Daddy Boss

by Claire Bishop

  My first score comes up and it puts me somewhere in the middle, I think.

  My next run doesn’t go quite so smooth, ending as I come off, attempting a fakie 540 varial, but I got a few decent tricks in.

  The final run, though, is a mess.

  I come off on my first attempt, and it’s not even something difficult, just a rock to fakie that was meant to set up the rest of the run.

  There’s plenty of time left, but even after getting back on the board and regaining enough speed to start getting air again, I can never get the momentum to pull anything larger than a 360 nose grab.

  Back at the top now, I’m still in the middle of the pack on vert, fourth overall. That is, until my final run scores come in.

  I drop down a couple of spots which, at first isn’t that big a problem, but my final run killed my score enough that every single skater going after me tops my score, and I end up second to last.

  The only person I beat was the vamp kid, who did end up injuring himself. Sadly, it was a twisted angle and not a fake-canine-inspired injury, but basically, I came in last.

  I was expecting this. It’s not such a big deal.

  I knew I wasn’t going to win vert, and I knew because of that, I wasn’t going to win the overall, but even after trying to prepare myself for the probability that I’d come in at the lower half in the vert competition, I’m a little gutted at having come in so close to the bottom.

  In fact, it’s a fluke that I didn’t come in last.

  You wouldn’t think any of this from the way Mia runs up to me after I’m back on terra firma.

  “You did so great!” she says loudly, smiling and throwing her arms around me.

  “I came in last,” I tell her.

  “You did great, though!” she says, giving me an extra squeeze before pulling back. “There were a couple of hiccups, but I’m just so proud of—”

  “Could we get out of here?” I interrupt.

  Her mouth’s still open a little from where I interrupted her, but she closes it and quickly nods, saying, “Yeah, sure. Let’s take off.”

  I appreciate the enthusiasm as a concept, but when surrounded by hordes of people and having only managed to defeat a guy who’s letting a line of tomato juice roll down his chin as the paramedics wrap his foot.

  Even though I don’t say any of this to Mia, she seems to understand, as we don’t talk until we’re almost back to the car.

  “You left some of your stuff back there,” she says quietly.

  “I’ll have Rob grab it,” I tell her, my eyes on the ground as I wait for her to unlock the car door.

  “You left your helmet,” she says, and I look over at her.

  For some reason I can’t begin to understand, the pure, caring look on her face fills me with an indescribable anger, and I explode, “Will you just unlock the fucking car already? Jesus, I’m not your fucking kid! You don’t have to keep telling me I did great when I skated for shit!”

  “Ian,” she says, holding up her hands, “calm down. I’m just trying to be supportive.”

  “I know!” I shout, and it’s not lost on me that I’m doing more to humiliate myself right now than I ever did back in that skate park. “It’s condescending as shit and it’s fucking pissing me off! Can’t we just get the fuck out of here already?”

  Her sympathy dries up pretty quickly and she’s gritting her teeth as she says, “Fine,” and presses the button on her key fob, unlocking the doors.

  I toss my board in the back and slam the back door before opening the front, getting in the car and slamming that door, too.

  “What is with you?” Mia asks. “We knew you weren’t going to take first.”

  “It would have been fine, not taking first,” I seethe. “Skating like shit in the street competition, effectively coming in last on vert, and having you tell me it was something to be proud of is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I know you’re upset,” she says harshly, putting the key in the ignition and starting the car, “but you don’t have to take it out on me. That’s not fair and I’m not just going to sit here and let you do it.”

  “Well then quit blowing smoke up my ass,” I tell her.

  “Okay,” she says and pulls out of her spot, slamming on the gas once she’s in drive and I know I should dial it back.

  It’s not her fault. She’s been supportive and, without her, I don’t think I would have even been dropping in by now.

  Still, I can’t let it go.

  “I mean, it’s like going to a kid’s soccer game where the kid just sits down in the middle of the field picking his nose and his parents tell him he showed good hustle out there; it’s just bullshit,” I tell her.

  “It’s not bullshit,” she says, “and I want you to stop taking this out on me. We can talk about it if you’re upset, but—”

  “Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?” I ask. “I’m just surprised you didn’t come up to me and ask me if I had any boo-boos from falling down.”

  “You need to stop,” she says. “I’m not kidding.”

  “Well, you can’t seriously tell me that you’re really that proud of me,” I jab.

  “No,” she says, pulling over to the side of the road, “I can’t. Get out.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Get out,” she repeats. “I’m not going to play your chauffeur while you sit there and berate me and tell me three different times that I’m acting like a mom—well, you’re acting like a child. Get out.”

  “You’re seriously kicking me out of your car?” I ask.

  “If you can keep your mouth shut unless it’s opening for an apology, you can stay in the car. Otherwise, yes, I want you out right now,” she says.

  So there’s my choice: Realize that the only person I should be mad at right now is myself for the way I’m treating Mia or just keep being mad at anything and everything and end up having to call Rob and Nick for a ride back home. It’s really not a difficult decision.

