Harper's Rules 1 & 2

Chapter 3: Harper

"You're sure?" Dad's soft brown eyes studied mine with a look that was best described as no part of him believed me, despite three previous rounds of questioning.

"I am," I answered after the fourth time he'd asked if I had 'everything,' which was nearly just as bad as a 'They say' on the vagueness scale.

Someone's been reading too many 'What to Pack' blogs.

Streams of mid-day sunlight cascaded over his black and gray-streaked hair, which also looked nothing like mine, as Dad ticked off his inventory list again. I groaned at his near-ADD level of attention to detail here.

We activated our first fingers, his index and my middle one, as he asked, "School stuff?"

"Parking pass ordered and needs to be picked up. Supplies yes, books ordered and waiting at the bookstore," I replied in a flat voice. At the small head shake he gave my hand gesture, I assured him, "Just practicing for any guy that hits on me."

Dad flipped up a second finger. "Electronics. Laptop, phone, chargers, HDMI cord, surge protector, extension cord, headphones, extra batteries?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,... yes." Mentally, I also added my dildos because, of course I'd remembered their extra batteries.

Because, let's be honest, Jake's ridiculousness aside, I'm not looking for anything that Bob can't give me.

No comment on whether I'll use his photo for inspiration though.

I mean, it'd be insulting not to, right?

"Bedroom linens and laundry soap?" Dad's sharp tone and third lifted finger snapped my mind back to attention.

"Packed in your car." My free hand pointed to one of the boxes in his car's back seat, which was stuffed to the ceiling with boxes except for a small window in between for his rear view.

"Bathroom." He raised up a fourth finger. "Shampoo, toothbrush, toilet paper, don't ask me to list out your hair, skin, and makeup supplies again."

Thought that would've gotten me out of doing this 'again.'

"Probably best you don't." I grinned and pointed at the largest box on his back seat. "Yes."

"Girl stuff?" At my lifted eyebrows, he coughed. "Pads, tampons,..."

"Yes," I assured him and suppressed an eye roll because I wasn't going to explain to my father how my periods had been nonexistent with my IUD for the past three years.

Like many things, what details he doesn't know doesn't hurt me.

Dad unfortunately had gotten the brunt of raising a daughter alone in the particularly awful, hormonal-driven pre-teen and teenage years. Given his job took him away from the house most of the time, in hindsight the man performed admirably. Just like my black AmEx expenses, he preferred a blind eye when it came to topics like birth control and why I needed it, thankfully, although he must have known I was anything but a virgin.

"Umbrella." Dad snapped his fingers. "There should be an extra one in your trunk."

"There is." I rolled my lips inward, pressed them together tightly, and prayed he didn't check to make sure.

Not the time to explain why I also have a couple of random power tools, a saw, and endless rolls of duct tape in there.

Throughout high school and college so far, my car trunk had become a repository for random shit that I wasn't sure what else to do with. I'd cleaned out most of the tools, piled them in the garage even though I knew Dad had no use for them, but kept the spare tire kit and a few random tools like a hammer and screwdriver.