by Tarisa Marie
I shrug.
“Come on, give me something,” she insists.
“He’s just a guy, Mindy, I don’t know. I wasn’t about to start being picky a week before prom when all the good guys were already taken. I took what I could get,” I tell her, annoyed.
She laughs at my irritation and we’re interrupted by a knock on my bedroom door.
“Ari?” my dad asks. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” I call and Mindy twirls my chair from the mirror to face the doorway.
The door opens and he takes a single step in. His face lights up as soon as he sees me.
“Oh Ari, you look…beautiful. Just like…” he gives a brief pause and my heart begins leaping in my chest, is he going to say what I think he is going to say? He hesitates and then says, “your mother, I can’t believe how fast you’ve grown up. It feels like just yesterday you were eating shit off of the floor and pooping your pants," he jokes with a smirk, but I see the look in his eyes that he’s trying to cover up with humor. It's pain at the mention of my mother, as if just mentioning her has brought forward all kinds of pain. Surprisingly, I don’t feel any pain. I feel a brief flash of sadness but I don’t feel pain. I’m almost shocked by this. Is it because my memory of her is so faded, or is it because I’ve been taught to put mind over emotion my entire life? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because of the huge wave of shock at the mention of my mother that has me too rattled to feel pain.
Mindy laughs, shattering the moment. Is that her flirty laugh? Is she flirting with my father? Oh my god, for the love of all that is holy!
“I just wanted to bring you your birthday present slash prom gift before you left,” he wags his eyebrows at me, all traces of pain now gone from his eyes, and sets a large blue velvet jewelry box into my hands.
I open it curiously, inside is a huge blue sapphire on a chain. I wonder if it’s real but decide that there’s no way that it could be, it would’ve cost a fortune if it was. We can’t afford anything like that. Not that we’re poor or anything, but I mean we’re not rich. He’s a firefighter for god sakes and they don’t pay those men and women near enough to save lives.
“It’s real,” he admits quietly and then says, “it was your grandmother’s, my mother’s.” I never got to meet her, she passed away before I was born.
“It’s beautiful…” I trail off removing it from its box.
Mindy’s eyes widen. She’s one of those girls who almost faints when they see something shiny and pretty. A girly girl as they call them. I’m amazed by the necklace for sure but I don’t know anything about jewelry and so it’s probably not as amazing to me as it is to Mindy.
“That’ll go perfect with your dress tonight! It’s almost the exact same blue!” she cries excitedly while clapping her hands.
I ignore her and thank my dad, “I love it, thank you.”
He smiles. “I hoped you would. I’ll let you finish getting ready. Remember, I want a picture before you escape,” he warns and leaves the room. I know that 'a picture' is equivalent to a photoshoot but I don't say anything.
As soon as the door shuts, Mindy begins fanning herself with her hand dramatically.
“Oh my god, please tell me that was your secret brother and not your father!” she squeals jokingly. “What?" she giggles at my expression of disdain. "Your father looks like he’s 25 not 45!”
And this is why I never bring friends over.
“He’s 34,” I correct her. “He had me when he was 16.” I've had to tell her this a million times over the years we've been friends.
“Oh god, still!” she cries, and pretends to faint.
It’s no secret that the whole world has the hots for my father. I’ve had to hear about it my entire life. From my kindergarten teachers gushing over him, to my teacher coming on to him last year at the parent-teacher interviews. I only hope that I’ve inherited his awesome aging gene. But even though he always has all of these women gawking at him and flirting with him all the time, he’s never accepted a date with any one of them. In fact, he hasn’t even went out with a single woman since my mother. I partially wonder if it’s because of me, if he thinks it would bother me. It wouldn’t, he can’t be alone forever, and he needs someone other than me. He doesn’t have any friends besides his work colleagues.
It seems like ages pass before Mindy is done curling my hair and touching up my makeup. Finally she lets me stand up and pulls my dress from its protective canvas. She helps me into it carefully and does the zipper up in the back.
