“Seriously? Come on. I’m a guy, and I have needs.”
“But you’re using her.” I didn’t know why I was defending the likes of April.
“She wants to be used.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” I jabbed his side with a finger. “How do you know she hasn’t been trained to be used? God, you’re such a guy!”
He squirmed in his seat. “Not all of us lucked out and got a sexy roommate like Gemma.”
“You think Gemma’s sexy?” I glanced over my shoulder to merge into the left lane and pass a semi.
“Uh, yeah. You don’t?”
“Of course, I do. She’s so shy I just thought she always flew under the radar.”
“And I’m the asshole? You obviously don’t appreciate your girl. Maybe I’ll hook her up with my sister.”
“Don’t even think of it!” My temper flared.
“Easy, Tegan. I was only kidding.”
I exited I-25 onto I-76 toward Grand Junction. “That’s the second time you mentioned hooking up your sister. Are you worried about her?”
Erik fumbled with the shirt tied around his waist. “I just want her to be happy. When Mom died she stepped into that role. She’s always been responsible, and I’d like her to think of herself for once.”
It was surprising to hear him speak openly. “I’m sure she’ll find someone. So will you.”
“Hey now, I have a fuck buddy. That’s all I need.”
“Ever?”
The lines in his forehead crinkled. “Time will tell. I’m not looking right now.”
I navigated the car through the hogback. “Almost there. Remember. Don’t say a peep about Gemma. Oh, I probably should mention that my dad recently asked my mom for a divorce, but my mom doesn’t know I know that.” I laughed. “Maybe I should have brought that up when I invited you.”
“You think?” He raised his eyebrows. “This should be interesting.”
“That’s my life.”
“You okay?”
“I—” My voice faltered. “I really don’t know.”
“Mom! I’m home!” I ushered Erik through the front room and into the kitchen, where I typically found her. She’d made such a big deal on the phone about how she wanted to make lunch for us and not go to a restaurant. She probably didn’t want me to order another Monte Cristo or some other fried food.
“On the deck,” she shouted.
I spied mom in an apron, prepping the grill—Dad’s usual job, not just on Mother’s Day.
“You ready?” I asked Erik right before we stepped outside.
“Showtime!” he responded with more vim than I would have been able to muster knowing the potential shit storm.
Mom’s smile enlarged when her eyes landed on Erik. “Well, who do we have here?”
“Mom, I’d like you to meet one of my friends from school. Erik, this is my mom.”
He put his hand out to shake, but Mom dismissed it and enveloped him in her arms, holding him closer than her usual way. Was my frigid mother showing her vulnerability?
After they parted, Mom cocked her head and said, “Has anyone ever said you look like Harrison Ford? Only younger?”
I nearly gagged on my tongue.
He nodded. “I’ve heard. Minus the lightsaber, of course.”
My eyes drifted downward, causing my heart to cringe with disgust.
“Would anyone like a glass of wine?” Mom reached for her drink from the black wrought iron table under the oak tree.
“When did you start drinking? And it’s only one in the afternoon.” I stared slack-jawed.
She waved off my shock. “Don’t mind her, Erik. Would you like a glass?” Her face was flushed, and I wondered if she was on her first glass. I hadn’t contemplated this glitch since it’d never happened before. Mom was difficult to manage sober. What in the hell would she be like drunk?
Erik shifted on his feet. “Uh, sure.”
“Or would you prefer a beer?” she asked.
“You drink beer as well? And offering alcohol to underage drinkers?” I leaned on the deck railing to combat the swirling sensation of vertigo as the vibrant blue sky and tree leaves twirled around my head.
She rolled her eyes, suggesting I was acting like a drama queen. “Your father left some. Erik might as well have it.” Her squared shoulders made it clear Dad wasn’t welcome here. Not anymore.
Was that the closest she’d get to admitting they were divorcing?
“Beer sounds great.” Erik moved closer to me. Had he observed my body swaying as if I was about to tumble?
“Tegan?” Mom asked.
