Boyfriend From Hell (Falling Angels Saga) (5 page)

I’d done nothing but deride Miller. Oh, not to her face. But in my mind, I saw him as a loser. I thought she could do better. Now I realized no matter what I thought, she liked him.  I wished I’d been more mentally supportive.

I tried pointing to good-looking guys: “Look at the butt on him, Mom.” Yes! I was even willing to engage in butt talk, anything to get my mother out of her funk. But nothing worked.

Back at home, we sat on our high stools at the kitchen counter sipping green tea.

“Why don’t you try calling him?” I said.

“I did.” Again her voice was small and flat. “It either rings and rings or goes right to voice mail.”

“Maybe I should call him.”

“What? You’ll do no such thing. I am not so desperate that my fifteen-year-old daughter has to call men for me.”

“No, Mom, you’re not desperate at all. But who knows, maybe a call from a friend could let him know what he’s missing.”

She looked at me long and hard.  A warm smile appeared on her lips.

“Thank you, honey. You’re the best friend a girl could have. You’ve been nothing but supportive.”

I opened my mouth to protest, to tell her that I wasn’t such a good friend. In fact, I’d been a horrible friend. I hadn’t been supportive at all. I couldn’t wait for Miller to be out of our lives. I wanted to tell her all this and beg for her forgiveness…  But instead I said, “Maybe we should try again.”

She let out a long, slow breath. “No,” she replied softly.

We continued sipping tea in silence. I had no idea how noisy tea sipping could be, but with the lack of conversation in the room, the clanking of cups against saucers along with our slurps seemed to reverberate loudly off the walls. Finally she spoke again.

“I always thought I’d have more children.” Her voice was coming from a distant time. “Back when I met your father, I had my mind set on a large family. I thought you’d have three or four younger brothers and sisters.” She looked at me and smiled, as if she was seeing me for the first time. “You’d have made a wonderful big sister.”

Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any worse, my mother was revealing a side of herself I hadn’t known. I couldn’t believe how fragile and vulnerable she sounded. I had no idea she’d wanted more children. And the only reason she was telling me her most secret desires was because she was hurting so badly over being dumped.

I realized there was more to it than being dumped by a man she hardly knew. She was feeling she was no longer desirable. That maybe she was getting old.

Later that night I lay in bed, the entire evening haunting my thoughts. Fat tears flowed freely down my cheeks. I promised myself if I could do anything to make this right, I would. In the future, I would always support my mother no matter what. She needed to know she wasn’t getting old, and that she was desirable. I said a soft prayer for the right boyfriend to come along, and I drifted off into a restless sleep.

#

A few days later, when I got home from school, I found my mother’s Explorer in the driveway. This wasn’t such a big deal. She often got home from work early. But there was a Porsche next to her car.
A Porsche!

That
was a big deal. A Porsche in the driveway meant just one thing. There was a man in the house.

I walked into the foyer and saw them, my mother and the man. He was tall and ruggedly handsome, with thick waves of jet black hair. He was wearing an obviously expensive maroon cashmere sweater, dark slacks, and stylish loafers. He was holding in his hands an eighteen-inch statue of a reclining woman. They were laughing.

“Megan, you’re home,” my mother called when I walked in. There was joy in her voice, something I hadn’t heard in several days. “This is Armando.”

Armando looked at me. His eyes were deep pools of intensity that immediately gripped me.

“Hello, Megan,” he said. His voice was rich and creamy, like a decadent hot chocolate, with a sexy, Spanish lilt.

“Oh… Hi,” I replied, completely taken aback.

“Hon, Armando was nice enough to deliver the sculpture I bought from his art gallery this afternoon.”

“Sculpture?”

“Yes. I was strolling by his gallery at lunch, and I just couldn’t take my eyes off this beautiful Lynne Scott figurine.” She ran her fingers along the sleek curves of the small statue.

“Lynne Scott? We can’t afford her work.”

She looked at Armando self-consciously. “I know,” she said her voice lowering. “But it’s been so gloomy around here the past few days. I thought this might be just the thing to cheer us up. And well… I didn’t have my check book, but Armando said
no problem
, he’d deliver it and pick up the check at the same time.” She smiled at him gratefully.