When I am done, she snaps a couple pictures with her phone, likely for some social media website that I will find myself tagged on later.
“Perfect!” she approves and quickly pushes me down onto my bed and begins shoving my glittery heels onto my feet. “Let’s go show your dad!”
Yeah, you just want to go check him out again, I think to myself.
I struggle down the stairs, trying not to fall and crack my head open in my dumb heels. This will be the one and only time I will ever wear a dress or heels. I swear that, not even for my own wedding will I wear a dress.
“She’s reeaady!” Mindy calls down the stairs behind me in a sing-song voice.
My dad steps out from the kitchen with a camera and begins snapping photos as if I am a model. I’m not even down the damn stairs yet.
“Smile, Ari! You’re going to your senior prom!” he encourages, and snaps a few more. You’d think that he was a photographer.
Then there is a knock on the door and my heart skips a beat, I’m suddenly super nervous. My date, Nathan Walters, is early.
My dad opens the door and then steps away from it.
“Good evening, you must be Ariella’s brother,” the boy greets him.
My father laughs and Mindy looks at me with ‘I told you so’ eyes. I roll mine back at her.
“I’m her father, actually,” my father corrects and motions for him to come in.
“Oh…sorry, sir,” he quickly replies, staring at him as if trying to put the pieces together.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask him quickly, ready to get the night over with.
“Yes, let’s go,” he answers me thankfully.
Before we leave, my father snaps a few pictures of us together and gives me a hug.
Nathan has a fancy black car, I don’t have a clue what it is exactly because I know next to nothing about cars but it’s definitely something fancier than my piece of crap from 1991.
The ride to the school is long and awkward.
“You look…awesome…I mean…beautiful,” he stammers awkwardly.
I thank him just as awkwardly and then we are silent for the rest of the ride. When we get there I take a swig from the flask I have hiding in the breast section of my dress. Nathan doesn’t seem to notice and if he does, he doesn’t say anything.
We register at the front table, flashing the junior prom workers our student I.D.’s and then we enter the decorated gymnasium. It’s full of balloons and sparkly decorations. I wonder who’s going to have to clean all of it up afterwards. Whoever it is, I feel bad for them. Mostly because of all the glitter and sequins on the floor.
There are people everywhere, apparently no one else thought being fashionably late was cool. Nathan immediately takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor.
Great. I’m not a dancer.
Thankfully the end of the song approaches and we only have to dance for a few seconds. He is getting ready for the next song when I pull away and motion to the snack table.
Now, the snack table, that is the whole reason why I even came to prom. I mean Nanaimo bars, brownies, punch, all for free. Just kidding, I only came to this lame party because my father pushed and pushed for me to go. I consider grabbing a bunch of yummy squares and running home with them but sigh and just pour myself a glass of punch. Nonchalantly I take my flask out and pour some alcohol into it. This time Nathan sees me.
He laughs. “I’m that bad a date, am I?”
I smile. “
No…I just, I’m not really into the whole prom thing. I uh-I don’t really ever go to stuff like this or wear dresses or…dance. The only reason I’m here is to make my dad happy,” I admit sheepishly.
He sighs with relief. “Oh thank god. I hate these things too. I’m only here because my older sister pushed and pushed me to go.”
I hand him my flask and he dumps some into his own punch before handing it back.
“Can we just chill?” he asks me hopefully. “You’re not the only one that can’t dance.” Is it just me or is he shaking? No way is he possible that nervous? I mean I'm not even that nervous and I'm a very nervous person.
I nod. “Definitely, though if I keep working on this flask I might start thinking I can dance,” I joke…sort of.
“So…where are you going to school in the fall?” he asks after a moment of awkward silence.
I shrug. “I’m not sure yet. I don’t even know if I’m going to go. I feel bad leaving my dad,” I admit truthfully. What will he do after I leave home?
“Ah…your mom?” he asks then, gaging my reaction and hoping he hasn’t touched a sore spot.
