The Social Experiment

by Addison Moore

  “Do you think you can forgive me?” She sniffs to the two of us, doing her best impression of a lost puppy.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. We knew you for a hot minute.” I glance to Em. “Not all of us are comfortable laying out our most personal details like we were answering some magazine quiz. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Ember takes a sip from her coffee before coming up for air. “But now that we’ve pushed past that hot minute, once you hide the snake in the bush I want a full report. This is Rowen Garret we’re talking about.” She says that last part lower than a whisper, and good thing because I’d hate to launch a perfectly good pumpkin spiced latte in her direction.

  “No problem.” I shrug at the thought. “I’m sure if and when he butters my muffin you’ll be the first to know all of the icky sticky details.” I nod to Vi as if to silently ask her to fill me in on a few icky sticky details of her own later.

  I’ll let Rowen take things as far as he’d like with me. None of this feels real anyway. It can’t be.

  Becca was right.

  I’m not Rowen’s type.

  Saturday afternoon, after I’ve scalded myself in the shower, shaved every pit and bush alike, washed, dried, and styled my hair for the big cherry popping festival, I get a text from my father.

  On campus! Just helped Braden bolt his headboard to the wall. You up for a quick bite?

  Gah! The last thing on the planet a girl wants on the day she’s determined to lure her new boyfriend to the mattress is a sit-down with dear old Dad. First of all, I’m going to get an image of his grinning face stuck in my head, and that will greatly reduce my desire to fall on my knees and worship at the altar of Rowen Garret the way I’ve fantasized about for the last ten years. And if that does happen, I will let out a primal scream, and it WILL NOT be from ecstasy! Secondly, if he asks what my plans are for the evening, I’ll be forced to espouse another lie, and, as it stands, my nose is heading toward California without me. Before my mother died, she made me promise that I would keep a clean line of communication with my father because he had the responsibility of being both parents. Now that I had lost my ability to leverage one parent against the other, she knew I’d probably stoop to deception to get my way, so she was determined to put the kibosh on that lyin’, cheatin’ good time before it ever got started.

  After twenty minutes straight of begging Vi to join me, she skips off to the gym, but swears she can’t wait to meet my father at his big birthday bash.

  My father sure picked a lousy day to shield Braden’s neighbors from his incessant fucking. And the thought of Becca bedding both Rowen and Braden makes me more than slightly nauseous. What was she thinking? What was my brother thinking scooping up sloppy seconds?

  I head over to meet Dad by the oversized bronzed statue of our mascot, a sleek looking cougar ready for the kill. There he is, wearing his signature glad-to-see-me grin that will be haunting me for the rest of the evening.

  “Daddy!” I wrap my arms around him, and he gives me a little twirl. He’s taller than me by a foot and wears his quickly graying hair sprayed into a stiff quasi-pompadour. He’s pretty fit. And even a few of my own friends through the years have commented on what a looker he is. The term they used was hot, but I refuse to entertain the idea. Therefore, I invoke the rather dated adage my grandmother used to use—Dads are allowed to be lookers; they are never allowed to be hot. At least as far as your own father is concerned. I don’t see him that way, though. He’s always been this asexual being who is more akin to my favorite stuffed animal than he is an annoying human. “Where do you want to eat?” Thoughts of walking my father across the street to the Underground have me cringing. Not only do we run the risk of seeing Rowen, but I run the risk of being labeled as the chick who’s dating an old guy. Not many people have been able to connect the paternal dots because, gray hair aside, Dad looks too damn young for his own age.

  “I’m easy. How about the cafeteria?”

  “Dad, Leland got rid of the caf about ten years ago. It’s since been replaced with about a dozen fast-food restaurants and a mini mart that serves boxed sushi. The coffee shop has a mean bistro turkey sandwich, though. How does that sound?”

  “Like you’re living pretty high on the hog.” He drops a quick kiss to the top of my head. “Glad to know you’ve been spared the gruel.”

  He wraps an arm around my shoulder as I navigate us toward Coffeeology. We each order a half a sandwich and take a seat near the window.

