Love in the Time of Cynicism (5 page)

My feet pound against the hardwood floor and carry me out of there fast as hell. Rhett’s behind me – I can hear his footsteps – and Michael’s running too. I just keep going. A hollow sob that doesn’t really know what to do with itself wrecks my lungs and I’m retching with tears and for oxygen as I burst into the night air. The sprinklers have turned on and it seems too fitting that, as I sprint through the golf course, mud flies around me and stains the dress and my legs and everything on me.

Abruptly I stop.

Concentrate.

My breaths are ragged and labored from the running and the panic and I have to take my pulse. Too fast to count with my brain slipping in and out of lucidity every second. Like a dying rabbit waiting for the grim reaper. I buckle over, hands firmly on knees, and there’s a splash behind me of a foot landing too hard in a puddle of mud.

Struck by the thought that it could very well be Michael trying to be a father to me or some bullshit like that, I start running again despite the hard knocking of my heart.
I just have to get away right now
. I have no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing or how to get there but I know I’m going.

“Hey!” Michael. Pretending to care. “Del! Cordelia Charlotte Kane! Get the hell back here!”

No no no no no no no no no
.

I run and run and run until my legs think they’re done for the night and then I run some more.

Until Michael catches up with me. His fingers nab my upper arm and tear me backwards. I let out a howl from the slap of pain clawed through my shoulder.

“What do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

I’m screaming and crying and not completely sure what’s happening. All I know is he’s holding me tightly with both hands on my arms and the moon is suffocating bright and my mother is replacing me with a new child. “Get off of me!”

“I am your father and you will respect me,” he argues kindly without a raised voice.

I gasp in air and shout at the top of my lungs, “You will
never
be my father! Get the fuck away from me right now. This is harassment!”

Between words, I try to yank my arms away from him to no avail. He’s much stronger than me and has more motivation to restrain me than Trent did.

“Listen to me, Del. You need to calm down. Everything’s going to be fine if you
calm down right now
.”

“Let me go, Michael!”

Then Rhett’s there behind Michael with his jacket off and his tie undone. “Hey, asshole, she asked you to leave her alone.”

Michael turns around but doesn’t loosen his grip on my arms, giving me the chance to catch my breath and collect myself without him seeing. “And who do you think you are?”

“Cordelia’s boyfriend,” he answers softly but charged, “and I’m afraid you need to let go or-”

“Or what? You’re some kid. I’m her legal guardian. I have a right to discipline my child.”

“Then I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

My heaving lungs and liquefied stomach distract me from the exchange until the gunshot of Rhett’s knuckles connecting with Michael’s face catches me off guard. My stepfather clutches his face and lets out a string of rather impressive expletives before trying to smack Rhett in the face with his own fist. But Rhett’s too fast and Michael’s nails catch his collarbone and nothing else. So Rhett pushes him onto the ground and sends one boot into his stomach for good measure.

Michael groans and, before passing out, glares up at me. “Don’t you dare come home tonight.”

Back to my senses, things start to clear up and seem a bit more cut and dry.

Mom’s having a baby, presumably to try again at raising children.

Michael’s on the ground with a possibly punctured lung and severe facial bruising.

Rhett’s standing in front of me with a very serious expression plastered on his features.

“Holy
shit!
” My voice is a tinny, girlish croak as I look at Rhett.

“I know, right? That was
awesome!
”

“That was so risky. He would’ve hurt you if he had the chance.”

Rhett shrugs it off, adding sparks to the flame already burning in my overworked chest. I’m mad at him for so many reasons and only a few. “It was a calculated risk, but I’ve never been good at math.”

“No!” I walk over and shove his chest, with each word pushing him harder back. “You can’t play this off with a flirty smile and a cheap one-liner. I would’ve been fine if you hadn’t shown up. I would’ve had a freak out and been fine. I don’t have anywhere to sleep tonight because of
you
, Rhett Tressler, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. That was stupid and boyish and not at all worth whatever the hell you were trying to accomplish!”

