Page 69 of Saving the Last Heir
“Good morning,mi bebecita,” he said happily, slapping some corn tortillas onto the flat griddle in the center of the stovetop. “I hope you’re hungry,” he added and turned. “I made…uh…oh.” His eyes jerked straight to the six-foot-five, two-hundred-and-forty pound wall of a man who stood in his kitchen.
Jackson nodded to my father. “Good morning, Mr. Tuyuc. Nice to meet you.”
Dad’s head snapped toward me. “Who’s your friend?”
I put a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Dad, this is Jackson Adelmund.” I looked up at Jackson. “This is my dad, Marquel Tuyuc.”
Jackson stepped forward, extending his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, sir.”
Dad took Jackson’s hand and shook, then shot me a look. “I wouldloveto say the same thing.”
My face burned, but I continued smiling, hoping neither of them noticed my embarrassment.
“I hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” Jackson said, releasing my father’s hand.
“Intrusion?” Dad looked from Jackson to me. “I should be the one to apologize,” he said, and went back to the food, flipping the eggs and tortillas.
“How areyouintruding?” I said, stepping forward to help. I scraped the hash into a plate. “This isyourhouse.”
He shot me a sidelong glance. “I shouldn’t have to say that. You know why, and don’t make things weird for an old man.” He waved a hand at Jackson. “Sit, sit, I’ll add some food. We have plenty.”
“Oh, I really couldn’t impose,” Jackson said, giving Dad a gracious smile. “I’ve got a lot to do today, and I wouldn’t want to put you out.”
“Nonsense,” Dad said. “Sit. You feed guests. That’s the proper way. Scrambled or fried eggs?”
Seeing there was no arguing without offending him, Jackson chuckled and pulled up a stool at the bar. “Over easy. Thank you. You’re too kind.”
Dad quickly fried up more food and plated it, sliding plates to Jackson and me. Whenever Jackson wasn’t looking, he shot me another look. At one point, he grinned and gave me a thumbs up. I wanted to die of embarrassment, but also give him a big hug and a kiss. He was being sweet and assuring when many fathers would be losing their shit. I was twenty-nine, but I’d always be his baby.
He’d spent the last several years hoping I’d find someone to spend my life with. As far as I knew, he’d never had anyone. His parents had died just after he got out of high school, and he’d never found a wife. The closest thing he’d found to a family had been my mother as his surrogate daughter. Then she’d passednot long after I’d been born, and he’d thrown himself headlong into being a true father to me. It made me sad that he’d put his entire life to the side to take care of two women he had no blood relation to. It showed the kind of man he was, but it was also a bit tragic. My whole life, I’d thought about how sweet and kind he was, and it hurt my heart to think of him having no one. He must have felt the same thing, and that was probably why he tried so hard to make sure I hadsomeone.
“This food is amazing, Mr. Tuyuc,” Jackson said, swiping a tortilla through his egg yolk.
“Bah,” he said, waving a hand at Jackson, “call me Mark, short for Marquel.”
“Well, Mark, thank you. I love this,” Jackson said.
Dad reached to the side of the stove and grabbed the folded walker he used to get around. After unfolding it, he flipped down the plastic seat that converted it to a chair. He eased himself down with a wince. I watched him warily, knowing how badly his knees and lower back must hurt after making the food, but I’d learned long ago not to point out his weaknesses,especiallyin front of a guest or stranger.
Jackson, unaware of my father’s pride, noticed his discomfort, and said, “Are you okay?”
Dad sighed in relief and smiled sadly. “A tip for you: don’t spend twenty-five years bent over an engine compartment. Also? Lift with your knees, not your back. I’ve had to learn those lessons the hard way.”
Jackson nodded. “Arthritis?”
“It’s pretty bad,” I said quietly.
“Indeed it is,” Dad said, rubbing his left knee as he scooped food into his mouth with his other hand. “Imagine broken glass in your joints. That’s about the extent of it.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Jackson said.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said, then reached across the island to take my hand. “It was worth it to do what I loved and to be able to give my girl everything she needed growing up.”
My heart lurched with guilt. I knew I shouldn’t feel that way, I should feelgrateful,which I of course did, but I hated the thought that my father had ruined his body to provide for me.
“I respect that,” Jackson said. “I’m still sorry you’re in such a bad way.”
“I’ll be all right,” he said. “It’s honestly not too bad right now. I took my pill this morning. It’s why I was able to stand here and make you breakfast. I’ll tell you, I was hurting pretty bad last night when I got home, though.”
