Chameleon ✔️

10 reservations

          On Saturday morning, I am awoken by the strong aroma of french vanilla. When my eyes flutter open, there is a tall, yellow-aura'd man standing next to my bed and holding a steaming mug out to me.

"Morning, sunshine."

On instinct, I reach for my phone and look at the time. "Dad, really?! It's eight am on a Saturday."

"Hence the coffee."

I roll over, pulling the covers up to my chin. "Hence me going back to sleep because you've obviously lost your marbles."

The bed squeaks; the corner sinks; and I lift. "We've got stuff to do today. Or have you forgotten?"

"The party's not for six hours," I say, but I don't open my eyes. "So unless you're planning on driving to Kentucky beforehand, I'd say we're good on time."

The bed squeaks; the corner lifts; I even out. "We're leaving at eleven," he announces.

At this, I open my eyes. "Eleven? What for!?"

He grins, and his eyes are nearly sparkling. "Can't tell ya." He sets the mug down on my bedside table. "I'm just gonna leave this here." And then he all but skips out of my room.

This time, as I roll over, I grunt loudly. He can't read my aura, so therefore I must actually voice my discontent.

I wake up naturally an hour and a half later and head to the bathroom groggily, coffee in hand. When I emerge, I find Dad in the kitchen, baking. My father. My father is baking. He's baking.

"Dad... what..."

He peers over his shoulder at me. "It's nice enough of them to throw you party. I thought we should bring something."

The rectangular dish he holds is filled to the top with a gooey brown liquid. "Brownies?"

"Yeah. You like brownies, right?"

"I like brownies."

"Good. Does Eli like brownies?"

"I don't know."

"You should text him and make sure he likes brownies."

"I'm sure he likes brownies."

"Okay."

I perch myself atop a bar stool to enjoy the rest of my beverage. I watch him open the rarely used oven, and the door squeaks. He places the dish inside it before ridding his hands of the even more rarely used oven mitts.

"Are you sure this is safe?" I ask between sips of room temperature coffee, just how I like it, and I'm not referring to the oven.

"Hmm?"

"I said are you sure it's safe. To go to the party."

"It's only gonna be a few of your friends, right?" I nod. "And it's in a public place. So I'm sure we'll be fine."

I'm about to ask what on earth has gotten into him, why he's being so cool and calm and lenient and non-olive-aura'd and baking, but I don't. Because he's wearing his favorite off-white button-down unbuttoned over a dark red cotton tee with khaki cargo shorts and his hair brushed back. I don't even have to look down to know that he's wearing his brown fake Birkenstock sandals, probably with socks. And despite his entirely dadcore ensemble, I know I can't rob this of him. He actually looks weirdly handsome, and it's been a long time since he was allowed to have any kind of social life, too.

"You're sure?" I ask. One more time, just to be safe.

"It's gonna be fine, Pen. If you trust Eli, then so do I." And then he smiles, and I think that the reason his smile is so rare to me is that he hardly ever lets himself get excited. Which, judging by his aura, this is one of those rare times.