Father Knows Best (4 page)

My first instinct was to hole up in my room until the coast was clear. Still…that coffee aroma.

It was the charmer, I was the snake, darn it.

Besides, I’d have to face them sooner or later, and I’d do a better job of it well-caffeinated. I wanted to get the day rolling with Dylan, too, and who knew how long Chloe would linger at our house making googly eyes at my dad.

I scuffed into the kitchen, relieved to the depths of my soul that she and my father were fully dressed. Not that I thought they’d be bare-assed—geez, why did I even think that?—but even in pajamas. Ack! Too horrible to imagine.

“Hi,” I said, without much enthusiasm. Try as I might, I couldn’t make myself meet Chloe’s eyes.

Therein lies the problemo, girls and boys.

I don’t want to be rude to my boyfriend’s mother, what with the whole good impression goal hanging in the balance, but my dad had put me into a really awful limbo position.

“Morning,
m’ija
.” Dad crossed over and kissed me on the top of my head, just like always. As though nothing were out of the ordinary! Crack smoker. “You girls have fun last night?”

“Yeah,” I said, hoping he didn’t expect me to parrot that question back at him and MBM—My Boyfriend’s Mother. Does the phrase “no way in hell” ring a bell? I retrieved a mug from the cabinet to the left of the stove and held it in a two-handed death grip. “Coffee done yet?”

Chloe laughed knowingly. “That means you girls had a great time, not just a good time.”

I couldn’t help it. I grudgingly flashed her a small smile. I will concede, she is really, really nice. And pretty. She would make someone other than my father a great girlfriend.

Task number one: find Chloe a hook-up.

“We always stay up too late. There’s just so much to talk about.”

She closed her fingers around her own mug and crossed one leg over the other. “I understand. Do you know, I’m still friends with by best gal pals from high school. We meet in New York City once a year for a long weekend of shopping, laughter, and no sleep whatsoever.”

I perked up at the mention of New York City and silently forgave her for using the dorky phrase
gal pals
. So Nancy Drew, you know? Not that I didn’t gobble up those books about the Tahitian-haired puzzle wonder back in the day. I still own a hundred or so of them, but so? That was then, this is now.

What freakin’ color is Tahitian, anyway? I can guarantee you they don’t have that shade of dye at the Aveda salon. And, while we’re on the topic, what was with that alleged boyfriend of hers, Ned Nickerson? They never really hooked up in the books, but it seemed like they were “close.” The question is, how close? More than friends, close? Was he her boyfriend on the sly and they just hooked up off page? Or maybe he was just her “fun gay pal”?

Startled, I blinked.

You know, that possibility never occurred to me before, but it could totally be true. Ned did emit a bit of a queeny vibe, now that I’m older and have a wider perspective and the benefit of hindsight. And George Fayne, the so-called “tomboy” cousin? Nancy’s “gal pal”? [snarf] Yeah, definitely gay. I don’t care that she found a boyfriend in the later books. Gay. Totally. And, good for her. I always admired George for that. Difficult to figure out the Ned stuff, though…wish there was someone I could ask for a definitive answer. I concede, the books were written in the Stone Age. Maybe they just weren’t allowed to include the hotter romantic details and / or gay stuff back in the day.
Why
was I thinking about this?!

Dad wrestled the mug from my spaced-out clutches, filled it, then handed it to me. I smiled my thanks, turning toward Chloe as Dad returned to the sizzling skillet on our stove. He always cooks great breakfasts on the weekend. It’s a ritual.

But, back to moi. I bet, years from now when Meryl, Caressa, and I are old like Chloe Sebring, we’ll meet up in New York City, too, because Caressa will be working there.

But where will I live? What about Meryl?

The idea that we might be stuck here with the other Lifers in White Peaks, Colorado, was enough to harsh on my (questionable) mellow in a permanent way. I pushed the possibility firmly out of my mind. “Do you know where Tribeca is?” I asked Chloe instead.

She actually looked relieved that I was conversing with her. That kinda made me feel bad, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. “Yes. It’s in lower Manhattan. A big artist’s community, lots of great restaurants and shopping. Why?”

I moved around the breakfast bar and claimed a bar stool, then sipped. Ah, blessed caffeine. I swear you can feel that first gulp shooting straight to your veins. “Oh. Um. Caressa’s staying with family friends in their Tribeca loft while she does this Broadway thing.” Confusion showed in Chloe’s blue eyes. Clearly my father hadn’t spent the evening regaling her with my friends’ summer plans—don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it—so I explained about Caressa’s kick-ass internship and what it entailed.

“Wow,” Chloe gasped, laying a palm on her chest. “I would’ve given anything for that kind of experience when I was your age. Or even college age. That will give her memories to last a lifetime, I’m sure.”

I sucked down another giant gulp of my java, nodding as I swallowed. “She’s totally amped. It’s what she wants to do after she graduates. Work in makeup and costuming for Broadway shows, I mean.” I rolled my eyes. “That, and have a Sephora store within walking distance.”

Chloe laughed.

I planted my elbows on the counter top. “In fact, her summer goal is to do such great work that they’ll invite her back after graduation for a real job instead of an unpaid internship.”

“If anyone can do it, Caressa can,” Dad said, sliding his signature cinnamony-yumfest French toast onto two plates and setting them in front of Chloe and me simultaneously. He followed that with butter and syrup.

“Thanks,” Chloe and I said, in stereo.

