Pissed at one more of his one-sided, bigoted assumptions, I practically scream at him. “Why? Because he’s not as white as you, because his family doesn’t make it to the top tax bracket, because he wears a stupid leather jacket all the time? Or is it because you can’t even fathom the idea of someone normal falling for me?”
“May I remind you that the first time this boy spoke to me, it was to punch me in the face.”
“You deserved it!” This comes out harsh, but there’s no going back.
“Fine,” he concedes, “seem like you two are a perfect match. Good to know I was completely wrong about my own step-daughter. I honestly thought you were better than this.”
Face flaming red with indignation, I reply fiercely, “Like you have the right to pretend to know anything about me!”
He stares at me like I’ve punched him in the stomach but I don’t regret it. I’m suddenly so mad I can’t hold it in as he demands, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You think whatever you say is law around here, and it’s bullshit!” My voice is louder than I thought and soon I’m standing up and staring him straight on like I’ve wanted to for years. “You act like everything is cool between us all the time, like we’re the fucking Brady Bunch living in a Barbie dream house; that’s not how it is. I don’t want any of the things you want for me and we both know your problem is over more than just Rhett.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows are knitted together in anger as he sneers, “You know, at seventeen, exactly what you want from life? You know what’s best?”
I back up and consider this. “I know what’s best for me. And right now, I’m doing everything I want.”
My mom stands up, puts a hand to Michael’s back, and whispers in his ear a moment in secret parental conference. It’s as if Michael accepts her words immediately, the shift in his face is so unexpected. Calm. Serene, even, and completely lacking in animosity. When he speaks, I’m even more shocked by what comes out. “Tell us about him. Rhett, I mean. Like an adult, for once, and maybe we can work something out.”
Surprised but pleased, I begin to think about Rhett. The two of us together and how wonderful it all feels. And the words start coming out. “He’s a really good guy. Everybody things he must be tough or something because of the leather and heredity, but he’s the kindest, most caring person I’ve ever met and he always knows what to say. Something about him makes me feel…whole, I guess, like I’m finally doing something right. It’s easy for me to be with him. Complicated in a way but easy in others, if that makes any sense. He’s got a lot of things he doesn’t talk about with anyone but me and I have secrets I’ve never shared with anyone but him. His family is so kind and funny and they truly love one another. Whenever I’m with them, I wish-”
Mom cuts me off, “When did you meet his family?”
I blush even darker; until now, I hadn’t realized the sheer amount of secrets I’ve been keeping from mom and Michael. Every afternoon, I’ve been telling them I was with Sky or shopping with Amanda and they believed me. Telling them now, after nearly a month of being with Rhett, seems wrong and invasive and embarrassing. There’s no turning back now, unfortunately, so I move forward. “I’ve had dinner and breakfast at his house a few times.” It’s obvious how much this irks Michael; unlike my mother, Trent, and I, he’s lived in this one small town with it’s entirely white, conservative population his entire life. His parents and their parents have been teaching some modernized version of white supremacy as long as he can remember, I’m told, and the conflicting image of his step-daughter dating someone with a diverse background must be challenging. How strange to live in such an individualized and diversified time as this and to remain close-minded. I can’t imagine it; wouldn’t want to, for that matter. “They’re fun and loud and there’s five kids including Rhett and they’ve got such different personalities and looks it’s hard for me to believe they’re related half the time.”
Mom’s beaming by the time I finish my spiel. I know without a doubt where this is going. My greatest fears are confirmed when she says, “Why don’t you invite them over for dinner? I’ve been wanting to try out a big recipe recently and it could be a good opportunity for us to get to know one another if you and this boy are going to be together a while. Ask if this Friday night works and give out my phone number.”
“Okay?” This behavior is highly abnormal, I must admit. I’d gone in expecting mom to be more furious than Michael, at the very least irritated at the thought of me sneaking around with some boy. Maybe my cooperation with her efforts to buy me clothes and take me baby shopping and being nice with Amanda have allowed me to finagle myself officially into her good graces. Maybe it’s pregnancy hormones. I don’t pretend to know how these things work.
That’s how, after a month of secrecy, my family and Rhett’s entire family ended up around my formal dining room table.
I’m in my room when they arrive, knee deep in a new paper for Sullivan, and my heart stops. The past six hours, mom’s been whipping around the kitchen prepping like it’s Thanksgiving (which we’ve never celebrated here) and the President’s coming to town. When I asked if she needed any help, she told me that the best thing I could do was to stay out of her way. I’ve been happily obliging until now.
They’re early and mom wanted me to dress up; I hop out of my desk chair and rifle quickly through my closet to find something to serve the purpose of satisfying my mother and Michael, giving the right impression to Rhett’s family, and impressing Rhett himself. It’s a difficult task, but I quickly settle on a non-threatening navy blue lace dress with a white belt. Though my mother would recommend nude heels and sparkling silver jewelry, I decide to remain unadorned and bare-foot. There’s nothing in this world that sickens me more than wearing shoes – especially heels – in my own house.
