Father Knows Best (23 page)

“Of course.”

My chin quivered, but I searched his eyes. “Why my boyfriend’s mom, of all the women in White Peaks? You’re not exactly unpopular with the badge bunny set, so desperation couldn’t have been the issue.”

Dad grimaced at the mention of badge bunnies.

“It’s just, the fact that you have a thing with Dylan’s mom sort of puts me in a really awkward position with everyone at school.” I twisted my mouth to the side. “You know how evil high school is.”

Dad sat back with a sigh, stretching his arm across the back of the booth. “Ay,
m’ija
. That amorphous attraction to another person, it’s hard to explain. When it happens, it simply happens.”

I nodded. Boy, did I understand that. I used to think Dylan was the Antichrist, what with his Junior Narc (oh, pardon me—Police Explorer) wannabe cop status. You have to understand, growing up in a family of five guys, all cops or future cops, put me off the whole notion of dating one. But Dylan had turned out to be so much more than just an Explorer.

“I never meant to make your life more difficult. Chloe and I, we just click. She has her life and interests, I have mine. She’s independent. I’m busy. No clinging. It works.” He paused, pinning me with his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be sorry.” I took a moment to wallow in the utter weirdness of the fact that I was having this conversation with my father, and in a rather mature way, I might add. “I want you to be happy.” I paused so long, I could almost hear the rhythm of my pounding heartbeat. “Mom’s been gone for a long, long time, Dad.”

“She has.” His mouth curved downward in this melancholy way that made my tummy ache. “Sometimes it seems like forever, and other times I can still smell her perfume in the house or hear her singing to herself off-tune as she cooked dinner.”

I gulped back the giant lump in my throat. If only I had more genuine memories of Mom. Sometimes I can’t even picture her anymore without looking at an actual photograph. “She sang while she cooked?”

“Yeah.” The smile lines around his eyes deepened, and he pressed his lips into a flat line. “Sounded like a cat with its tail stuck in a door. Horrible.”

I gave a watery chuckle.

Dad reached across the table and took one of my hands in his. “I’ll always love her, Lila. No one can or ever will replace your mother in my heart.”

“I know.”

“You remind me so much of her,
m’ija
, now that you’re a young woman. I catch a glimpse of you sometimes and it’s like a kick in my gut.”

Great. Now I really wanted to cry. Sob, really. The kind with drool and boogers and irreparable public humiliation. I staved it off, albeit with considerable effort. “You’ve always put us kids first, for so many years. You deserve to be with someone you like. Someone who gets you.” I shrugged. “If that’s Chloe, then it’s Chloe, regardless of the fact that she’s my boyfriend’s mom. I’m sorry if I was a jerk about it before.”

“You weren’t. I would never think badly of you for feeling what you feel.” He reached across the table and cupped my chin. “You’ve really grown up recently, you know that?”

“I’m trying. But, man, growing up sucks.”

“You’re a whiz at it.”

I sat a bit straighter, proud that he thought so. “So, about this Friday?”

“Consider it done.” He smacked his palm flat on the table. “I’ll stay home alone, the perfect spinster dad.”

I laughed. “I don’t think a guy can be a spinster.” Could he? I’d have to ask Meryl. She’d know. “But thank you anyway.”

“
De nada
. Anything for my baby girl.”

We dug into our burgers, then, the air cleared like it hadn’t been all summer. In between bites, I decided, since I was on a roll, I might as well throw down the big mondo request. “Can I ask for one more thing?”

“Sure.” He eyed me. “As long as it doesn’t involve a keg for your party.”

“Dad!” I bugged my eyes with indignance. “Get a grip. It’s me, Meryl, and a pregnant girl, for God’s sake!”

“Good point. Plus I was joking. Okay, shoot.”

I gulped and doubted myself. But if I was going to bring it up, now was the time. “If you and Chloe decide to, like, move in together…or get married, can you at least wait until Dylan and I are both in college? I just can’t bear the thought of my boyfriend living in the same house with me.”

Dad leaned his head back and laughed out loud. “That statement is music to a father’s ears, babe,” he said. “And of course. You have my word.”

I sigh-smiled.

“Just so you know, Chloe and I haven’t even broached the topic of taking our relationship to that level.”

My tummy flopped. “It’s okay if you have, and really, I don’t need details.” Gak! “But thank you. Again.”

That settled, we relaxed and enjoyed the rest of our meal, the conversation centering around Jennifer’s predicament (my dad was shockingly compassionate—although I don’t know why that surprised me), next year’s plans for the Junior Narcs (yes, after all my whining last year, I’d decided to stick with it another year anyway since the heinous uniform was broken in and all that—so what?), and an update on Caressa’s adventures in the big city, including the recently gleaned fact that she has a hottie boyfriend.

As I wadded my greasy burger wrapper into a ball and stuffed it into the empty French fry container, I decided I have a pretty awesome dad. Okay, so he jacks up my life on a fairly regular basis, but I suppose that’s just part of his fatherly duties. Being female, I couldn’t be sure. In any case, Chloe wouldn’t be spending the night during our slumber party, so no parental sex awkwardness, and Dylan wouldn’t be witnessing my morning bed head anytime soon.

Two fewer worries for moi.

Plus, I felt…grown up. Closer to my dad.

I’d dealt with the situation head-on rather than freaking out about it like usual. Excellent results for one dinner’s worth of work, if I do say so myself.

I decided I would indeed have a Burger Wonderful evening.

The next afternoon, Ismet and Dylan surprised Meryl and me by picking us up from work for a treat at I Scream. Can we pause for a moment and reflect on just how cool it is to (1) actually have boyfriends after being guy repellant for so long, and (2) have the kind who think to pick you up for surprise ice cream dates?!? This time last year, I was destined to be one of those thirty-year-old virgins from the movies. Being an almost-eighteen-year-old virgin? A-OK with me. A thirty-year-old virgin? Whooooole different ball game, folks.