I did a double take. Wait a minute. How had we come to be sitting side by side at the breakfast bar, speaking in tandem, all family-like? My heart started to pound, so I began doctoring my French toast and, well, rambling. I ramble when I’m nervous, especially when the question “Did you get naked with my father?” keeps threatening to blurt out, all on its own. Because, really, I don’t want to know! My imagination concocts enough psyche-damaging images all on its own, thankyouverymuch.

“Yeah, Caressa will do it. She’s determined. And, um, Meryl’s summer goal is to learn Bosnian so she and Ismet can backpack through his former country after graduation. That’s where he’s from. Bosnia. Cool, huh? I mean, most people would just rely on Ismet to do all the translating, but not Meryl. She wants to understand. I think Bosnian is a pretty difficult language, too. Plus there’s the Croatian and Serbian, which are sorta like the same language as Bosnian but a little different. Like British English versus American English versus Australian English, at least that’s how Meryl describes it. But she’s really good with foreign languages, and I’m not even talking about pig Latin, like the rest of us speak…”

Pathetic, dwindling end to ramble. Commence face-stuffing.

“That’s really impressive,” Chloe said, just as I jammed an oversized bite of the syrupy toast into my mouth.

I nodded.

“My daughter has a wonderful circle of friends,” Dad said.

Chloe flashed him a quick smile, then turned back toward me. “What’s your summer goal, Lila?”

Gak!

That was more than just an expression in this instance, by the way. It’s almost what I did. Gak up my food, that is. After the instantaneous lurch of my stomach from the unexpected question, I tried to swallow the bite too fast or something, and the toast took a wrong turn, launching me into a near-puking hack fit.

Luckily, nothing sprayed out during the spectacle.

Being a female herself, Chloe likely would not transport that kind of embarrassing story back to her son, but one never knew.

When I pulled myself together and reassured everyone that, yes, I would live to see another day, both Chloe and my dad settled back down and peered at me in anticipation.

My gaze ping-ponged from one to the other. “What?” I asked.

“Your goal for the summer?” Dad prompted. “You never answered the question.”

“Yeah, I was busy almost going toward the light, sorry,” I said, with classic Lila snarkitude and a prodigious scoff.

I waited for them to drop it.

They waited for me to answer.

Good thing I hadn’t showered yet, because I instantly began to sweat, interrogation-style. I slid my glance away, another clear sign of deception. Sometimes it sucked having a cop for a father, because he would know I was hiding something. “I, uh, haven’t actually decided on a goal.”

Dad laughed.

I’m not sure what that meant.

Before I could ask, he lifted his chin toward my plate. “Finish up,
m’ija
. I have a big surprise for you today.”

Surprise? Rock on!

But wait—what about Dylan? “Today?”

“Trust me.” He held up a hand. “You’ll like it.”

Curiosity got the better of me. I admit it. “Tell me!”

He grinned, plating some French toast for himself. “It’s something you’ve been talking about for a long time now.”

Enough with the teasers already! “What?!”

“We’re going to buy you a car.”

My fork dropped with a clatter, thanks to the shock-provoked hand spasm. I didn’t even bother to pick it up, because I wasn’t hungry anymore. Instead, I gripped the edges of our countertop, fighting hyperventilation. “Dad, if this is some sort of a cruel joke—”

“It’s not. I promised I’d match your savings, didn’t I?”

“Yeah?”

“And I think you’ve proven yourself responsible enough after last year’s problems.”

Forging parental signatures for cash, getting busted, detention. Ugly memories. “I did. I am. I swear.”

He took a bite of his French toast, chewed, swallowed, then wiped his mouth. “Then today’s the perfect day. It’ll take your mind off Caressa leaving.”

“Oh, Dad!” I scrambled from the bar stool and ran over to throw my arms around him. “Thank you! You rock the most.” Then I remembered we had an audience, and the self-consciousness kicked in big time. So naturally, Luke swaggered in, all wrinkled clothes and bed head, at that moment.

“Aw, check out the sweet little suck-up,” Luke drawled.

“Shut up, Luke.” I scowled.

“Don’t tease your sister, son,” Dad said. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Can’t. Gotta bounce. I’m meeting Miffany.”

Miffany, his horrific girlfriend and—oh yeah—Jennifer Hellspawn Hamilton’s good friend. More about her later.

“Hey,” he said to Chloe, hiking his chin while he snagged a protein bar out of the cabinet.

“Hello, Luke,” she said, oblivious to his heinousness.

Right after he (thank God) left, the reminder of my plans with Dylan—which I really, really, really wanted to keep—slapped me in the face.

Internal war. Dylan? Or a car?

I pressed my mouth into a thin white line.

“What’s wrong?” my way-too-perceptive dad asked.

“I’m totally psyched about the car thing. But…does it have to be today? Because—” I flicked a glance toward Chloe.

See?

Do you see the problem here?

How could I bring up my boyfriend in front of his mother?

The whole thing was fart-in-church awkward.

My dad cocked his head to one side. “Because why?”

I raked my bottom lip in between my teeth for a moment and flashed another sidelong glance at Chloe. “It’s just, I’m supposed to spend the day with…Dylan.”

“Is that all?” Dad said, looking relieved and unconcerned. “Bring him along. I’m sure he’d love to car shop with you, give you his opinion when you don’t want it, linger too long over the engine components while you’re focused on the paint color and stereo capabilities. We men are like that.”

“So true,” Chloe said in a dry tone.

My heart soared. “Really? Okay.”

Dad’s eyes widened as though he just had a tremendous brainstorm. “Wait—Chloe, do you have plans?”