“Travis!” he answers the phone in lieu of a hello, his voice managing to sound both gruff and happy to talk to me at the same time.

“Hey, Dad.” I press the switch to grind the decaf beans, even though I won’t brew a pot until someone asks for it. First thing in the morning is not the time people want decaf.

“What the heck is that noise?” he asks.

“Coffee beans,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. It’s not like he didn’t grow up in this diner the same way I did.

He hums in understanding, then says, “You know Kristy is trying to get me to drink her fancy shit coffee with all these foofy flavors. I’ve told her that I’m a man and coffee should just be coffee, but she keeps trying to sneak them by me. Like I won’t notice the taste of pecan and banana and whatever other weird shit they put in there.”

I bristle at the “I’m a man” comment, grateful he can’t see me my face. This is the kind of crap I didn’t want to explain to Brenden. My dad’s not a bad guy. I really believe that. But he’s a product of the time in which he was raised, and he doesn’t see anything wrong with letting comments like this about what it means to be a man or not tumble out of his mouth.

Should I correct him and keep trying to nudge him into this century? Probably.

But I think it’s already clear I’m somewhat of a coward when it comes to him.

So I maintain the status quo. “You should be watching your caffeine intake anyway.”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” he says, and I laugh. At least I’m not afraid to harass him about his health.

I ask how he’s doing besides the coffee situation, then listen as he tells me for about the hundredth time how he’s bored out of his mind. You’d think a man who has worked hard all his life would be able to appreciate taking a break for a while, but he just wants to get back to work.

He could really use a hobby. Though I’m pretty sure he thinks hobbies are for girls.

“You’ll be walking without crutches and able to come home soon,” I assure him.

“Yeah, yeah. Not soon enough,” he grumbles.

Silently, I disagree with him. Because if he were to come home now, that would end my ability to help out Brenden with the fake relationship.

I stiffen up like I’m about to get caught out. As if by even thinking about Brenden, my dad will be able to sense what I’m doing with him. But, of course, I know he’s not a mind reader. And honestly, he’s not even the most observant guy.

While I was living in Boston and sharing an apartment with Christian—my ex, and the longest relationship I’ve had—Dad never questioned anything. Didn’t find it at all strange when we went on a trip to Cancun, just the two of us.