Part 35 (2/2)
”It involved seven years of architecture school, sweetheart, in an ultra-compet.i.tive environment.”
”And I'll likely be apprenticing for years as well, and it's just as compet.i.tive. Come on, don't patronize me.”
He lets out a deep, shuddering exhale, and I know he's relenting.
”I'm going to miss you,” he says.
I won't lie. It hits me right in the gut. It's just been me and him for a few years now, and since he works so much, we're like a team. He takes care of me in some ways, I take care of him in other ways.
”Will you be okay alone?”
He laughs. ”Come on, Penelope. Of course I will. I'm only a fifty-two year old man.”
”Really? Because I've seen the way you eat when I don't prepare dinner. It's unhealthy.”
He clears his throat, and sidesteps the issue. ”How long are you planning on staying there for?”
”Oh, jeez, Dad, it's not like I'm leaving forever. I'll be back! I think my visa only gives me one year, anyway, with the option for a second.”
”And it'll be legal for you to work there?”
”Yes.”
”And it'll make you happy?”
”Yes!”
He puts the spoon down, and it clinks against his bowl. ”Fine. But I expect you to email me at least twice a week. And call me once a week. A proper telephone call, not just the hi-dad-bye-dad bulls.h.i.+t that kids do these days. Actually, I want it over Skype as well. I want to be able to see your face. Anyway, I need to put the new laptop to good use. I haven't even used it once, you know?”
I grin. ”Okay.”
”And I want the telephone number of Rose and her mother or father or guardian. I'll want to have a talk with both of them first.”
”No problem.”
”And I want you to write me out a plan. I want you to list out exactly what you're going to be doing, how you're going to do it, and anything else that entails. I want to know how you'll get a license to tattoo, where this Tina person is. I want to know how you'll sort out your taxes, driving license, everything. I want you to be on top of everything, and I expect it by tonight when I get home from work.”
I nod rapidly. ”I can do that.” I've got this broad smile on my face, and I reach across the table and take his hand. ”Thanks, Dad.”
”You know,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze. ”I never thought my beautiful daughter would become a tattooist. Sorry, tattoo artist.”
”What did you think I'd be?”
”I don't know. Graphic designer? Something safe.”
”Try and be a little more open-minded.”
”Wait until you get to be my age with children of your own, and let's see how open-minded you'll be then when they ask you if they can do insane things.”
”It's not insane.”
”Well, maybe it's just because I'm your father, but the idea of letting my nineteen year-old daughter live alone in a different country without any real supervision sounds insane to me.”
”You can trust me. I'm not a partier. I'm not interested in that stuff. Heck, I've never even tried a cigarette.”
His expression hardens. ”I should expect not.”
”You have to trust me, Dad.”
”I do trust you. But if you disappoint me-”
”I won't,” I promise him. ”I swear it.”
”Okay.”
”Hey!” I say after a moment of silence. ”You can use this as an opportunity to see... what's-her-name more!”
”Her name is Isabelle,” he says sternly. ”Isabelle Fletcher.” Then his face lights up. ”Hang on a minute.” He pulls out his phone, and starts going through his messages.
”What is it?”
”Melbourne, right?”
”Yeah.”
”Well, Isabelle has a son, and he spent his teenage years in a boarding school in Melbourne. I think he's still there.”
”Really?” I ask. ”That's a coincidence.”
”Indeed. His name is, um, Pierce.”
”Oh. Like the James Bond actor?”
”Different spelling, I think. I've got a photo of him somewhere. Isabelle sent it to me.”
I watch as he manhandles his phone, punching the on-screen b.u.t.tons the way he pecks at his keyboard.
”Ah, here we go,” he says.
He turns the phone around and shows it to me. There's a photograph of Isabelle. She's looking uptight and well-dressed as usual. And standing next to her is...
”That's him?” I ask.
”Yeah. Why?”
I say nothing, just shake my head.
The guy is hot as h.e.l.l.