“I’m driving.” I gritted my teeth, not that she bothered to pay heed.
Mom disappeared in the house to fetch a bottle of Dad’s Heineken for Erik.
“It’s okay.” Erik caressed my back. “This is normal. She just needs time and patience.”
I nodded, not comforted at all by his words or touch. I expected her to be weirder than normal, but drunk—never in a million years. Was the drinking a result of the impending divorce, or was I witnessing a trend that’d been building up behind closed doors? Was that why my father had taken such a drastic step?
“I figured you wouldn’t mind drinking out of the bottle. Rick always drank out of a glass, but you seem like a real man.” Mom thrust the bottle into Erik’s hand.
“This is great. Much better than out of a red Solo cup.” Erik prodded my side.
Mom tittered. I was fairly certain she had never had a beer from a Solo cup and missed the reference to flat beer at frat parties.
Erik glugged a quarter of the bottle while mom guzzled down red wine like it was Welch’s grape juice. Maybe I should have accepted some liquid courage. Not that we were the type of family who drank together. Dad would have an occasional beer. Glen and I never sampled alcohol in front of them, even though both of us had been imbibing since high school. That was how Ferbers did most things—in secret. Did my bible-thumping mother realize her hypocrisy was elevating to a whole new level? Getting snockered in front of her daughter?
“How are you with meat?” Mom asked Erik.
“Excuse me?” his cheeks actually tinged.
“I splurged and got steaks. Out of habit, I purchased three.” She glanced away briefly, dabbing an eye. “Want to man the grill for us?” She placed tongs in his hand, not giving him a chance to deny the honor.
Erik banged the tongs to his forehead. “Yes, ma’am. It’d be an honor.” He about-faced to tackle the grill.
I changed the radio station on the portable when the sixties song “It’s My Party” blared. The last thing I wanted was for my mother to burst into tears.
Mom tugged my arm and motioned for me to lean in. “Are you two—?”
I put a palm up. “Just friends. His mom died when he was five, so he had nowhere to go today.”
Mom’s eyes softened. “Poor dear.”
We both peered in his direction.
“Nice ass,” she said.
I backpedaled, not able to banish the smile from my face. “How much wine have you had?” I shook my head, amused and terrified.
“Not enough.” To prove her point, she took another slug.
Remembering this was Mother’s Day, I clamped down on my bottom lip. “Have you heard from Glen?”
“He called this morning.” She stared across the fenceless backyard at the slope of the hill dotted with pine trees and scrub brush. On the far side of the field stood houses, but from this vantage point, there weren’t any signs of human habitation. My parents had always loved the privacy out here, but how did it make her feel now? Alone? Scared? Vulnerable?
Would they sell the house? I grew up here. I sighed. There were so many unanswered questions hanging over our heads.
Mom cleared her throat. “You hungry?” She motioned to the side table laden with healthy finger food.
I snagged a carrot stick.
She dunked broccoli into some kind of healthy-looki
ng dip. “How’s it coming along, Erik?” Mom called out.
“Good. Do you like your meat still mooing or dead?”
“In the middle.”
“Tegan?” He orbited the tongs in the air.
“Deader than dead.”
“Burnt. Got it. I prefer if I turn my head, my steak has enough life left to eat my salad.” He laughed at his own joke.
I crinkled my nose.
Mom chuckled. “That’s how a real man should eat steak. Rick wouldn’t touch a steak until it was blacker than charcoal. Such a waste of money.”
I jammed another carrot into my mouth, annoyed by her parting shot at Dad. Was she dropping all these clues about her feelings toward Dad so I would confront her? Force her to own up about the state of her marriage?
Erik moved a filet mignon, presumably mine, to the center. Some fat sizzled, and the fire’s fingers engulfed the beef.
“Oh, I like all the char.” I took a step closer to Erik.
He jostled my arm. “Promise to try a bite of mine. I know I can convert you.” His eyes were tinged with desire, tripping an alarm in my head.
I stepped back. “I’m thirsty. Anyone need a refill?”
Mom’s arm darted in the air.