  “So, what’s new?” I check my phone in the event I venture into the red zone. I figure if we get within a half hour of my date with Rowen then it’s DEFCON 1, and I need to start rethinking that whole deception thing. I’m not afraid of getting technical if I have to. Because technically, Dexter Houston’s social experiment can be viewed as a school project, and I know for a fact my father would be remiss to let me skip out on anything he might be doling out the big bucks for. I may have scored a few measly scholarships, but my father is bankrolling the rest of this ride. “I’m surprised Braden and Becca didn’t join us. I’d imagine they were real thankful you spared them of an early eviction for noise pollution. Did you gag the entire time you were in their bedroom?”

  “Nope, didn’t gag.” He can’t help but chuckle, and his shoulders shake in that friendly way they’re prone to do. My mom used to say he was the only person on Earth who looked as though he were being electrocuted when he laughed. My mom was funny by nature, so he looked like that a lot. God, I miss her. “But I found a few toys that looked like they belonged on a shelf in the garage and not hiding beneath a mattress.”

  “Gross. Now it’s my turn to gag. Let us make no further mention of their coital arsenal. So, what’s new with you?”

  “I’m dating.” He hits me with a press-on smile. “I’ve officially got a girlfriend, and I can’t wait for you to meet her. In fact, we’ve just made it official, but I couldn’t keep the good news to myself. You and Braden are the first to know, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  I jerk back in my seat as if this questionable good news had the ability to send me to the floor, and it does. “Is it Granny Panties?” I ask, shocked to hell that my father is stepping out on my mother like this. I know the laws of nature aren’t in their favor, but I always thought he’d be loyal to her until the end.

  “Granny Panties?” He looks pained by the nickname I’ve gifted this hussy. “I like to call her Rita.”

  “Rita? You’re dating Rita?” I have no clue who this Rita person is, but I don’t like the way his features smoothed out when he said her name. Totally dicey if you ask me.

  His brows arch. “Have you met Rita?”

  “No, but it doesn’t mean I have to like her.” God, that made no sense whatsoever. “Is she nice? Does she like children? Does she have a bumper sticker on the back of her car that reads my other ride is a broomstick?”

  He tips his head back, and I watch his gums flap as he guffaws himself to tears.

  “You’re hardly a child, Sophie.” He dabs his eyes with his hand. The last time I saw him dabbing tears from his eyes like that was at my mother’s funeral, and now here he is, yucking it up over his new girlfriend—Rita. “And she’s far from a wicked witch.” He calms himself down enough to burn his tongue on his coffee. Serves him right. “She’s anxious to get to know your brother and you. You’re not free tonight, are you?”

  “No!” I bark so fast and loud half the coffee shop turns to look at us. “I have a school assignment.”

  He holds up a hand, stopping me from sliding into a slippery slope. “No need to go any further. My birthday is coming up in a few weeks, and she’s planning a little something. You’ll get to know her then.”

  “She’s planning a little something for your birthday?” I’m about to tell a bitch to step off.

  “Yes, she knows you’re busy. She would never want to put anything on your plate. See there? She’s an angel.”

  Granny Panties is no angel. In fact, sh
e took something off my plate that I very much wanted on it. I’m the one who was looking forward to planning my father’s fiftieth, and now he’s let this total stranger come right in and commandeer both his life and mine. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to care too much for Ripping-Your-Father-Away-From-You-One-Birthday-at-a-Time Rita.

  Our conversation dwindles to nothing, and long before we enter the red zone, we say goodbye. I wait until he’s out of sight before texting my brother.

  Did you hear about Dad’s new main meter maid squeeze? Yes, the Beatles’ reference was totally necessary here. Let’s face it. There’s not a lot you can do with that name if you want to slay it.

  He texts right back. Rita? Can’t wait to meet her. Dad seems happy. Be nice. K?

  I text right back. Be nice? I AM nice. Speaking of nice, I’m sure your neighbors appreciate the measures you’ve taken to secure their sanity. And really? Hauling Dad out here to remedy your headboard dilemma so you can carry on your sexcapades? I’m shocked he didn’t burn down that hotbed of depravity you torture Becca on.

  He texts right back. You’re not funny. Dinner tonight?

