Dad faces the front, exhales, and grips the steering wheel. He’s still wearing his wedding ring. He turns to face me. “What you’ve done today is not safe. You’re not biking home alone.”
“I’m not alone. Ash is with me.”
“I’m calling your mother.” He reaches for his phone.
“Do you want me to tell her about Grace?” I blurt.
Dad pauses. He presses his lips together.
“I actually did want to see you.” I smear at my face with my sleeve. “I didn’t come here just to ask about the dog. But please don’t tell Mom about her. She’ll get mad at me for being ‘irrational’ or whatever.” My drippy state isn’t helping my case. “I can get Chewbarka back to her owner. I don’t need your help.”
Dad takes another deep breath. I feel like a burden. “How’s school going?”
I blink at the sudden subject change. “What?”
“You got some bad quiz scores this week. You look exhausted. Have you really only had that dog since Friday?”
“You look at GradeFolder?”
“Every day.”
“Instead of, I don’t know, actually talking to us?”
“I called you every day the first week I was in the apartment. You answered your phone exactly once and gave me one-word answers.”
I hug Chewbarka.
“You’ve always hated talking on the phone. But that’s not what was going on. Was it?”
“I didn’t . . .” I didn’t know what to say. It seemed mundane to discuss my day-to-day life. To tell him about getting a typical B-plus on a science quiz. About doing my math homework. Missing Frankie. And if I couldn’t talk about the boring stuff, how could I talk about the important stuff?
“I’m concerned about you,” Dad says. “I want you to be happy. I can see that you’re not.”
“Then come home.” I sound petulant. “Mitchell’s a mess without you. He needs you around.” It’s easier than saying I need him too.
“We told you, this move knocks forty minutes off my commute each way. It’s practical.”
“Do you think we can’t put two and two together? Are you that hard up for free time that you literally abandoned your family?”
He closes his eyes. “Let’s not be dramatic. Nobody’s abandoning anyone.”
“Why don’t you just tell me and Mitch the truth? That you guys are getting a divorce?”
“Who said anything about a divorce?”
“Maybe Mom will when she finds out about Grace.”
Dad rubs his forehead the same way Mom does when she’s stressed. I wonder which of them picked up the habit from the other, or if they’ve both always done it. “Okay,” Dad says. “Fine. Sort out the dog situation on your own, since you clearly don’t want my help. But I’m not letting you two bike back home. It’s too far. I’ll drive you.”
“Our bikes and the trailer won’t fit in your car.”
“The trailer’s collapsible. We’ll put the back seats down. You can sit up front holding the dog. Ash is a little smaller, so she can squeeze in the back with the bikes. We’ll manage.”
I pull my knees up and curl around Chewbarka.
“I’m sorry you feel like I’m letting you down,” Dad says. “Believe it or not, I’m human. Sometimes I unintentionally hurt or upset the people I love.”
I’m sorry you feel bad that I hurt you is not an actual apology. “Then stop.”
“The circumstances are complicated. It’s not that easy.”
“It looks easy from here.” All he has to do is come home. Give up his new apartment, give up whatever’s happening with Grace. Then we could be a family again. I want to say that, but I don’t want to tip him into not letting me handle Chewbarka on my own. “I know it’s complicated,” I concede. “I feel like everything is way too complicated.”
“Well.” Dad’s shoulders slump. “It’s not a fun lesson to learn. But yeah. Everything is generally way too complicated. It only gets more so as you grow up.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“Complicated isn’t always bad.” He nods at Ash hurrying across the road with a McDonald’s bag. “Are things simple and straightforward with her?”
“They’re—” I don’t know. They are and they aren’t.
Ash reaches us and stands looking at me and Dad in the car like she’s not sure if she’s interrupting. Dad rolls down the window. “Come on, get in.”
She opens the back door and sits next to me. Chewbarka sniffs the scent of burgers and fries floating from the bag. “I got Quarter Pounders,” Ash says. “And two large fries. I didn’t get drinks because you didn’t say to. Is that okay?”
“It’s perfect.” Dad holds his hand out. She hands over the bag with his change. He puts the change in the console, then takes a wrapped burger from the bag and tries to hand it to me.
“No thanks.”
He pauses like he’s annoyed. But then he gives me a sympathetic look that surprises me. He hands the burger to Ash. “Want fries?” he asks her.
“Yes, please.”
He gives them to her and starts the car. “Buckle up, kids.”
We buckle our belts. “What’s the plan?” Ash murmurs to me.
“He’s gonna drive us back to my house.”
Her expression turns relieved and she nods. “Thank you for driving us home, Mr. Sanders. My butt was killing me.”
Dad laughs, but it sounds fake. “That’s a long ride even if you’re used to long rides.”
“Which I’m not. I’m usually a runner.”
“Usually?”
Regret crosses her face. “I ran cross-country at my old school.”
“When did you move here?”
“Just a few weeks ago.” They talk about the differences between Ash’s old school and Oakmont for a minute, and then an awkward silence settles in.
“I’m sorry I’ve been calling you Ashley,” I tell her. “I just assumed.”
“It’s fine.”
We’re quiet the rest of the way back to Dad’s. I keep looking at the back of Ash’s head while she looks out the window. When I was a kid, Mom said to Dad at the dinner table once that watching me and Mitchell felt like seeing her heart walking around outside her body. I didn’t understand what she meant, but her words stayed with me because the visual was so gory
