Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Robbie? I will never get used to that. Vanessa is the only person I’ve ever heard call my dad—Robert Boothe—by that nickname. But also? In what universe does Dad care where I work? Or about me at all?
I’ve worked at the Berkshire Zoo for four years, and I’d bet my right foot that Dad couldn’t have named the specific zoo before walking under the archway bearing its name tonight. He’s never asked me about my job, nor specifics of what I do or why I like it.
“Well, I’m glad you could make it,” I say haltingly.
“It seems like a great turnout. Hope the guys being here helped,” Dad replies, looking around.
Simply having a conversation with him, something that should be easy, is awkward. Like neither of us know what to say. Should we discuss the past? Leave it alone and move forward? Some combination of the two? I have no idea.
“It did,” I say instead. “I even heard a couple of people say they came for the players, not the zoo. But we’ll benefit either way.”
He nods, both of us falling silent as the course of that conversational thread ends.
Vanessa is the one to save us. “Robbie said this is all to name a monkey?”
I look from her to Dad. He was listening to me? He shared what I told him? He’s here? As I realize the answer to all of those questions is yes, the little girl inside me feels seen and heard in a way she never did before, which is very confusing for adult me, who still hasn’t forgiven Dad for the years of near abandonment.
Giving Vanessa the same speech I’ve been repeating all evening, I say, “Yeah, Caprice is one of our siamang gibbons. This is her first offspring, which is a very big deal, not only for our zoo, but for all siamangs in captivity. We’re raising funds to name her.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” she coos. “What would you name her?”
“Oh, that honor will go to the highest bidder,” I rush to explain. “Not me, or any of the zoo employees.”
“Yeah, but what would you name her . . . if you could?” Vanessa pries.
This has been an ongoing discussion among the zoo staff since we discovered Caprice’s pregnancy. Many suggestions have been made, some good, some great, and some downright strange, which is to be expected when you get a bunch of science-minded people together. I mean, we cannot actually name her Symsyn because it’s short for her scientific name of Symphalangus syndactylus.
“Hadiah. Hadi for short. It means gift in Malay, and siamang gibbons are from the forests of Malaysia, Indonesia, and Thailand.”
“Hadi? That’s cute,” Vanessa says.
Dad is quiet, just watching us make small talk. How is this easier than talking to him? Is it the topic or Vanessa? I’m not sure, but it is infinitely more comfortable than talking to Dad. Maybe because, for all her faults, I don’t have a bad history with Vanessa, and since I’m not close to Dad, I’ve never been particularly close to her either. She’s Dad’s wife, nothing more and nothing less. Plus Caprice, and by extension, her daughter, is one of my favorite topics.
“Hurry! Get there!” a voice shouts amid the pounding footsteps of what sounds like a herd of buffalo.
Suddenly, two groups of people—one, the Blizzard players, and the other, a family with three teenage boys—comes barreling into the area, and very nearly into a picnic table. Thankfully, Rodney dives off to the side and does a front roll instead, coming up covered in dirt and grass. As he dusts his shirt off, the whole group celebrates.
“Whoo, that was close!” Anderson cheers. “But we got here first!” He thumps his chest, looking more like a posturing silverback gorilla than he’d probably appreciate hearing. For unexplainable reasons, his tie is now wrapped around his head Rambo-style, with the tail of it hanging over his right shoulder. I have no idea where his jacket went.
Actually, all of the guys are missing their jackets now, and their shirts are largely untucked. They all look quite a bit worse for wear considering it was a quick and easy scavenger hunt, not a Lord of the Flies campout. Though maybe their group dynamics were a bit more “every man for himself” than the average scavenger hunter.
There’s a round of high fives, between the players and the family, who are all grinning widely. “That was iconic,” one of the teenagers yells. Another is holding up his phone, videoing the whole thing, proclaiming he got the whole thing and they’ll definitely be viral by tomorrow.
“They look like they’re having fun,” Dad says, deadpan.
Fun is putting it mildly. For all their protestations about being here today, the Blizzard players are happily roughhousing and seem to be having a great time now. I meet Dominic’s eyes and send him a meaningful smile. He’s doing it . . . fixing the team. And maybe, fixing me a little, too, I think as I cut my eyes over to Dad, making sure Dom sees him as well.