“She died when I was very young,” I explain quickly.
“So did mine. She got sick, what about yours?” he asks suddenly as if this somehow makes me more interesting.
“Murdered.”
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, quickly spitting some of his punch back into his glass in surprise. I choke back a laugh at this. He then gathers himself and runs a nervous hand through his dark hair.
I fake a laugh. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Here I am, ruining your prom.”
I gaze up at him in shock. “Trust me, Nathan, it was destined to suck before I even met you.” I change the subject. “So why haven’t I seen you around school before? Are you new here?”
“Yes, actually. A few months ago I transferred from private school to get a feel of normalcy.” He seems reluctant to admit it, like going to private school is a bad thing.
“Oh, fancy.”
“Meh. It’s not all it’s made out to be,” he mumbles.
I look up at him and smile reassuringly. “Neither is public school, I’m afraid.”
This makes him laugh. “Yeah, these prom things seem so much cooler on movies.”
I have to agree with him there.
“So, you have an older sister? How much older?” I prod, not sure what to talk about.
“She’s the smarty pants of the family. She’s 21 and…she goes to Harvard. Her name is Theresa. I, on the other hand, can barely spell my middle name.”
“What’s your middle name?” I ask curiously.
He chuckles. “My middle name is John. Nathan John Walter. I’ll be lucky if I get into community college.”
He grabs a brownie from the square tray and shoves it into his mouth in a single bite before mumbling something through his stuffed mouth.
“What?” I ask, bringing my eyebrows together with confusion.
“Those are really good, you should have one,” he says after swallowing the chocolate treat.
I then grab one from the tray and stick it into my mouth. He’s right, they are absolutely mouth-watering delicious.
"So, what do you like to do for fun, Nathan?" I ask him curiously.
“Well, I crotchet..." he answers with a smirk and it takes me a minute to realize that he's only joking. "Nah. I mean, growing up, my mom made me try a bunch of things but none ever really stuck. Nothing she made me try was ever anything that I liked. After she passed away, I moved in with my father and he really didn’t care about me getting a hobby or anything."
"What did she make you try?"
"Oh she made me try piano, football, tennis, uh badminton, hockey, guitar, swimming. The worst was when she made me try singing. God that was a nightmare." He laughs.
"Singing? You're no good?"
"Can't hold a tune to save my life."
"So what do you want to do then? I mean, if you could do anything?" I ask him, again curious.
"I'd like to write. Create my own worlds and characters and stuff, you know? That's what I'd like to do for fun. My dad calls it having an over active imagination. He doesn't support it. He just really doesn't get it," he tells me sadly. "He’s a uh businessman. He wants me to follow in his footsteps, go to some fancy school, you know, like my sister. I hoped her going to Harvard would take the pressure off of me. I thought wrong." He sighs. "There's no way that I'll get into one of those schools with my grades anyhow, but he will probably pay my way in just because he’s like that." He shakes his head in disgust. "I don't even want to go to school, any school. I just spent the last twelve years of my life in school, why would I want to waste any more of my life? It's short, you know, life? Why not spend it doing what you want to do?"
I 'm surprised by how much I've come to genuinely like Nathan Walters in these short few minutes I've talked to him.
"I agree," I nod.
"What about you?" he asks with a frustrated sigh.
"What?"
"What do you like to do? Party? Enter fashion shows? Count carbs?" he mocks. I almost burst out laughing, he couldn't be more wrong.
"No, none of that actually. I like baking...and eating. I do a little Zumba too I guess. Uh...other than that...I work?" I admit. I don’t tell him that I’m a black belt or that I’m pretty decent in about ten other fighting styles. It’s not something that my dad likes me to share with others. He says that the weaker people think I am, the better chance I will have if it comes to a real fight. But if this kid or nearly anyone tried to pull a move on me, I’d have them down on the floor screaming in pain in less than a second, no matter how strong they were. The majority of people on this planet aren't trained to kick ass. I think all my training is a bit of overkill. The older I get the more I seem to think that my dad is just being overprotective with this whole self-defense thing. I mean, who makes their children do hours upon hours of ‘warrior’ training a day starting when they are four? Seems like severe overkill to me. But I don’t argue with my dad. I never argue with my dad. I know he is just trying to protect me and I love him for that. The exercise and quality time with him is good for me anyways.
