Page 32 of Free Fall
I can’t wait to see him again. I should have said Wednesday.
No, I should have said tonight.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sejin
“Whoa, dude, youlook rough,” Gage says, appraising me before returning to mopping up a spill by the door to the patio. Caramel macchiato by the looks of the mess.
I run my hand over my unshaven face. I don’t have a ton of stubble, but what I do have just makes me look like there’s flecks of dirt on my chin and cheeks. No sexy morning growth for me, alas. Thanks, genetic lottery.
“Yeah, I had a long night.”
Gage snorts. “Uh-huh. Gay guys. Man, you dudes have it all.”
I quirk a brow, curious what he means by that given the fact that gay guys do not, in fact, ‘have it all’ in a lot of really important ways.
He flushes and says, “Never mind.”
“Girls have casual sex too, you know.”
Gage glances toward the counter where Celli is helping a customer. “I know.”
He’s mumbling now, indicating he’s not going to say much more than that. Which is fine. I don’t really want to see him dig his own grave with me or with Celli. I’m quite sure he’s getting plenty of action from her, but straight guys always think queers are getting sex right and left. But Gage knows I’ve been hard up for months now, and all I can think is that he’s horny right this second and frustrated about it.
Given the fact that Celli is wearing a cute sundress that makes her look like a sweet snack, I guess I can’t blame him.Poor dude. She’ll probably blow him in the back, though, if she gets a chance. Those two can’t keep their hands off each other.
Speaking of the back, there’s a full-length mirror so employees can check their uniforms and once in front of it, I check myself out as I pull on my extra Papa Bear shirt. I keep it stuffed in my locker in the break room for emergencies. It’s old and faded and has a stain on the back from where Celli dumped a mug of strong Turkish brew on me by accident, but it’ll get the job done.
Wow.I do look rough. Gage wasn’t kidding.
My hair is up, per the health codes, but it’s heavy and still wet from the damn cold shower I’d scrambled through back at the campground. It can’t have been much warmer than the waterfall Dan had mentioned. I know my hair will still be damp when I let it down later. It takes forever to dry.
My jeans are the same ones I wore last night, and they smell just so-so. I hadn’t done anything strenuous in them before arriving at Dan’s van, but the kinda sexy, sweaty funk of the vehicle’s interior has permeated the fabric, making me feel like I still have Dan all over me.
My eyes shine in a delirious way, like I’m sleep deprived—I am—or hopped up on drugs—hopped up on sex, more like—and the dark circles under them aren’t very attractive.
I look exhausted, but I feel wide awake. Cold showers will do that. I’m surprisingly warm too, like the jolt of icy water woke up a furnace inside me, and now it’s in overdrive. My head, hands, and feet tingle with heat.
I’m just about to head out to start my shift thirty minutes late—thank goodness Pete isn’t in this morning—when my phone pings.
My heart jumps and a dizzy rush of anticipation hits me. Is it Dan?
Martin talked to his dad today.
No, it’s just Leenie.
He thinks Uncle Buck is lonely. Sejin, you really ought to call him.
I swallow hard. A flash of irritation rises in me, and I put the phone in my pocket without replying. My dad has my number, plus he’s the dad. He can call me if he’s lonely. And he will. Won’t he? The nagging doubt is almost as irritating as Leenie’s text.
When Mom was alive, my calls with Dad consisted of him picking up the phone, recognizing my voice, and saying, “Let me get your mother.” It was always Mom who called and texted, and I always talked to her about my life, plans, and problems. Dad has never participated in that kind of parenting. He was always busy at the chemical company and too exhausted when he got home.
We don’t have a lot to say to each other. Martin and his dad have a different relationship. They’re tight. They talk every week. It’s just the way they are together and always have been. When I was a kid, I thought it was weird how much time Martin and his dad spent with each other because Dad and I weren’t that close. But now I know that different people have different relationships with their parents, and I don’t appreciate Leenie, or Martin, or Uncle Verny making me feel like there’s something wrong with mine. Or to be specific, with the way Dad and I don’t talk.
But as I go about my day, chatting with Celli, fielding her intrusive questions about who I’m hooking up with, serving customers, bussing tables, cleaning messes, mopping, sweeping, pouring coffees, and checking supplies, Leenie’s texts linger in the back of my mind. If Uncle Verny says my dad is lonely…
What if he is? He and Mom were married for twenty-eight years before she died. She handled everything relationship-wise,including friendships and family. Dad doesn’t know how to do any of that.