He’s not quite hurt, but nearly there. “I don’t see why you’re mad at
me
. If you haven’t noticed, I’m the one who came out here to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection!” I’m almost shouting again, so I try to bring down my levels of unexpected anger and stress and general angst to a normal volume. “We’ve known one another for less than twenty four hours, and I have a strong suspicious I’m in more shit than I’ve been in my entire life. God, I thought you were different. I thought…
Jesus,
I am
so
stupid!”

“What did you think about me?” He’s hurt now as the words slips out.

There’s no stopping my attack, though; I’m charged up and feeling like throwing punches at anyone in the line of fire. “I thought, maybe,
just maybe
, you’d be the first guy who didn’t treat me like a flower who needed to be fixed or like a nutcase who needs to be locked up. I thought, for a few seconds, that things could work out and you could be important to me because no boy has ever bothered to be cute and funny and sarcastic and flirtatious to me before today. But I can’t be around people who’ll get me into more trouble than they’re worth. I can do that much on my own, okay?”

He nods, biting back something welling up inside himself, and tells me one last thing before walking away, “Cordelia Kane, you deserve to have every boy try to win your heart. You deserve every witty sarcastic comment thrown your way in an attempt to woo you. You deserve everything and so much more. I’ll see you around.”

And I walk away.

Chapter Three – Being Assimilated

My legs are aching and my throat is rough and raw. Everything hurts as I stumble through the pitch black streets of Lightfoot. There are only scattered streetlamps every quarter mile or so but I’m not afraid. After all, what’s there to be afraid of?

The endless expanse of night stretches its legs above me, the stars a smattering of freckles and the moon an all-seeing eye watching me trudge through its light with pity. I pass closed shops and open bars and walk over the cracked sidewalk with dread lodged in my stomach like a tumor. Tomorrow’s Sunday and I have to be at my job at the Country Club at eight fifteen in the morning. But I can’t go because mom or Michael or Amanda or someone will be there and see me or maybe Rhett will try to talk to me there because I told him where I work besides the coffee shop.

As I finally reach the place I must’ve been going to this whole time – Memorial Park – I stop and realize I’m going to have to apologize. Though, for now, the bouncy castle constantly inflated in the park for fairs and such seems like a pretty great place to weather the night, I know it can’t be a home. There’s a warm house and a mildly hateful family waiting for me if I can bring myself to apologize on behalf of myself and Rhett. Michael will cool down after tonight and, hopefully, by tomorrow he’ll be ready to hear my groveling apology.

Exhausted beyond belief and emotionally drained, I slog over to the still-inflated rainbow bounce castle and climb inside. The thick nylon is scratchy against my bare legs but it’s better than being outside tonight. God knows why Lightfoot pays to keep this thing up 24/7 but I’m not complaining. It’s a place to sleep, and I’m so tired that’s exactly what I do.

“Jesus Christ, Del, are you serious?” I blink my eyes slowly open to blinding daylight and see my loving, caring, probably hung over brother looming above me. “What the hell are you doing in a bouncy castle at ten in the morning?”

“I
was
sleeping,” I answer, my voice garbled by tiredness and what is quite possibly a fly that died and fell into my open mouth. I cough and find there’s nothing in my throat. Then I jolt upright. “Did you say ten in the morning?! Trent, I was supposed to be at work two hours ago.”

“Actually, no,” he replies while reaching behind himself for a brown paper bag. Our of it he procures two donuts and a coffee, which, upon further inspection, happens to be a caramel macchiato. “You’ve been fired from Twin Rivers, unfortunately for them, and I’m pretty sure you’ve been excommunicated. Michael went to the board when he woke up, erm, in the grass at two in the morning. If you don’t mind me asking, was it you who beat him up or that biracial butterfly you brought along?”

I groan loudly and take an angry bite of the donut. “Yes, Rhett beat up Michael and now I don’t know how I’m going to apologize.”

