Weeping Willow

Chapter Six.

My dad walks through the shop, his eyes searching the tables for me. I didn't want my dad and Trent to meet like this, when my dad drove me here because they wouldn't let me drive alone. Not that I thought the blond barista would ever meet either of my parents anyway. Trent must be at least eighteen to be here working during school hours.

"That's my dad," I tell Trent before my dad reaches our table. My dad is dressed in his typical sandals, old canvas pants and a band t-shirt. His peppered hair is long at the sides, my mom tells him to cut it at least once a day.

Trent stands as my dad approaches and holds his hand out. "I'm Trent, nice to meet you," he shakes my dad's hand and I watch as my dad's skeptical eyes are clearly impressed by Trent's manners. I'm equally as impressed. It's something that I shouldn't be surprised by, but I'm used to the boys at my school saying, What's up instead of shaking parent's hands.

"You too, man," my dad says to Trent and then looks at me. "I thought you fell into the toilet or something," he teases me. Trent laughs and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I'm not embarrassed that my dad talking about toilets with him, I'm embarrassed that he thinks his joke was actually funny.

"Ha-ha," I respond, standing to my feet. When I check the time on my phone it's past nine. I won't get to school until at least ten. I get the feeling that if I would have driven myself, I would have stayed much, much longer.

Trent offers my dad a coffee and my dad takes him up on it. Trent left my notebook unguarded on the wooden table. I grab it and shove it into my bag before he returns. His praise over my work repeats through my mind as I watch him make my dad a coffee to-go.

My dad wraps his arm around my shoulder and whispers, "he seems okay." I roll my eyes and my dad laughs, letting go of me. "A little too old if you ask me," he adds.

"He's only..." I try to correct him but I don't know how old Trent is. I look at him behind the bar and he's already looking at me. I smile and try to look at him until he gives in. He keeps his green eyes on mine until it's uncomfortable for both of us and his face breaks into the sun, laughing and bright. I keep my face as flat as I can when he loses. I'm more reserved, proving that I'm the winner of our staring contest.

"Chaucer, Chaucer, Chaucer." My dad whispers, shaking his head slowly. I had forgotten that he was here. Trent holds up my dad's coffee and walks out from behind the bar.

Out of paranoia, I check my bag one more time for my notebook one last time before we go.

My dad thanks Trent as a group of college students enter the café. Only one more year, I remind myself. "Are you heading out?" Trent asks us.

My dad looks at me, waiting for me to answer. I'm glad he didn't say, yes, I have to drop my only daughter off at day care, which is something he would totally do. "Yeah, I have to get back, I have school," I catch myself, "I'm a senior," I add, rambling. Smooth, Chaucer, smooth.

Trent smiles and makes eye contact with me. I like that. Trent looks at my dad next, "I was just telling Chaucer that if she wanted to perform here she can, anytime."

What? My stomach fills with butterflies, my hands sweat. "I..." I look over to the stage that Maya Crawford stood on just last night and my heart races at the thought of my words flowing through the air, quick and doubtless. I can't imagine it, but I want to feel the adrenaline, I want to see the faces of the crowd as each line of my work sinks into them, taking their breath away.

"What? Really?" My dad interrupts. "What about that Chaucer?"

Trent's white t-shirt has a coffee stain on it and I get a little bit of satisfaction from this. He's not perfect. He is perfect.