Joel folded shirts into thirds the way the housekeepers had shown him once at a hotel during ‘South by Southwest’ or ‘South by’ as the cool kids called it. Both thumbs as rulers, palms as an iron. Perfectly flat and perfectly packed. Two pairs of pants, three button-downs, and underwear rolled tight. All packed into a white canvas overnight bag. The kind that looks thrifted, but costs thousands. The bedroom had that soft early light that makes everything look beautiful and sentimental.
Lyla lay on the bed in a purple taffeta gown. More static attached itself to her brown, curly hair every time she shifted. She bounced a bright yellow ball against the ceiling. Thunk, catch, thunk.
“I just think he’s weird,” she said to the ceiling.
“Is he nice?” Joel asked, looking up from his dresser drawer.
“Define nice.”
“Uh.. Not a jerk?”
She sat up, mouth open like he’d sworn in church. “You aren’t supposed to say that.”
“Is he?”
“Not really.”
“That’s good. Not nice, not a jerk. Neutral. Neutral is a good place to be.”
“Fine, Dad. He’s neutral.”
Joel laughed and tossed the last T-shirt in. “If Max makes your mom happy, then you need to be nice.”
“I’m going to try my best to be neutral,” she said, not at all satisfied.
“Fair enough.”
Lyla rolled over and peered into Joel’s bag, the gown swishing like clothes in a washing machine. “You should pack linen. That’s what people wear in the Hamptons.”
“Who told you that?”
“It’s common knowledge, really.”
He zipped the bag. “I’m ready for my trip. Should we pack for yours?”
She flopped back, arms wide, the yellow ball pinned beneath her knee. “I don’t want to go to Syracuse.”
He lay down beside her, their shoulders touching, both of them looking at the ceiling. It had those fancy, ornate sections that you see in colonial-era period pieces. Like Bridgerton, that kind of thing.
“-- and I don’t think I can be neutral about it.”
“Come on.”
“Have you seen what they wear in Syracuse?”
“Who cares what they’re wearing?” Joel said. “We have to pick out what you’re going to wear.”
“I hate the way he says buddy. He calls me buddy like I’m a golden retriever. And he has a boat. People with boats are always making you sit on their boat.”
“Come on, Lyla.”
She folded her arms across her chest like a queen in a portrait. “If he calls me buddy, I’m gonna call him comrade back.”
“Very Cold War,” he said. “I’m into it.” He reached for her hand and squeezed.
She slid off the mattress with a swish and disappeared into the closet. Hangers clacked. She returned with jeans, a purple sweater, and sneakers that had survived gym class and 57 art projects. She added socks with embroidered stars and a T-shirt with a dinosaur that Joel had bought for her at the Natural History Museum. His favorite part of the trip was the subway ride home, when she couldn’t stop talking about Rexy, and how she was the first T. rex skeleton ever discovered. He loved that she assumed the giant, scary dinosaur that looked like it was hunting was obviously female.
“Practical,” he said.
He folded her picks into her small, hard suitcase that had been gradually taken over by stickers, a timeline of phases: horses, space, a frog in sunglasses, some holographic Lisa Frank. She placed the yellow ball on top of the folded clothes, and Joel zipped it shut. He checked the time. They were late, but they were always going to be.
--
The handoff happened in a bright lobby with a bunch of plants. Max stood next to Lyla’s Mom. He had a boat-owner tan and a ring of keys that suggested access to more doors than a person would ever need. He welcomed Lyla with “Hey, buddy.”
Lyla raised an eyebrow and glanced back at Joel. She turned back and hugged Joel with a double squeeze. She hated this part the most and would discuss it at length with her therapist 17 years later. Joel watched them leave through the glass and told the reflection version of himself to be better. Lyla thought he was already great.
If you’re new here, I write a monthly serialized novel called Everything is Advertising, about a burned-out Creative Director and his cynical team that accidentally create QAnon through a viral marketing campaign. If you like that kind of thing, you can start at Part One and catch up from there.
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Photo Credit: CJ Dayrit
Seeing this character in a deeper way with his daughter is amazing to see.