Father Knows Best (3 page)

Yeah, he’d approve. Especially when Dylan became his stepson. I groaned. “I don’t want to think about it anymore. Caressa, tell us about your trip.” Anything for a distraction. Plus, I wanted to know.

She bounced a little, and her green eyes went all sparkly. “It’s going to rock, you guys. I wish you could go with me.”

“Me, too,” Meryl said.

“Me, three,” I added, meaning it desperately.

“I’m staying with one of my dad’s producers and her husband. They live in Tribeca in a loft.”

Meryl and I oohed and aahed loudly, as if we had a clue what Tribeca was. I knew they held a film festival there, thanks to the entertainment network on cable, so my keen deductive powers told me it was a place, but beyond that, I knew jack. Still, it sounded cool. Tribeca…

If I ever get a dog, I’m naming him / her Tribeca.

“They’ve visited us tons of times, so it won’t be too weird,” Caressa continued. “Plus, they have a daughter who’s a couple years older than us, and she’ll be home from college for the summer. She’s not you guys, of course, but she’s nice.”

“That’s so great,” Meryl said, tucking one leg beneath herself.

Caressa grinned. “I will work the show five nights a week plus a matinee on Saturday. I get Sunday and Monday off, and, oh!”—her face lit up like neon—“this is the totally best part! There’s a Sephora store right in Times Square! I’ve already mapped it on the computer and it’s walking distance from the theater.” She clasped her hands together at chest level, her expression reverent. “Can you imagine?”

Sephora.com is Caressa’s favorite online makeup store, or should I say, Temple of Wor$hip. To be able to actually enter a bricks-and-mortar establishment, and in NYC, no less? No, I couldn’t imagine. She might pass out. I just hoped the floors were carpeted so she didn’t suffer a swoon-induced head injury upon entry. Her parents’ credit card was going to take one helluva beating.

“You’re going to have such an amazing time,” I told her. “Just think of all the New York guys you’ll meet, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “Uh, yeah, after my recent male-related fiasco, which will remain unmentioned, I’m sort of off the guy thing right now. Besides, I have a non-guy-related goal for the summer, and it’s first priority.”

“What’s that?” Meryl asked, sipping her soda.

Caressa looked from me to Meryl, determination in the set of her chin. “I’m going to wow the show’s bigwigs so wildly that they’re going to invite me back after I graduate. For a real job this time.”

Meryl clapped. “That’s a great idea! You can totally do it. I have a goal for the summer, too.”

I sat up and leaned my back against the wall, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Tell us.”

“I’m going to learn to speak Bosnian, and after graduation, I’m going to go backpacking over there with Ismet for a month.”

Caressa and I laughed, but with glee. Our little Meryl. After much turmoil last year, she’s now happily dating Ismet Hadziahmetovic, formerly known in White Peaks as That Bosnian Guy (rude and ignorant). She’s, like, the best girlfriend in the world, wanting to learn about his culture and all that, right down to the language, which is no doubt difficult.

“What’s your goal for the summer, Lila?” Caressa asked.

That took me by surprise.

Goal. Huh.

I twisted my mouth to one side and stared at the corner of my ceiling for a moment. Like, who knew I was supposed to have a goal for the summer? Wasn’t summer supposed to be the goal-free part of the year? Whatever. So, a goal. Okay. Hmmm.

I took a deep breath, then puffed my cheeks like a blowfish as I exhaled. Goal, goal, goal. I could do this. There had to be something.

Let’s see… Hang out with Dylan? Not. That goal sucked compared to theirs, plus it was the kind of goal Hagatha Jennifer would choose. I mean, it wasn’t even a goal, really. How about avoid my brother, Luke the Puke, until he left for college? Again, the underachiever’s route since I’d been ignoring him since I entered school. Maybe I could make over my room, or learn to grass ski. Bleh. Neither of those compared to learning a whole new language or securing a kick-ass post-high-school career. I opened my mouth to say I’d have to think about it, but a knock on my door interrupted me.

“Go away, Puke!” I hollered, none-too-nicely.

The door creaked open, and my dad popped his head in. “Your brother bothering you,
m’ija
?” He smiled, all innocent-like, as if to negate what we all knew had been going on out there on the porch swing.

“Oh. Um. No.” I scratched my chin. “I mean, he bothers me by his mere existence in my airspace, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Dad chuckled, then glanced at my friends. “You girls need anything?”

“No, thank you, Chief Moreno,” Meryl said, with a sweet smile. She held up the popcorn bag. “Have junk food, will travel!”

“Popcorn’s not junk food,” I told her. “It’s a perfectly valid whole grain. Practically a food group unto itself.”

He raised a brow at Caressa. “All ready for your big adventure, Miss C?”

Her excitement blurted out in a giggle. “Just about. A little more packing, but my mom’s going to help me tomorrow, and you know how she is.”

“Yes. You’ll have no problems. Okay, then.” His gaze moved back to me. “Did you need something,
m’ija
?”

Heh?
I double blinked. “W-what do you mean?”

“You were flashing the porch light, weren’t you? I just thought maybe someone had called for me, or…”

Dude! I guess my dad’s goal for the summer was cluelessness, and he was off to a rip-roaring start. I mean, duh, wasn’t a flashing porch light a universal “make-out session over” signal? “Wasn’t me,” I said, ignoring the way my face got all hot. “And no, I don’t need anything. The porch bulb must be going out.”

His eyes gleamed as though he knew I was lying. “Ah. Well, I’ll leave you to your fun. Just don’t be too loud, yeah? We’re headed to bed.”

Time slammed to an ugly halt.

Wait a sec—we?

My gut spasmed. I clutched the comforter in both fists.

Did he say
we
?!?

As if to answer my question, Dylan’s mom poked her head into the doorway and smiled. “Hi, ladies.”