There’s a knock at my door and I take one last look at myself before opening it. There’s Rhett in his navy blue blazer; tonight it’s actually buttoned over a white dress shirt and gray tie rather than a tee shirt. He wears jeans, which I’m sure my mother will mention to me in private, but still. He’s trying to impress my parents, that much is certain. When I’d first told him, he was apprehensive, to say the least. Terrified is more like it. Didn’t want my parents to hate him even after I assured him a thousand times they wouldn’t, even if Michael would be a bit callous.
He gives me a nervous smile and a quick hug while saying, “We match.” I look down at my dress and realize it’s the same color as his blazer. A smile flirts with the corners of his lips. “On some subconscious level, you’re definitely trying to put forward the idea that we’re a couple to your parents.”
I lead him half-way down the stairs and reply, “Your logic heavily implies that I gave you any thought while dressing. My mom asked me to wear a dress, so I did.”
He stops me from continuing and explains, “I meant to say you look fantastic and I’m more than thrilled to have dinner with both of our families.”
“Really? If I recall correctly, you were practically quivering in fear of my step dad yesterday at the homecoming game just thinking about it.” (Long story short, Sky wanted me to go the football game to support her in running for queen even though our school doesn’t even have a dance after some punch-related incidents a few years back. I invited Rhett partially because I didn’t want to be alone in the stands but mostly because we could share an absolute hatred of school spirit and make snarky comments about homecoming as a whole. It was a grand time. Sky fulfilled her life goal of becoming homecoming queen in a shocking turn of events).
“Have you seen him? The man’s a house,” Rhett argues quietly, standing less than two feet away from me on the steps. “And your brother is equally as scary. When I came in, he told me if I hurt you, he’d beat me into a pulp.”
“Funny,” I reply, “that’s exactly what your thirteen year old sister told me. And she’s a much bigger threat than Trent, I promise. If you haven’t noticed, my brother spends more ti
me around video games and pot than he does at the gym and would probably lose in a fight against a puppy.”
Rhett laughs, “Good to know.”
“Do try to be on your best behavior, though,” I warn. “Michael is kind of a hard-ass to begin with so don’t, like, say anything you wouldn’t say to the Pope.”
Though he chuckles at this, there’s clear hurt in his voice as he asks, “Are you embarrassed of me?”
“Not you,” I assure and give him a kiss on the cheek. “It’s him. He doesn’t understand people who aren’t like him and isn’t afraid to speak his mind. I love everything about you and don’t want him to make you think you’re any less amazing than you are.”
“I give you my word,” he replies teasingly, “nothing could ever make me forget how awesome I am.”
I take his scarred wrist in my hand and say seriously, “Something must have.”
“Not when I’m with you,” he answers, the smile returning to his face. He squeezes my hand for a moment before letting go and saying, “Let’s do this.”
When we reach the kitchen, everyone looks at us expectantly. Mom and Susie sit across from Michael and Mr. Tressler and the kids are lined up around the table, with two seats left open next to Tannis, who beams at me. The table, with every leaf in it, takes up nearly the entire dining room and it’s absolutely covered in food. Mom wasn’t kidding when she said big recipe; I don’t think an entire country could eat food in such mass, much less the twelve of us. At least this means I can eat a home-cooked meal every night for the rest of my life. Rhett and I sit down (Tannis demands that I sit next to her) and mom explains what everything is before starting to pass around platters.
All in all, the dinner goes relatively well. Mom and Susie discuss post-forty prenatal care since, as mom puts it, Susie’s a genius in the raising kids field. The twins entertain themselves by babbling in a language nobody understands while Sawyer monitors the situation in dour seriousness. Tannis, as anticipated, talks my ear off about the boy she’s now dating with my help and asks about the pros and cons of push up bras and makeup and when and how to kiss him and pretty much anything that could make me uncomfortable in front of Rhett and my family. Rhett, by the way, spends the evening talking with Michael civilly. Michael takes this paternal business very solemnly, asking about Rhett’s intentions for me and his life and how his grades are, etc. For the most part, I think Rhett’s honest up until life plans, because he bullshits my step-dad into thinking he’s going into law school which, of course, Rhett would hate; law school is notorious in the department of soul-sucking. I’m more in-tune to their conversation than to the one-sided one going on between me and Tannis.
After about ten minutes, the preteen next to me realizes that my sister, Prom queen two years running and boy expert, has been sitting across from her the entire time and decides my advice is second class compared to Amanda’s. Amanda, to her credit, takes on this task with grace and answers questions about boys as truthfully as possible while shooting unsure glances at me. I explain quietly that this is very normal behavior and the conversation goes on.
Eventually, Rhett’s fingers find mine under the table and on top of my bare thigh and I can’t help but smile. Everything – from watching Trent manage the sudden barrage of drivel from the twins to enduring Michael’s disapproving stares every time I exchange so much as a glance with Rhett – is worth putting up with because I know, once this is done, Rhett and I can be in a serious and open relationship without the sneaking around. It’s nice, considering we’re practically adults, to be able to have respect within both our families.
