"Sorry, Dad, dinner's not ready yet—I fell asleep outside." I stifled a yawn.
"Uh. Don't... worry about it," he said, avoiding me and instead making eye contact with the gun-belt rack. "I... uh... wanted to catch the score on the... on the... game... "
I watched TV with Charlie after dinner, for something to do. There wasn't anything on I wanted to watch, but he knew I didn't like baseball, so he turned it to some mindless sitcom that neither of us enjoyed. He seemed happy, though, to be doing something together. And it felt good, so good, to make him happy...
"Dad," I said during a commercial for condoms, "Jessica and Angela are going to look at dresses for the dance tomorrow night in Fort Angles, and they wanted me to help them choose... do you mind if I... go with them?"
"Jessica Stanley?" he asked while trying to not get a boner.
"And Angela Webber." I sighed as I gave him the details that I'd already detailed.
He was confused, not sure what exactly I was proposing here. "But you're not going to the dance, right?"
"No, Dad, but I'm helping them find dresses—you know, giving them constructive, um... criticism."
"Um... okay." He paused, uncomfortable. "It's a school night, though."
"We'll leave right after school, so we can get back early enough for you to tuck us in," I cheesed. "You'll be okay for dinner, right?" Probably feeling like I was teasing him now, he got a bit testy. "Hell's bells, Bells, I fed myself for seventeen years before you got here," he reminded me.
"I don't know how you survived," I muttered, thinking of all the cans of egg-and-bacon flavored dog food that had lined the shelves when I arrived. More clearly, I added, "I'll leave some things for cold-cut sandwiches in the fridge, okay? Right on top."

150

Chapter 7

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