Erik held the green bottle in the light to measure the amount left. “Sure. Thanks!”
In the kitchen, I leaned against the counter, chastising myself for getting into this situation. All I had to do was walk away and leave Erik in the parking lot. Instead, I brought him along, and we were bonding as friends. At least I considered him a friend, nothing more. That look implied he wanted the whole shebang. Dammit! Not that I could blame him since April was such a dud in the sack. How, though, would I explain this to Gemma? Did I have to? Things had been so good with us the past couple of months. After finals, Erik and I probably wouldn’t have any classes together. Why rock the boat now?
“My wineglass isn’t going to fill itself.” Mom had entered the kitchen without my noticing. She opened the fridge and extracted a salad she’d prepared ahead of time and three different types of dressing.
I filled her glass less than halfway.
“Who are you? The wine gestapo?” She signaled with her hand for me to top her drink. “Don’t forget Erik’s beer.” She bumped the screen door with her bum and toted the salad and dressing to the table outside.
I snatched a diet Dr. Pepper from the door in the fridge and fished in one of the drawers for a Heineken.
“Here you go, dude.” I thrust the bottle into Erik’s hand, careful to avoid making contact with his skin.
“Thanks, dude.” He mopped his brow with his arm.
I couldn’t stop a smile, acknowledging his mocking of my pronunciation of dude. “Hot?”
“So people keep telling me.” He winked.
“Whatever, dude. Are you visiting your sister this summer?” I lifted an eyebrow, hoping he caught my meaning.
“Touchy!” He waved the tongs in his face as if fanning flames. “To answer your question, I’m staying with her this summer. I got an internship in the Big Apple.”
“Really? Where?”
“A bank. I’m a business major.” Erik lifted my steak off the grill and set it on the plate with the other two. “Dinner is served, ladies.”
The three of us sat at the table under the oak tree.
Erik divvied the steaks. “Here ya go, Tegan. One piece of charred meat. Such a shame.”
Mom handed the salad bowl to Erik and then handed me a ceramic dish that contained baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil.
Before I had a chance to slice into my steak, Mom said, “Shall we say grace?” She put her palms out for both of us to hold.
I forcefully sucked in air. Even drunk she insisted on saying grace. Wasn’t that some type of sacrilege?
“May I?” Erik came to the rescue. Mom nodded and bowed her head. Erik followed suit. “God, we thank you for this food. For rest and home and all things good. For wind and rain and sun above. But most of all for those we love.” He squeezed my hand.
Mom looked up. “Lovely, Erik.”
He inclined his head while buttering his baked potato.
“Oh, the sour cream!” Mom hurtled out of her seat and trotted inside.
“I’m sorry about that,” I whispered.
“What?” Erik chugged his beer.
“The grace thing.”
“He waved it off. My grandparents are the same way.”
“Here ya go.” Mom set a tub of sour cream next to Erik.
“Would you like salt and pepper?” Mom handed the shakers to him.
“Thank you, Mrs.—Tegan’s Mom.” He turned cherry red and pivoted in my direction. “Tegan, I don’t know your last name.”
“Ferber,” Mom supplied and then added, “But please call me Sally.”
Erik turned to Mom and then back to me. “Ferber? Really?”
“Don’t say it.” I pierced the air with my steak knife.
“What?” he grinned foolishly.
“Furball.”
He chortled.
Damn, I’d walked right into the Furball trap.
Erik placed a hand over his heart. “I would never say such a thing.”
“Yeah, right. What’s your last name?”
For the first time since meeting Erik, aside from when I asked about his mom, his swagger melted. “Nope. Not telling.”
I eyeballed my mother, whose glassy expression showed she was barely keeping up with the conversation, but a hint of a smile suggested she liked the chemistry between Erik and me. I wanted to make it clear there wasn’t a chance in hell, but it’d be a shame to burst her bubble on Mother’s Day.
“Come on.” I playfully rolled my eyes at Erik. “It can’t be much worse than Furball.”