  I’m in the wrong.

  Only problem is, someone forgot to tell my mouth.

  “Fine,” I tell her. “If you need me to sit here and blow sunshine up your vag so you can feel better—”

  “Out,” she says. “Get out of my car right now.”

  The vein throbbing in her beet-red forehead convinces me that she’s not messing around, so I open my door and get out.

  As I’m pulling my board out of the back and dropping it to the ground behind me, Mia turns around in her seat and says, “By the way, one of the things you forgot to grab was your cellphone. It came out on your second run, and I didn’t see you retrieve it. Have fun getting home.”

  With that, she slams on the gas and it’s not me, but the force of her acceleration that closes the back door as she drives off, leaving me about two miles from the skate park. By the time I’m there, Rob and Nick won’t be.

  I can’t begin to explain what the hell I was thinking.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Project

  Mia

  I’m wading through the mess of empty beer cans that is Rob’s front room, and Ian and I still haven’t said anything to each other. I knocked, he opened the door, I came in.

  We haven’t talked since the demo, although I think it’s pretty clear I made a mistake. If it wasn’t for this stupid project, I don’t think I’d even be here.

  Ian indicates a chair in front of the only cleaned-off portion of Rob’s dinner table, and I sit.

  “Are we down to the interviews?” he asks.

  “We’ve been putting it off,” I tell him. “We need to get it done. The deadline’s next week.”

  “Okay,” he says and we sit there uncomfortably for a minute.

  “You look good,” he says.

  “You really don’t have to do that,” I tell him. “It’s not like I’m an ex-wife you happened to spot in public.”

  The one good thing about Rob’s unwillingness to clean his house and the strange reaso
ning behind his insistence that nobody else do it is that you can always hear someone coming.

  Ian and I are both looking at the open doorway before Rob ever makes it there. When he finally does, he comes in and heads for the fridge.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I know you two are working. I just needed another beer.”

  Ian and I don’t answer, but look at each other a moment.

  He looks good, too.

  “How’s it coming?” Rob asks.

  “It’s, uh…” Ian starts.

  “We’re pretty close,” I answer.

  Then there’s silence.

  Then more silence.

  “Holy shit the two of you are awkward together,” Rob says, laughing.

  “Would you mind?” Ian asks.

  “Oh,” Rob says and quickly leans back down, reaching into the fridge and pulling out four beers between his two hands. “Have fun, kids. If you’d rather not speak to each other, I think we have a notebook lying around here somewhere—”

  “Rob,” Ian interrupts.

  “Right,” Rob says and walks out of the room.

  “How do you not have things living in all this garbage?” I ask Ian, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

  “We probably do,” he says, and we’re back to having nothing to say to one another.

  “So, the one thing that’s been holding us up from doing the interviews is that it’s hard to get bigots to admit their bigotry and come together for a college psychology assignment,” I start again, really working at keeping this professional. “Do we have any ideas on how to get past that?”

  There’s nothing: No answer, not even a nod of acknowledgement.

  “I don’t think we can,” he says finally. “I think we’re going to have to just do as many interviews as we can in one day and hope we get at least a few people who match the description, so we can make some sort of point.”

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  There’s another long pause, and I’m really wondering if it wouldn’t be better for us to both just figure out our own way to do the interviews, have him give me whatever he’s got when he’s done and finish this off myself just so we don’t have to endure this seeming inability to communicate to each other anymore.

  “You know what it was?” I ask.

  “What it do you mean?” he returns.

  “It wasn’t the skateboarding,” I tell him, leaning back in my chair. “I mean, I was impressed and everything—kind of mesmerized to be honest—but that’s not what made me want to give you and me a shot.”

  His bottom lip recedes into his mouth for a second before he speaks. “Okay,” he says. “What was it?”

  “Why haven’t you ever brought up working at the animal shelter?” I ask.

  “Oh,” he says, his eyes moving back and forth.

  “It’s really not that difficult a question,” I tell him.

  “I guess I just never thought about it,” he says.

  “It’s kind of funny that we ever thought something could work between the two of us, isn’t it?” I ask, hoping my timid smile can manage to keep him from overreacting.

  “I didn’t think it was so far-fetched,” he says. “We have a lot in common.”

  “We do,” I agree. “When I saw you in there, though—I don’t know, I guess I just felt like there was more to you than I knew, and that I hadn’t really given you a fair shake.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” he says.

  “You didn’t,” I respond. “Well, not until…” Neither one of us needs me to finish that sentence. “How long have you been working there?”

  “I’m a volunteer,” he says. “I started there the summer after high school, but they were already over budget, so I offered to just come in and volunteer when they needed the extra help.”

  “How long has that been?” I ask.

  “Since fall after I graduated,” he says. “We got a huge influx of animals a couple of weeks after I started working there and, being a no-kill shelter, that can become pretty expensive if people aren’t adopting as quickly. They were either going to have to fire someone or start turning animals away, so that was that.”