“Real talk for a second.” Trent puts a definitely intoxicated to some degree finger on my lips and tell me, “You shouldn’t have to apologize to that bastard who knocked up our nearly menopausal mother, but I’m going to drop some truth on you.”

“And what’s that?” I ask under his finger, than swat it away.

He nods, feeling the wise-guru vibe like normal. “It’s not Michael you should be talking to. It’s mom. Let her in. Tell her how bad you feel and how much you want to cooperate in this new family she’s trying to put together. Tell her you’ll go shopping with her, help paint a nursery, whatever you need to do to get back in the good books. Because our mock-home is a matriarchy, dear sister, and Michael, King of Dicks, will bend to her will without a second thought. Sure, you’ll get punished, probably won’t be allowed to see that pretty boy of yours-”

“Don’t care.”

“Touchy much? Anyway, you’ll get grounded but it’s not like you have a social life or any friends besides that
smokin’ as hell
chick Sky-”

“She’s, like, six years younger than you.”

“Long hair, don’t care,” he laughs, waving his blond locks in my face. “Don’t sweat it too hard is all I’m saying. Let it happen and everyone’ll get over it. This too shall pass.”

I take his advice into consideration. “Thanks, Trent. And thanks for the breakfast.”

“Any time, sister of mine.” He stands, jumps once, and bounds out the entrance on his stomach. “Let’s get back to the abode and have a chit-chat with mom!”

And so, an hour later, I’m sitting on mom’s bed with her after showering and dressing in my most mom-approved outfit (a nefarious ‘deep sea foam’ polka-dotted blouse with a pair of high-waisted shorts I stole from Amanda’s closet) and she’s eyeing me up while I think of a proper apology.

I decide to go classic. “I’ve realized that this is a really special time for you and I want to be as supportive as possible to help you and…dad-” I choke it out and she grins, exactly as planned “-out in whatever ways I can. I’m sorry about freaking out last night. I was shocked, that’s all, and I’m
really, honestly
happy for our family.” I throw in a bit of blinking and smiling until my performance is so flawless it’s Oscar worthy.

She buys it and leans over to embrace me gingerly. “Oh, honey, I knew we should’ve told you before the party, but daddy thought it was for the best. I completely forgive you. Of course, you understand that you’ll never see that boy again while living under my roof.”

“Absolutely. He was trouble anyway.” This time, I’m not lying. The more I think about it, the more I realize Rhett’s an outsider for a reason. To put icing on the proverbial cake, I throw in: “Mom, why don’t we go shopping together? Whenever you’re free, just to have some mom-daughter bonding time. We could even go to have my hair redone if you want.”

She smiles genuinely for quite possibly the first time since we left my dad. “Shopping sounds wonderful, Del, and it’s so nice of you to offer to change your hair but-” I can see she’s lying to make is seem like she’s a fair, kindly mother willing to compromise. I roll with it anyway “your hair’s starting to grow on me. You’re not a little kid anymore and the hair’s growing from your head, so you should be able to do what you want with it.”

And that’s how I – Cordelia Kane, whose last shopping trip ended with me being banned from the mall because APPARENTLY some things are frowned upon to do in your local department story – ended up being dragged around expensive boutiques for the next five hours (yes,
five
) of my pathetic existence.

I’ll give you a basic overview of your average shopping trip with Veronica Singer:

Mom bursts through doors like she’s just happened upon nirvana in a pair of shoes and each and every receptionist grins like mad, knowing they’re about to make their biggest sale of the week. Attendants rush forward in a flood of hidden agendas to assist mother in her ‘retail therapy.’ Mom insists, of course, that this trip is ‘strictly business’ and ‘meant to help my lovely daughter find her wings.’ So then she (normally a she, but there was one person of questionable gender) grabs me with well-manicured nails and looks me over from blue roots to pale legs, measures me in uncomfortable places, and dashes off to whatever circle of hell Satan keeps his local fashionistas in.