“Oh, please. You had it easy.” He lobbed a crouton into his mouth, chewing aggressively.
I pinned him with a confess all stare. “You can trust me.”
“Nice try.” He dangled his arms over the back of the chair. “I got your number.”
I waggled a finger in his face. “You saved my life. That means we’re bonded. You have to tell me.” His refusal to disclose his name piqued my curiosity.
“Saved your life?” Mom butted in.
“The first time I met Tegan, she was choking.”
“Choking?” Mom’s eyes widened. “On what?”
Erik turned his head to me. “On what?”
“A cherry.”
“And you saved her?” Mom continued.
Erik mimed giving me the Heimlich.
“You’re a hero! A handsome hero,” Mom spoke to me, causing my face to go up in flames.
I slurped my Dr. Pepper, avoiding her eyes.
Erik severed a piece of steak. Peeking up from his plate, he asked, “Is that how it works?”
“What?” I realized he’d circled back to my argument. “Yes. I should know my rescuer’s last name,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster, afraid I’d tip my hat. I really wanted to know I wasn’t the only one with a humiliating last name.
He pointed his fork with a piece of steak speared by the tines at me. “If I tell you, it has to stay between us. Not even Ge—”
“Of course. Of course,” I rushed to interject.
He mouthed, “Sorry,” set his fork down, and rested his forearms on the table. “Cockshott.”
“Erik Cockshott,” I snorted, covering my mouth and snickering. “And I thought I had it bad.”
“Careful, Furball. Your true colors are showing.”
“Only a Cockshott would notice.”
I amended my earlier nickname from Not Erect Erik to No Cock Cockshott.
“I think it’s a fine name,” Mother added her two cents.
Erik’s scrunched face said differently.
“No seriously. Younger generations have ruined certain words. Back in the good old days, cock referred to a man strutting around like a cockerel—not you know...” Fortunately she left the rest u
nsaid, but she made a rather crude gesture in the pelvic region. My mother, the religious nut, had lost her marbles, and Erik had a front row seat. Mom perked up. “And you can’t say queer or gay anymore. Those used to be normal words.” She held her wineglass and took an exuberant swig before cradling the glass to her cheek. “Queer meant odd, and gay was happy. But no,” she stage-whispered, “the perverts had to steal them.”
I swallowed, and Erik stared down at his plate. I couldn’t decipher if he was curbing a smile or wanting to defend his sister’s honor.
“And pussy.” She nearly jumped out of her seat, splashing some wine into her lap. “That used to refer to cats. Tegan had a pussycat that she adored when she was little. She insisted on calling it Pussy, even though the cat’s name was Ginger.”
Erik laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth with a napkin.
Mom joined him, bobbing her head up and down. “Really. She did. And do you want to know something really funny?” She leaned toward him.
Erik eyed me with a look of horror, but he couldn’t help himself. “What?”
“When Tegan was three, she asked me for a spoon. I thought she wanted it to dig in the backyard or something, so I never questioned. I just handed one over.
“Then one day I wandered into the laundry room and saw Tegan shoveling cat food into her mouth with that spoon. I asked what she was doing, and she responded, ‘Eating Pussy’s food’ like it was perfectly natural.”
“So that’s when it started.” Erik snorted like a pig. “And with a ginger!” He slapped his thigh.
“It is.” Mom grunted.
I kicked Erik hard in the shin under the table.
He rolled his shoulders, shaking it off.
“My daughter. The pussy lover. Not that I can say that anymore. The perverts steal everything.”
Erik coughed “Still fits” into his hand.
Oblivious to his antics, Mom said, “But I’m sure it was Tegan’s cat food obsession that started it all. Just look at her tits, not to mention her breeder’s hips. She’ll make some man very happy.” Mom gazed at Erik as if waiting for him to get down on one knee and ask me to marry him.
Aghast, I sputtered, “Mother!”
“Of that, I have no doubt.” Erik arched his eyebrows, daring me to challenge him in front of my mother, the pervert hater.
Girl Love Happens : Season One Page 26