Sunlight streamed down onto Main Street as the four of us ambled toward the ice cream parlor with that carefree summer attitude of having all the time in the world. If I could swing a butterfly net around and capture Everything Good in the Universe, that’s how life felt to me right then. Flowers cascaded out of giant urns spaced along the sidewalk, and the air smelled sweet and juicy, like a slice of watermelon. Perfect afternoon, perfect friendship, perfect boyfriend, perfect simple surprise.

I slid my hand into Dylan’s and moved closer. We shared one of those private BF / GF smiles as we listened to Ismet relate his tale of a harrowing encounter with a rattlesnake earlier that afternoon. (Ismet won.)

Ismet, incidentally, had scored a job on a landscaping crew for the summer, and—all snake encounters aside—the outdoor, physical work agreed with him big time. He was looking mighty tan and muscular. I’d say Meryl was a lucky girl, but anyone who really knew Mer would agree that Ismet was a lucky guy.

Meryl’s just…totally stellar.

Unique, quirky, but definitely top shelf. I mean, look how she’d opened her heart to Jennifer when she had no logical reason to do so. That’s the coolest thing about both of my best friends. I wanted to be more like each of them, just in different ways.

At I Scream, we ordered, then settled at an umbrella table with our goodies and continued talking about our various work days while we ate. Meryl told us about some weird lady from Troublesome Gulch, a nearby town, who’d brought in all the clothes she’d purchased from the secondhand shop to have them “exorcised” of their previous owners’ karmas. Hilarious, I tell you. Dylan had taught a seventy-five-year-old lady how to grass ski that day, and apparently she kicked ass.

I’d done my usual Office Assistant duties, dull in comparison to a poisonous snake, a garment exorcism, and an athletic grandma, but I was able to share that Alan had booked an older couple on a freaky-expensive, four-month, round-the-world trip that morning—a total score for the agency. We’re talking thousands of dollars, a full college education worth of cashola, with out-of-state tuition, books, and beer included.

Just perusing their itinerary was enough to make me drool (and—how much does this rule—they’re making a stop in Phuket!).

Dylan finished his gigantic, repulsive waffle cone concoction from hell about the same time I savored the last bite of my single scoop (butter pecan—duh) in a cup. He took my trash and his and chucked them in the bin, then sat down next to me again. Ismet and Meryl were still eating.

He looked around the table at each of us in turn. “What do you guys think about having a marathon Monopoly tournament on Friday night?” Dylan asked. “Couple versus couple? Winners take all?”

“All of what?” Meryl asked, ever the pragmatist.

I flicked a glance at her. “That would be fun, but Meryl and I…kind of have a thing on Friday.”

“A thing?” Dylan asked.

Ismet nodded once. “Ah, that is the night of the birthday sleepover at Lila’s for the pregnant girl, yes?”

Shoot. The ice cream curdled in my gut.

“Yep,” Meryl said, cheerily. “I just bought her present today. I think she’ll like it. In fact, I know she will. Have you shopped for a gift yet, Lila?”

I felt like I had a wasp in my throat. A pissed-off wasp. “Um, no. Not yet. I’ve been busy.” Yeah, just swamped staring at my ceiling for hours on end.

I suck.

Clearly she and Ismet had discussed The Big Event.

As for me? Well, let’s just say my girlfriend ranking dipped instantly, because I hadn’t said word one to Dylan about Jennifer coming over. Why? Because it seemed sticky, and avoidance had always been so convenient for me, sort of my Way of Life. Caressa even gave me a coffee mug for Christmas last year that says, “Hard work may pay off eventually, but procrastination always pays off now.” So profound.

But now I’d been outed, so I had some ’splaining to do.

I met Dylan’s surprised and curious gaze, silently pleading with him to wait. I tried to telegraph the message that I’d tell him everything later, that it was no biggie, and that I really did L-word him and hadn’t meant to be a jerk. Hard to convey all that in one glance, but I threw out my best shot.

He studied my expression, then gave an almost imperceptible nod. “That’s cool. I have the whole weekend free. How about Saturday night, then?”

“Works for me,” Meryl said.

“Me, too,” Ismet said.

I still hadn’t found my voice, what with the wasp, so I just nodded. And, despite the gorgeous afternoon and the super fun surprise, I really, really wanted to break up the ice cream social ASAP so I could come clean to Dylan before this lie of omission came back to bite me in the ass.

We continued to make small talk, but seriously, the moment Meryl and Ismet finished their shared banana split (yes, they’re that cute), I smacked my palms together once then rubbed them rapidly. “I hate to eat and run,” I said, in an overly chipper tone, “but I have something to do for my dad.”

“No problem,” Meryl said, with a smile. “I promised my mom I’d go through my closet and gather all the things I no longer wear so we can take them to charity before the school year starts. Maybe I should have the karma exorcised out of them first.”

The guys laughed.

“I’ll call you later to firm up the plans for Friday, Lila.”

“Okay.” I glanced up at Dylan, who’d already stood. Gulp. “Do you have time to walk me home?”

“Definitely,” he said, the muscle in his jaw clenching. That one word was packed with so much meaning, I can’t even tell you. Problem was, I didn’t possess the decoder ring to decipher the message.

We did the hug-hug good-bye ritual all around, then Dylan and I headed off toward my house. For the first block, I couldn’t come up with a way to launch this particular squirmy-icky-blechy conversation. Luckily, I didn’t have to. Dylan gets me, so he’s always good about pushing me out of procrastination city.