"Ah. He smiles. "You're different."
"Gee thanks," I say sarcastically.
"I mean, you're different than most girls in this city," he reassures me.
"Well thanks...I think," I say confused.
He grabs another brownie and shoves it into his mouth. I start to feel some of the alcohol kick in and I make a mental note to slow down. The last thing I need is to pass out at my prom and have them expel me from school for drinking or something.
"So where do you work?" he asks through a full mouth.
"At a little pet store by my house. I basically just clean up dog crap." I shrug.
"What do you want to do after you graduate...keep cleaning up crap?"
"Ew, no thanks. I don't really know what I want to do after school," I tell him honestly. To be truthful, it isn't something I've thought much about. My father hasn't ever really pushed me and I guess I've never really imagined leaving home. It’s something most parents push their kids to do and it surprises me that with how much my father pushes me to do things like to practice fighting, get a job at 14, and hell, go to my prom, that he hasn’t ever really mentioned post-secondary education.
"Hey, Ariella! I've been looking for you all night!" shouts a female voice over the pounding music. I glance over to meet the eyes of Mya Sinclair, one of my good friends.
"Hey Mya, this is Nathan," I introduce them.
"Oh, I know, you're in my gym class actually!" she nods and shakes his hand.
"My date ditched me for some other chick but whatever, he was a drag anyhow," she exclaims, trying to hide her annoyance. "Speaking of drags, why are you guys just standing here, why aren't you dancing?"
"Not our thing," I reply, matching her loud tone over the music.
"Too bad, they're play
ing some pretty good stuff!" she says sadly and pours some punch for herself, guzzling it down. "Hey, so I wanted to find you to tell you that I'm having an after party at my place. I texted you but you never texted back so I wanted to make sure you got it. I think I'll leave here around midnight to make sure everything is set up but I'm sure my dad has it all ready to go. I think he's more excited than I am. So you can come any time after that," she tells us with a laugh. "Puhlease make an appearance, both of you, and bring friends. I'd hate to have nobody show up. That'd be sooo embarrassing," she cringes, while putting her empty cup into the garbage can beside the snack table and swaying her hips to the music. Apparently I'm not the only one who's had a couple sips of alcohol tonight.
"Alright! Maybe!" I call as she makes her way back into the crowd of dancing people.
Nathan is eyeing the brownie platter like he's about to grab another one but he's not sure if it's a good idea or not. I don't falter, I grab the biggest one there and take a bite off of the end.
"You must have an awesome metabolism," he mutters just loud enough for me to hear. "If I have another I'll probably gain fifty pounds."
"Zumba," I say through brownie. "Works wonders. You should try it."
"So you take Zumba classes?" he asks, sounding shocked by my earlier claim.
"No. I just do it my bedroom. Alone. Like an idiot. I basically just make up my own moves and jam out." It’s kind of true. Except I at least have a trainer, my father and I’m actually talking about martial arts but I mean, fighting and dancing are kind of close right?
He raises an eyebrow skeptically but says nothing.
"Wow, I actually can't believe I just told you that!" I giggle louder realizing how big of a dork my last statement made me sound like and nearly choke on my snack.
Now he laughs too. "I can picture that actually. Like you prancing around and singing into a hairbrush or something. But wait, I thought you said you don't dance?"
"Not in public!" I cry, hastily fixing my error. Duh. You’re here not dancing because you hate to dance, then he asks what you like to do and you tell him dancing. You idiot.
Soon we are both nearly in tears laughing like morons about things that aren’t even funny.