My eyes again moved to Armando. I was riveted by how gorgeous he was.

“I’ll leave you two alone to enjoy the sculpture,” he crooned in a voice filled with music.

“You’ll do no such thing,” my mother said. “Stay for tea. It’s the least I can offer since you went so far out of your way for me.” She looked at Armando and batted her eyes.

Oh my goodness! She’s flirting with him… And badly, I might add.

Quickly, I scanned his left hand for a ring. There was a large, ornate ring on his right, but his left ring finger was bare.
Good
, I thought.

“Do you mind?” he inquired, turning his gaze to me, his eyes searching mine. It was as if he was looking into my soul. “I do not want to intrude.”

“No. Umm, that’d be great.”

“Then I’d be delighted to stay,” he said, turning his charms back on my mom.

“Super,” she said and giggled.

Super?
Since when does she use the word super?

“By the way, I love your peace-sign ring,” she added.

Please don’t call it super.

He fingered the ring. “Yes. I bought this at a small antique shop in upstate New York several years ago. The carving is supposedly from a fence post from the original Woodstock farm.”

“You don’t say?”

“I can’t prove it. But it makes for a good story.” He laughed. She laughed.

“I love browsing antique shops,” she said. “And estate sales, and garage sales, and lawn sales.” They both laughed some more.

I regarded Armando laughing with my mother and realized he was everything I could have asked for in a boyfriend for her. He was tall, handsome, elegant, and he obviously spoke a foreign language; he was extremely sexy, well dressed—had a nice butt—drove a hot car, and when he looked at my mother, it was as if she were the most important person on earth. He was perfect for her. I know I should have been happy that she was finally getting over Miller, but there was something about this man I didn’t like, something creepy I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I hated him instantly.

Matt stopped by later that same afternoon to make sure I was okay with him and Erin seeing each other. “So, we’re cool, right?” he asked.  

“Of course we’re cool.”

Matt smiled.

Just then my mother breezed into the room singing. She stopped just as she was about to sing out
Copa, Copa Cabana!
“Hi, there, Matt,” she called instead. There was too much cheer in her voice.

“Hi, Suze. You’re in a good mood.”

“I’m
always
in a good mood,” she said. “You two kids have fun. And don’t forget to tell your folks I said hi.” She bustled away.

“Will do,” he replied, but I don’t think she heard him.

“Dum-dum, dum, dum, dum, dum-dum.” She started humming as she danced from the room.

“Singing,” Matt said, turning to me with a big grin.

“Singing Barry Manilow,” I corrected.

“A lot’s changed in a few days.”

“True.”

When things were at their worst, I’d made a late night call to Matt, telling him everything, how Suze had met Miller on the internet, coffee, dating. And then how badly I’d wanted to put an end to their relationship. He listened. He didn’t chastise me for being such an idiot, or tell me how to fix things; he listened. What a friend.

Hearing the singing coming from down the hall, he couldn’t help but laugh. “She doesn’t sound so broken up now.”

“That’s because of Armando,” I said. I allowed the name,
Armando
, to linger on my tongue, like I was in an old Saturday Night Live sketch. I filled him in on the cool, suave art dealer I discovered in our kitchen earlier.

“Megan, please don’t do anything to screw this up for her.” His voice turned serious.

“No chance of that,” I replied. “Guys like Armando have a million girlfriends. Did I mention he drives a Porsche? I’m sure he’s not seriously interested in her.”

“Sounds like she’s seriously interested in him,” Matt said.

“No, he’s not her type. But I’m glad he showed up when he did. Armando is just what my mother needs to get her mind off her failure and rebuild her self-confidence.”

“Just do me one favor, Megan. If it turns out there
is
something between them, don’t get in the way.”

“I promise,” I said. “But there’s no chance of that.” Then I said, “Now I want you to do
me
a favor.”

“What?”

“You really like Erin?’

“Uh-huh.”

“Then don’t forget to invite me to the wedding.”

Matt grinned, his face turning bright red.

#

I had my first dream that night.