“Hi, Ms. Sebring,” Meryl and Caressa said, in stereo, while all I managed was, “Gah…”

“Oh, please,” she said, flicking her hand. “Call me Chloe. Ms. Sebring sounds so old. Night!”

With that, they were gone.

Dead. Awkward. Silence.

My friends stared at the sides of my face.

I stared at my bedroom door.

HELLO, YOU ARE OLD! I wanted to yell. NOT ELDERLY, BUT YOU’RE MOM-OLD AND YOU’RE MY FREAKIN’ BOYFRIEND’S MOTHER TO BOOT, AND YOU’RE SPENDING THE NIGHT WITH MY DAD! LIKE, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME AND MY FRIENDS! SHAME ON BOTH OF YOU! DO YOU PEOPLE HAVE NO SENSE??

My heart slammed and my throat felt like someone had looped a noose around it and yanked. I want to be adult about this. Truly. But I can’t. And, technically, at seventeen, I’m not an adult yet, so I submit that it is big of me to even
try
.

The thing is, my mom’s been dead so long, I don’t particularly mind if my dad dates and has his little adult sleepovers, not that he has in the past zillion years, at least not at our house. In fact, now that I think about it, he deserves to do so. He’s been full-on Mr. Dadmom Hybrid since he became a single parent, and we all appreciate that. So let it be known that I’m wholeheartedly okay with the poor guy dating—I’m not so selfish that I want my daddy all to myself. I just didn’t want him having a non-pajama party with my boyfriend’s mother! Too much to ask? I don’t freakin’ think so!

“Uh, Lila?” Caressa ventured.

I held up my palms. “Wait. I just thought of my goal for the summer.” I glanced grimly from one friend to the other, gulping a few times to stave off the dry heaves. I flicked a shaky hand toward my bedroom door. “This whole creepy affair ranks way too high on the ick-o-meter for me to handle, so”—deep calming breath—“my summer goal is to find a way to break up Chloe and my dad.”

My newly acquired cell phone belted out my fave Bob Marley reggae ringtone early the next morning, dragging me out of a great dream that involved—wait a minute. None-ya-biz. Anyway, I flailed my hand around until I felt my phone, flipped it open without opening my eyes, and gave a pillow-muffled, “H’lo?”

“Lila?”

Dylan! Speak of the devil. I was awake immediately and smiling. “Hey!”

“Did I wake you?”

I cleared my throat. “No, not at all.”

“Liar,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so yeah. The girls and I were awake kind of late.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Did you have guys from the wrong side of the tracks climb in your bedroom window in the middle of the night?”

“Right,” I said, wryly. “You’re the only guy from the wrong side of the tracks I know, Sebring.”

He laughed out loud. Dylan had always, and still, loved when I acted like a snot to him. I know—strange. Ladies and gentlemen, my boyfriend is weird. Let’s just lay it out there up front.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to repair the worst of the bed head, as if he could see me straight through the phone line. “What’s up? Other than me?” Freakin’ early, I thought.

“Two things. First, I was wondering whether you have plans for the day, and if not, do you want to hang out?”

My tummy felt all warm and gooey, which I simultaneously loved and hated. Boyfriend or not, I wasn’t going to turn into one of those stupid girls who goes all warm and gooey at the drop of a do-you-want-to-hang-out?, ya know? Lame. But Dylan was…sigh. No doubt about it. “Of course I want to hang out. What’s the second thing?”

“Oh.” An awkward pause ensued. “Um, is my mom at your house?”

*

So, it happened.

My boyfriend had to call in the morning regarding the whereabouts of his wanton mother, the subtext of which was whether or not she was beneath the sheets with my dad. And, just in case you’re wondering, it was as horrible as I’d imagined it would be. At least for me. Dylan didn’t seem to care, which baffled me.

Hello! My dad! Your mom! Nakedness!

Anyone barfing yet?

I swear, Dylan’s such a guy.

I’d grudgingly admitted she was there (which, it turns out, she’d told him via a voicemail that he’d failed to check—proof, at least, that she’s a responsible mom), lobbed insults with him for a bit, then shuffled him off the phone as quickly as possible, promising to call back when I was showered and ready to bail. First point of business, I had to herd Meryl and Caressa out of the house before the creepy lovebirds emerged from my father’s bedroom, all pajama-clad and rumpled, thereby rendering my life an embarrassing hellpit from which there was no escape.

Luckily, Meryl and Ismet had plans to hike Quandary Peak, one of the Rocky Mountains’ “Fourteeners,” which is what we Colorado folks refer to as a peak that rises above 14,000 feet of elevation (I’m sure other mountainous states employ the same terminology). It can be dangerous at the summit, so they had to get an early start. Caressa’s mom, no surprise, wanted her home ASAP to finish up the preparations for New York. It all worked out.

I stood on the forever-nastified (thanks, Dad) front porch of my house, waving as the two of them took off, Caressa in her shiny, pristine BMW, Meryl right behind her in “the beast,” an ancient turquoise Volvo station wagon that holds a special place in my heart. I have to say, it was the first time I’ve ever felt relieved to see my best friends leave.

Especially Caressa!

I mean, God, I won’t see her all summer, yet I couldn’t bask in these final moments because my brain-impaired father decided last night would be a swell opportunity to have his girlfriend stay over for the first time.

Do people think of anyone besides themselves these days?

With dread welling up inside me, I tightened my robe belt and grimly re-entered the house. The aroma of coffee brewing wafted toward me from the kitchen, as did Chloe’s tinkly laughter.

Glurk!

I froze in the living room, midstep, as though I’d been busting a moonwalk move or something and got stuck. What to do? Kitchen? Bedroom? Kitchen? Bedroom? Coffee? Safety?