  My stomach clenches. No can do. I’ve got a life—e.g. a paper due. I’ll catch you after the weekend. Even though every texted word of it is true, I still feel like crap for hiding things from my brother. As much as I like to harass him, he’s still my hero. I’d do anything for Braden. My expression sours. I’m pretty sure Braden wouldn’t want me anywhere near Rowen, and here I’ve all but grafted my soul over his.

  My phone pings. It’s another text from Braden. You’re not in that social experiment shit, are you?

  My entire body catches fire. I can’t breathe. What do I say? Honestly? I don’t want to say anything, so I don’t text back.

  My phone buzzes in my hand as he sends another message. Anyway, it’s on. Becca’s watching it, laughing up a storm. It’s hysterical. A bunch of idiots kissing strangers. There’s a girl from my narrative studies class in it. Why the hell would anyone want to put themselves out there like that? I think it’s all a ploy to test out the campus STD clinic. I smell the lawsuits coming a mile away.

  Sadly, I happen to agree with him. I’d better say something lest Braden thinks I’ve met up with a serial killer and begins to stalk the campus for his idiot sister.

  Thanks for the heads-up, but I probably won’t watch.

  I’ll be living it.

  Thank God for the fact Rowen has friends in high psychotic places who have agreed our footage is better suited for the recycling bin than a cable network.

  I glance at the time, and I’m well into the red zone.

  There’s a date to be had with my shiny new boyfriend. Too bad Braden will never accept him as that. But at the moment, I don’t really care what my brother thinks.

  My heart grows heavy because deep down I do.

  After a quick primping session, I don a tight little red dress, a loaner from Ember with matching flaming red heels and trot my hot self down to the armpit of the psych building where Seth instructed me to meet him.

  It’s dark for the most part, and the building looks abandoned.

  “Where’s everyone?” I look past him, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rowen or Petra, but there’s not even a ghost haunting the building at the moment. A part of me has been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since we embarked on this twisted journey. Maybe this is the day Rowen woke up and came to his senses? I bet he’s at some wild party loading up the roller coaster with all the sorority girls he can just to make up for lost time.

  “Everyone else is already here.” He gives a little wink as he pretends to dust my shoulders off. “You two are doing great.”

  “That’s because we’re exempt from the drama.” Asking Dexter to nix our footage was the best move Rowen could have made—outside of any move he makes with me.

  “Let’s move it.” Seth guides us down the hall and over to the elevator where he hits the button that leads to the rooftop.

  “So, what can I expect?” Seth has been really good about filling me in on the nature of the outings we’ve had, and I appreciate that. Not that being left in the dark would bother me, considering I’ll have Rowen right there beside me. In the dark! Ha! That’s exactly how this whole thing began, and forever I’ll appreciate that luminary deprived environment.

  “Expect a blast from the past. Tonight’s date is Rowen’s choice. You’ll plan the next one. Keep it simple. On campus, preferably. Production costs are through the roof.”

  The doors whoosh open, and I’m scuttled to a white tent where hair and makeup give me a touch-up, a mic pack is strapped to my back, and I’m blindfolded. Yes, blindfolded.

  A blast from the past? A blindfold? Dear God, if I find Braden threatening to toss Rowen off the rooftop, it wouldn’t surprise me. The past wasn’t so great. It wasn’t so terrible either, but Becca turned into a stumbling block none of us would survive. Just the thought of her makes my stomach sour. I have never blamed Becca for all of the heartache we went through, but maybe I should. According to Braden, the blame falls squarely over Rowen’s shoulders for dumping her abruptly. I was never filled in on all the dirty details as a kid, but Braden painted Rowen out to be more or less a demon. And I bought that flimsy explanation hook, line, and stinker. I should have probed more. But what had Becca done to have someone as nice as Rowen cut her loose so quickly? Why was Braden so invested in siding with Becca? Wasn’t Rowen his bestie? Couldn’t he have done more to protect his budding bromance? Clearly he did not adhere to the age-old adage bros before hos. So many questions, so little time—and honestly, I don’t want a single answer tonight. The only thing I want tonight is Rowen.

  Seth leads me out into the cool night air, and every step feels as if I’m about to dive off a cliff.

