eyes again. If I cry, I’ll end up with a major headache again, and I’m so sick of being sad and lonely. I pull away slightly so Dad shifts his grip to my shoulders and guides me toward Vaniel.
“How about you give me the grand tour?”
We spend at least an hour poring over Vaniel. I show Dad every nook and cranny and he asks tons of questions. So many questions.
“We could take him for a spin around the block?” Dad suggests. “Driver up to Hooligans for some ice cream?”
I laugh. “I just drove, like, forty hours. Can we not? We can do it tomorrow, I promise.”
“Fine,” Dad grumbles, but it’s good-natured.
Arm around me again, we walk up the steps to the trailer.
“Are you missing New York?” he asks me.
I don’t even have to think about it. “Yeah.” I miss the scenery in the Catskills, I miss Ethel and Trixie and the stupid adorable goats, and, mostly, I miss Alex. My heart aches for him still, and here, walking side by side with my dad, I think about how lucky I am to have a simple, straightforward family.
“Well, let’s see how badly you miss it,” Dad says, and before I can ask him what he means, he opens the door to his home and steps inside the living room…where Alex sits on the couch.
Alex rises to his feet and whacks his head on the cabinets above the couch. “Ouch, shit.”
“Language,” Dad reprimands, sitting down on the opposite corner of the couch from where Alex was sitting.
“Language?” I sputter, because that’s what my mind focuses on instead of the massive man in front of me. “You don’t care about cursing.”
“It’s his way of punishing me,” Alex says, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “One of the ways he’s punishing me,” he corrects. Alex steps away from the recessed couch where he can stand up straight.
Dad pulls out his reading glasses and picks up his tablet from the table. He looks pointedly at me. “I’ll be right here, and Alex and I have an agreement: if you want him to get lost, I’ll kick his ass out of here so fast his grandma will hear the sonic boom. Isn’t that right, son?”
“Yes, sir.”
My mind is officially blown. What is happening here? I have so many questions.
I start with an easy one and fold my arms across my chest. “How long have you been here?”
“Two days.”
“What about the farm?”