I was startled awake because I thought I heard voices. A man and a woman. They were talking to each other in a language I didn’t understand. I lay there staring at the ceiling, the image of two shadowy people hovering over me on the edge of my consciousness.

My heartbeat quickened as the dream came back to me. Only thing is, it didn’t seem like a dream. I was getting the creepy feeling that someone had actually been in my room.

I sat up. My bedroom door was wide open. A chill knifed through me, as I thought whoever was in my room had just left. I always close my door and was certain I had closed it before I went to bed.

Calm down, girl
, I told myself. It was just a dream. A creepy dream, but a dream nonetheless.

Sometimes Suze looks in on me while I sleep, just like she did when I was a little kid. That had to be it. She had looked in on me and neglected to close my door.

I got up, moved to the door, and peeked out into the corridor. I could feel my heart racing again. Nothing. My mother’s door was cracked the way she always left it, so she could hear me if I called for her in the night.

I calmed myself as I returned to bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I played what I remembered of the dream over in my mind. Two people hovering over me, talking. That was all. I couldn’t get a clear image of how they looked or what they were wearing.

Then I smelled something. Incense. A very faint fragrance of incense hung in the air. My mother never burned incense. Did I really smell it, or was this part of the dream?

Not sure what to think, I lay back down, pulled the covers up close, and shut my eyes until they were narrow slits fixed on the bedroom door, waiting to see if it would open again.

#

Guy Matson was the most arrogant nerd I’d ever met. Not that Guy Matson could accurately be called a nerd. He was so sure of himself, with his shiny black hair and dreamy eyes. And not just about math where he was easily the best on the team, but about everything. It was his self-assuredness that excited and yet confounded me. I’d never met a boy like him.  He was comfortable around girls. He was even comfortable around the geeky male members of the mathletes.

With things heating up between Erin and Matt, I pretended as though Guy had no choice but to be mine—hands down. Erin and I sat up many nights talking of double dating with Matt and Guy. I pretended that Guy and I were a forgone conclusion. I never told her about my humiliation.

The truth was I felt I had little chance of attracting someone so cool and handsome—especially after making a fool of myself. Then one afternoon, things changed.

“Tran, Megan, and Guy, you are our best mathletes, therefore the three of you will represent Glendale in the countywide championships,” Mrs. Brewster announced as we were finishing up for the day.

“Yes!” exclaimed Tran, exuberantly pumping his fist in the air.  He stepped toward Guy for a chest bump, but Guy turned quickly away, pretending not to notice. “Megan, Guy,” Tran continued unperturbed. “We need to get together and study if we really wanna kick some butt.”

 “That’s a great idea,” said Erin, trying to give my chances with Guy a boost.

My eyes were on him. He looked at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and I could see a conspiratorial smile looming just beneath the surface.

Oh my goodness,
I thought.
We’re connecting. He views this study session as a reason for us to be alone together—almost.

A chill of excitement rushed through me.
I do have a chance with Guy Matson.
Then he spoke.

“Nah, I don’t need to study. I got this stuff down cold. You guys go ahead and study without me.”

But what about our connection?

“Umm, as captain, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist,” I heard myself saying.

Did I just put my foot in my mouth? Again!

The stunned eyes of the entire team moved to me. Even Mrs. Brewster stopped gathering her things to observe.

I was still looking at Guy. I don’t know why I said what I said. All I knew was I had to.

“You’re not team captain
,”
he said.

“Umm, that’s right, I’m not. I was… umm… speaking for Tran.”

“I don’t need you talking for me,” snarled Tran. He faced Guy. “As team captain, I have to insist you study with us.” His voice had taken on an officious tone, but from the way his eyes began darting back and forth, it was clear he was afraid Guy might turn him down, or worse, laugh and embarrass him in front of the entire team.

A bemused Guy looked from Tran to me.

“Okay,” he finally said. “I’m a team player. Count me in.” And then he winked at me.

Guy Matson winked atme!

“My house,” Tran said, regaining his confidence. “I have all the problems from the last three countywide meets downloaded onto my hard drive. When I’m through, we’ll know them all backwards and forwards.”