My dad scowls so well, he could scare the hair off a fucking grizzly bear. I rake a hand across my unshaven jaw. Jack tries to hold eye-contact, but Rodrigo is shaking his hand for two beats longer than normal. I’m thirty-two. My dad shouldn’t be treating meeting a boyfriend like a job interview into the family. Jack Highland is qualified to be with me because I say so. “Dad,” I interject, “is this a staring contest or are you going to talk to him?”
