Before she can scramble back to her feet, Danny has his hands on her, gingerly giving her a pat down. It's all very clinical, a doctor looking for injuries, but the warmth of his touch sets her skin to tingling. She instinctively follows the movement of his hand like a cat looking to be stroked. Just as she's about to make a fool of herself, his fingers gently probe the lump forming on her shin. A hiss escapes her through clenched teeth, and Danny rolls up her legging, revealing a nasty purple bruise already forming.
"At least you didn't break the skin."
He moves to help her up, offering an arm for support. Alan mirrors the movement on her left side, and in what seems to be quite a strange turn of events, she finds herself suspended gently between two very concerned men as they walk her back to the sofa.
She waves them both away, the full embarrassment of her clumsiness washing over her. "I'm fine, I swear."
Looking up, she finally sees the resemblance she's been searching for. It's not in their features exactly, but deeper down, settled in the identical look of concern they're both wearing. Danny has his hands on his hips, frowning ever so slightly as he gives her an unsubtle up and down glance. "You should be more careful."
Alan cuts in, a sheepish look on his face. "He's right. This place is a bit cluttered."
'A bit cluttered' is an understatement, to say the least. Mindy can see what looks to be the collection of a lonely life piled here and there. Is not dirty, it's just that there are a lot of things. Records, books, antiques. You name it, and Alan has some form of it. She sees it as the physical embodiment of all the wrong decisions that he has made. This is what happens when you forgo the company of other people.
"She needs ice." It's a request, or at least the closest Danny can come to asking Alan for anything, and the older man complies immediately, ducking through a doorway.
"You have to forgive him."
The air crackles for a second before Danny whips his head around, eyes wide. "What?"
"You don't want to end up like this." She's whispering, not certain if it's because she doesn't want Alan to hear, or if she's simply afraid of how Danny will react.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"He hates his father, too, only he's pushed everyone away because of it."
"We're nothing alike." The assertion is firm, like he's said it thousands of times, and yet Mindy thinks he doesn't really believe it.
"You have more in common than you'd like to admit. You're a doctor, right? Do genetics mean nothing?"
"What are you trying to say?"
"Your first instinct is to cling to anger and bitterness. You have to consciously decide not to do what he would. That means you need to forgive him."
"You sound like a self help book." His voice oozes with derision, as if she has 'for dummies' stamped across her forehead.
"I just don't like the idea of you ending up like this. It's depressing." There's a lump in her throat when she imagines Danny alone and angry at seventy years old.
"It's hard to take advice from someone who has ten bucks to their name. How are you going to end up? What happens after this?"
Mindy tells herself the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes are just residual leftovers from her injury, and she almost believes the lie. "Let's make a deal."
"Always bargaining..." He grumbles, but he's already softening toward her, the tightly coiled defensiveness falling away.
"You do this... And I'll go back to Boston, face my parents and... everything else."
Danny can't believe how light he feels once he agrees to her plan. Forgiving his father is no easy task, to be sure, but he no longer feels like he's drowning in hatred every time he looks at the man. It's more like he feels sorry for him, and pity is an easier burden.
So much easier, that when Alan offers them lunch, Danny merely nods and accepts the invitation, getting up to go through his father's record collection while they wait.
The food is exactly what he expects, cold cuts on white bread, piles of potato chips teetering on the paper plates as the bag is passed around the tiny table. Alan is generous enough to pair the meal with a cheap red wine. Danny winces as the sugary concoction spills down the back of his throat.
"Wow, this is so good. It's like sangria." Mindy gulps at it, licking her lips as she sits her glass down. "You'd never know it came from a box."
Snorting, Danny glances at her to see if she's serious, but the smile on her face looks as genuine as always. He's elbow to elbow with her, crowding a little as he attempts to maintain a healthy distance from his father. "It's a little early to be drinking, don't you think?"
The question is indirectly aimed at Alan, and his father responds cheerfully. "Relax, Danny, it's wine. Doesn't really count."
His resolve to be civil bends, warping under the weight of his father's cavalierness. It's like Alan wants him to remember all of the missed dance recitals, all the forgotten allowances, all the times his father came home at three a.m. stinking of stale beer and cigars.
Dropping her hand to his knee, Mindy jumps in, magically breaking the sudden tension. "So, Alan, what do you do out here in the desert?"
Danny doesn't hear his father's answer, focusing too much on the way her rounded nail tips look against the dark washed denim of his jeans. She gives him a light squeeze to indicate that he should respond to something (God knows what). When he says nothing she jumps back in.
"A barber at the army base? That's so cool. I've always wanted to be able to cut my own hair."
Cool? It's not cool. Alan knows it. Danny knows it. Surely Mindy knows it. His father stands in one spot and gives dozens of young men identical crew cuts all day long. It's undoubtedly tedious, but she's sitting there smiling at his father, trying so hard to help him make small talk. Danny takes a deep breath and tries again. "I guess it would save money."