favourite worst nightmare [JJ MAYBANK]

viii. the golden band

CHAPTER EIGHT:
THE GOLDEN BAND

[EPISODE FIVE: MIDSUMMERS]

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Dusk is already walking in by the time Rita heads downstairs to meet her dad by the door, who's been ready for ten minutes already and is munching on a slice of toast.

"Oh, you look wonderful," her dad says, sat in the lounge with one ankle propped on his knee, spewing food as he speaks with a grin. He puts his book down — The Blind Assassin, which he's reading on Rita's request but isn't enjoying.

"How's the book?" she asks, nodding at it as he stands and leaves it on the coffee table.

"It's alright."

She can tell from his tone that he's not a fan. "I think a lot of it must be going over your head."

"Don't let your intelligence get to your head, Rita," he says, but he's smiling, and like in the shop he beats at her dress as if to swipe away dust. "You really do look wonderful."

She's quite aware of that, although she knows by now to smile politely and say thank you. In the shop, she'd been right to pick this dress, and with her hair curled in bouncy waves and a crown of blue flowers (fake, made of thin velvety fabric) woven into the curls, she can hardly stop looking at herself. She's replaced the usual round-rimmed glasses with contacts -- a rare occasion. Getting ready had been exciting (she'd missed the thrill of having something to look forward to) and all day her heart had been fluttery with nervous glee, like a deer or a dove's fluttering wings — all of this despite what JJ had said. She doesn't have high hopes, but she does enjoy looking so good.

"Get off my dress, come on," Rita mutters jokingly, batting his hands away.

           He rolls his eyes and finishes his hot-cross-bun in one hurried bite, ordering her as he spews crumbs to, "Get your shoes on, chick. Let's roll."

            Flopping on the couch to buckle her heels behind her ankles, Rita does as told, watching him as he moves around their lounge and dining room (open plan) and grabs his keys and wallet, patting the pockets of his pants all the while to make sure he's got everything in the right place.

           "You're driving?"she asks, mainly as code for, Aren't you drinking?

           Like a mind-reader, the ability created after years of single-parenting, he knows to answer with, "We can get a taxi back." Then he adds, "At least you're coming with me and not that boy, huh?"