Page 28 of Worth the Trip

“Same difference with your work habits.”

Pops laughed into his tea.

“One weekend,” I repeated.

“One weekend.”

And that was that. It wasn’t a breakthrough, intervention, or life-changing revelation. I’d agreed to a few days I hadn’t assigned to anybody else yet, and for a man capable of turning an open Saturday into six hours of film review without anybody requesting it, that was probably enough progress for one dinner.

After we ate, Mama and Lennox started debating whether peach cobbler needed ice cream while Pops announced that the argument didn’t matter if nobody touched the corner piece he planned to save for later.

Lennox looked immediately interested.

Pops caught him. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t do nothing.”

“Your face did.”

I carried my glass toward the sink, but Pops took it from my hand before I could turn on the water.

“I got it.”

“I can wash one glass.”

“I know.”

I reached for it.

He moved it out of range. “You don’t have to.”

I looked at him.

He looked back.

No speech followed. The man had already exceeded his emotional word count for the afternoon.

“Aight.”

I stepped away and watched him pick up a dish towel while Mama washed. They moved around each other without conversation, Mama handing him plates before he reached for them, Pops shifting before she needed the drawer behind him. Forty years together had given them a rhythm neither seemed particularly interested in explaining.

My phone vibrated.

Three staff messages. Two recruiting emails. And Malcolm.

Malcolm:

Ramirez said no candy on Monday.

Another message appeared.

Malcolm:

Hostile administration.

Then:

Malcolm: