Mystery Monday Sneak Peek
“Sorry.”
Marcus blinked rapidly, zoning back in, and scooted to the right on the bus stop bench to make room. Some fumbling dude in a suit… “Nah, you’re good. Anniversary? Birthday?”
“Celebration.” The man sat with a sigh, gathering up the couple of flowers that had fallen out of the exceptionally large bouquet. “They’re for my daughter’s show--- She’s performing in the ballet downtown tonight with the Moscow dancers.”
Marcus’ eyebrows went up with passing interest. Mostly he was trying to keep an eye out for the correct bus number--- He was supposed to be meeting Blondie here for the “first time”, but Pete’s instructions had been vague at best. Still, this guy seemed… familiar… “Hey, no kidding. That’s a pretty expensive show… Wife wanted me to take her awhile back.”
“That it is.” The man’s voice deepened with pride. “She’s worked VERY hard to get in as the guest artist. Hopefully flowers will be enough; I’m late as it is…”
Marcus finally gave the dude his full attention, delightedly incredulous. “You’re LATE? Guy.”
The man leaned on his knees, flowers held carefully between his legs, and gave Marcus an almost irritated look. His eyes were startlingly colorful. “What?”
Marcus propped himself up against an ad for reading glasses, crossing his arms to get comfy, and didn’t bother suppressing a laugh. It was always the rich assholes too busy running empires to pay attention to their own damn kids, wasn’t it? Thus went the tired stereotype, but hey… he’d been wrong before, and this guy seemed pretty sincere. “Kids don’ care about gifts, man. Jus’ be on time for ‘em once in a while. Showing up’s the main thing.”
“I didn’t take a car,” he muttered, but his lips pulled up a rueful smile. “That might have been a bit smarter, in retrospect, but parking in this part of town is a nightmare.”
“I wouldn’t know. You get her favorite color, at least?”
“Yes; pink, purple, and yellow.”
“Not many men know their kids’ favorite colors.” Marcus sniffed as he mentally waved away his previous assessment. Maybe he was a bad person for assuming shit. “You’re doin’ alright.”
“Yeah?” The man’s voice took on a note of amusement. “You think so?”
“Yeah, s’ important to kids, colors.”
“She’s just turned twenty years old.”
“…Oh.”
“Tsss… believe me, she is just as obsessed with color as ever. Anything particularly sparkle-covered especially.”
“Yeah? I wonder if I’ll have to deal with a glitter phase.”
“You have a…?”
“Just a seven-month-old.”
“Ahhh… I wish I’d seen that age.” The man leaned against his side of the booth, smiling faintly at passing traffic. “Most of mine are adopted.”
“Oh.” Marcus once more found himself reassessing. Was he talking to an angel? Just his luck to be caught talking to a freaking ANGEL on his too-lazy-to-pick-clothes day--- Ripped jeans an’ a stupid t-shirt number with some kinda checkered band across the middle. It was too small. “That’s pretty cool, though. You seem like a good dad.”
The man actually scoffed for some reason, casting his gaze away across the skyline. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Marcus raised one critical eyebrow, sensing a challenge. He wondered briefly if it would be rude to prod, then decided that he didn’t give a fuck. He was bored--- He’d forgotten his phone at home an’ it was starting to drizzle. He might as well entertain himself while he was stuck here waiting for some kinda secret meeting set up through cryptic instructions. “Uhoh. Doin’ damage control?”
“In a manner of speaking. I… wasn’t the best with my first few.”
“How many do you HAVE, man?”
“I don’t know.” The man laughed, and Marcus chuckled along with him, but he had the strangest sense that this dude wasn’t actually joking. “I feel like there’s a new one every time I turn around… Oh, forgive me, that must sound crude.”
Marcus laughed helplessly, startled, and pulled his worn jacket (new from a thrift store since he’d unwittingly given his last one away to thieving interlopers at Sunday dinner) tighter over his already-tight shirt. “You’re not from around here, are you?”