  Wait a minute! I’m wearing a blindfold. Maybe I won’t find Braden ready to strangle Rowen—which is a long shot in and of itself at the moment—but basically inevitable in the foreseeable future. Hopefully, this date that Rowen handpicked is far more fifty shades of fantastic than it ever is dysfunctional family-oriented.

  The spiced scent of his cologne hits me, and my adrenaline kicks in hard. The warmth of his body washes over me as his warm, strong fingers pick up my hand. Seth says a quiet good night as his arm leaves my shoulder.

  A soft kiss lands on my cheek as my blindfold is lifted. The first thing I see are those illuminated gray eyes smiling at me with a joy that makes my heart sing.

  I take a step back and soak in every inch of this beautiful man. Rowen is resplendent in a formal tuxedo, that black little bowtie pops off his crisp white shirt, and all I want to do is rip it right off him. His hair is slicked back tight, his scruff neatly trimmed. Dear God, Rowen Garret is a dapper dream come true. It’s only then I notice the rooftop has sprouted a gazebo laden with pink and white flowers, wisteria draped around it like a garland, along with twinkle lights. Mason jars filled with candles line the periphery, making it fully feasible to believe we’ve been transported to some exotic romantic locale. The entire rooftop deck shimmers and flickers like a dream.

  “You look beautiful,” he says without ever taking his eyes off mine. “I have a question to ask.” He gets down on one knee and pulls something off the table next to him.

  “A question?” My heart thumps unnaturally. A question—on bended knee? Oh my shit! Is this a proposal? If this is a proposal, I’ll for sure think this entire relationship is a joke to Rowen. There’s no way we’re at a proposal level, but the thirteen-year-old girl in me screams for the logical side of my brain to shut the hell up.

  Rowen looks up with those shining eyes, and his lips part as if looking at me in wonder. In all reality, it might be regret, but we’ll go with wonder for now. Come to think of it, I have never read the rules and regulations of that the TSE was adamant I memorize. What if I’m obliviously unaware of the nature of the underlying premise of the social experiment, and this whole dreamlike scenario gets hijacked by some hellish twist I
never saw coming? But before he says a single word, I’ve already committed to the fact that if Rowen asks me to be his bride, I will scream a resilient yes. I would never refuse him, no matter how asinine the scenario would be. Mrs. Rowen Garret. It has a nice ring to it. I should know, I’ve been trying it on for size for years.

  “Sophie”—his voice dips down to that lower, sexier than all things on Earth register, and my panties disintegrate to nothing—“would you do me the honor of being my prom date?”

  “Prom?” The word guts me and thrills me at the very same time. “This is a promposal?” Tears come shooting out the corners of my eyes at a million miles an hour. I didn’t go to prom. Mindy had a date, but I didn’t want to go stag. There was no one else for me but Rowen.

  He nods with that devilish grin spreading like wildfire. Rowen’s smile is worth memorizing, but, more than that, I’d love to invoke it in him over and over again. “Now what’s it going to be?” Those deep creases around the corners of his eyes dig in, and Rowen breaks out into a warm laugh that spans the ages.

  “Yes! I would love to!” I garble through tears. My entire body shakes, and I break out into a cold sweat—so not romantic, but thankfully, the nausea has subsided because I’m pretty sure a hat made of vomit isn’t what Rowen is looking for to complete his look.

  Rowen bounces to his feet and lands a honey sweet kiss over my lips. “Welcome to your prom, Sophie.”

  “Ro!” I wrap my arms around him as we take in the glimmering light, the gazebo glowing like giant puff pastry. Music bleeds through the speakers, soft and low, as Rowen leads me under the canopy where a small table waits with two silver domes. He holds out my seat, and we unveil a lobster for me and a glibbery slab of red meat mooing out Rowen’s name in blood.

  He leans in, taking my hand up and kissing my knuckles. “Does your dinner fall under the right phylum for you?”

  A warm laugh brews in me. Rowen has always thrown out three-dollar words for as long as I’ve known him. It was something I would tease him mercilessly over, but right about now, I’m finding it very hot to hear the world phylum eject itself from this gorgeous man’s mouth.