  There’s a pause, but this time it doesn’t feel quite so ominous.

  “I think it’s really cool that you do that,” I tell him.

  “Thanks,” he says and he even starts to smile a little before his eyes are back on the notebook in front of him that I honestly hadn’t seen until just now over the mound of cans, wrappers and other clutter piled two-feet high over most of the table.

  I know we’re not together anymore, even if we haven’t said the words, but I’m still sensitive to the fact that Ian is going through a stressful time right now. That’s no justification for the way he spoke to me after the demo, but I can’t see any way that he’s going to have his head straight by the time the Midwest Championships actually happen.

  There are only two days left.

  It’s not my job to take care of him anymore, though, if it ever was. It’s not cruel, it’s just reality.

  I just wish things were different.

  “How’s your dog?” I ask.

  “Gerald?” I ask with a smile. “He’s good,” I tell him. “He’s got a surprisingly loud bark for such a small dog.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “He’s a bit of a handful. He was actually the runt of his litter, but even by the time you came and picked him up, he’d already outgrown his sisters.”

  “He was born in the shelter?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” I answer. “His mother was brought in pregnant and she gave birth to three puppies, two girls and a boy. Does he still do that thing when he pretends like he can’t understand you unless you have a treat in your hand, then he’s the master of all dog tricks?”

  I laugh and scratch the back of my head, “Yeah. I was really proud when I found out he’d sit and shake, but when I went to show my dad, he wouldn’t do it. My dad had to suggest trying it with a treat.”

  “You know,” Ian says with that little smirk he gets before he says something clever, “you’d think that, being a student of psychology, you would have remembered Pavlov’s dog. There wouldn’t have been a response to the bell if there hadn’t been food involved.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say, and chuckle a bit with relief.

  It’s awkward. It’s so awkward, but at least the tension isn’t quite so palpable anymore.

  “You want a drink?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I tell him. “Grab me a beer.”

  “You’re too young,” he comes back, but he gets out of his seat and heads to the fridge anyway. “Let’s see, we’ve got beer and…” he moves a couple of things to get a fuller look at the contents of the fridge, “beer,” he concludes. “Looks like all we have in the fridge is beer, but I can get you some water.”

  “Water’s fine,” I tell him.

  He opens a cupboard and removes a glass from inside. He fills it with water and brings it over to me.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking the glass from him.

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “So,” I start and take a quick sip before continuing, “how are you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” he says. “How are you?”

  “The competition’s almost here,” I tell him. “Are you still going to go through with it?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “After everything with the demo, I’m kind of soured on the idea.”

  I’m quick to defend, “Hey, I was just reacting to the fact that you were being very disrespectful, and—” He puts up a hand to stop me.

  “I didn’t mean that,” he says. “That was all me, and I’m sorry. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I was just so frustrated, angry. I never thought I’d actually come in last.”

  “You weren’t—” I start, but he puts up his hand again.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Nothing excuses the way that I spoke to you. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t cool, and I’m sorry.”

  My brain a
nd endocrine system are all geared up for a fight, but it doesn’t look like there needs to be one. We both agree that he was being a jerk.

  “I can still come to the competition if you want,” I tell him.

  “I don’t even know if I’m going,” he says. “I want to try, if for no other reason than to say that I gave it my best shot, but I really don’t think I could deal with another disappointment right now.”

  “Fair enough,” I tell him, “but do you really think you’re going to come through everything easier if you bail on it? That kind of seems like the sort of thing you’d regret.”

  “Yeah,” he says, looking past me, sucking the inside of one of his cheeks, pulling it inward, “I guess so.”

  “I’m not going to tell you what to do, though,” I tell him. “It’s not my decision.”

  “Do you really think I’d have a shot at making an impact?” he asks. “Not the ‘fall on my face’ kind of impact, but do you think I can actually do this thing without humiliating myself? After getting my ass handed to me by those kids, I just… I don’t know if it’s going to be worth it to torch my career.”

  “I don’t think you’d be torching your career,” I tell him. “I think you’re still young, and even if you don’t take home the first spot in the competition, you’ve still got as much of a career ahead of you as you want. Vert was never your thing anyway, you said so yourself.”

  “Yeah,” he says hesitantly, scratching his earlobe. “It’s kind of the only thing I can think about, though. Now that I can drop in… I just wish the competition was a few months further out,” he says. “If I had a little more time to get comfortable and really work on my overall vert performance, I might be able to integrate it into my overall…” he trails off. “You weren’t really asking for a big explanation, were you?” he asks.

  “It’s fine,” I tell him. “I just don’t know what’s got you so scared? Yeah, your first vert performance wasn’t what you wanted it to be, but you did it. Now you can build on it. If you want to start doing vert as well as street and park, I say do it.”

  “There’s nowhere around here to practice it, though,” he says. “Apart from that one big drop-in at the park, there’s nothing that would even adequately simulate the experience.”