Just before my mother brings out desserts, Rhett excuses himself without any other explanation. I shoot him a questioning glance but he shrugs noncommittally and walks away. Once he’s gone, I try to return to the conversation at hand, where Trent, my twenty three year old brother, is arguing philosophy and politics heatedly with the seven year old Sawyer. While that debate is interesting in nearly every way imaginable, my mind’s on Rhett.
I give him eight minutes and then start to worry. The desserts come out and I say I’m going to the bathroom. There are no questions as I try to brainstorm where Rhett might’ve gone. Nowhere in the house; too easy. Somewhere outside, but where? He wouldn’t have gone out on the golf course this close to eight because someone would chase him off.
Then it hits me.
Memorial Park.
That’s where I’d go, so it’s where he went.
I grab my jacket from the recesses of the hall closet since today was the first day it’s been cold enough to warrant one and slip on a pair of Trent’s over-sized skate shoes. Sucking in a deep breath, I step outside, making sure the door shutting behind me is silent. It’s pitch dark, the moon shrouded by a thick bank of clouds as I run the half mile to the park, worry and anxiety panging at my chest. Something must’ve been seriously wrong for him to skip out on me like that. My mind flashes to everything we’ve talked about: the pain and the heartache and everything he’s done the past few years. What if he’s done something now?
My breaths come in short gasps as I sprint over the white sidewalk and reach the locked cast-iron entrance of the park. I’m un-athletic and anxious, not a good combination for running. The gate, barred shut, wouldn’t have stopped Rhett for a second. This week, he told me he used to run track and do the long jump; scaling this fence must’ve been a second nature for him. To me, it’s a nearly insurmountable step, especially in shoes made for someone with feet the size of Europe and a slinky dress that blows around me at every breeze.
Deciding for once in my life to risk indecency, my hands grip the rough metal above my head and I try to vault myself upward. The frozen metal bites sharply into the palms of my hand but I keep going. Rhett’s at our bench, surely, and this is how to reach him. Wind chills me as I toss one leg over the top of the gate, straddled hazardously atop the spikes with only my upper arm strength. Once my other leg makes it over, only a few scrapes suffered, I plunge ten feet down and land hard on my elbows, cutting them up pretty badly. Jesus, it’s going to look bad when I get back to the house.
I break into a run again, icy fall air stinging my nose through ragged breaths, until the river’s in sight. It sparkles vaguely against the black landscape and our willow tree outlines itself against the sky. Beneath the tree, on our bench, is Rhett. Head in hands, most likely sighing like he’s the main character in a TV drama; I let out a heavy sigh of relief when my eyes fall on him.
Rhett doesn’t see me until I sit down next to him and whisper, “You alright?”
His head snaps to attention and he immediately replies, “I’m sorry I left.”
“Don’t be,” I say. “Be sorry you made me climb over that extremely dangerous gate.”
He laughs, “You actually did that? For me?”
I shove his arm and he tosses it around me. “I’d do anything for you, idiot. Now why don’t you tell me why you left me there in the middle of our families?”
“I really am sorry.”
“And I don’t care that you’re sorry until you say what’s wrong.” He sighs loudly and I rest my head on his shoulder. It’s clear he’s not going down without a fight, so I say, “By the way, I’m bleeding in about three places and should probably receive immediate medical attention.”
Suddenly, he spits out, “It just feels like a lot of lying, you know? I don’t like lying to impress people.”
“You didn’t have to lie. I don’t care if Michael thinks you’re a good enough guy to be dating me.”
“You don’t understand,” he argues, removes his arm from around me, and stands up. “I do have to lie for so many reasons.”
“Name one.” I join him standing and take his hands in mine. “Tell me why you can’t be yourself.”
“Because,” he stresses. As I’m about to say he’s acting like a five year old, he blurts out, “Because Michael told me you’re going to study at an Ivy League school like everyone else in your family and beco
me a doctor or a lawyer or something respectable and I don’t-”
“You don’t think you’re good enough to be with me? Is that it?” My voice softens when he nods. “That’s so dumb, Rhett. I don’t want to become a doctor. Hell, I don’t even think I want to go to college; at least, not yet. I need to get out there,” I swing my arms around as if encompassing the whole world. “To experience life somewhere I can have blue hair and nobody will look at me like I’m some child, to spend my days in a tiny apartment living my own life and not the one people here think I should live. I want to get as far away from here as I can once high school’s over and do God knows what, but there’s one definite in my plan, and that’s you. Not Michael, not my mom. You, Rhett Tressler. And if you don’t think you’re good enough for living in a crappy apartment and following your own dreams, then you can break up with me and leave me alone before I fall in love with you, alright?”
Once I’m finished, flustered and thankful it’s dark enough to stop him from seeing the blush clinging to my cheeks, he erupts in laughter. Pure joy echoes out of him and ripples over the river. “Cordelia Kane, you are something else. Are you honestly saying you’re planning on falling in love with me?”
I step forward and press my head against his chest. “I never thought I was the type for falling in love, but you’ve thrown off my entire game plan.”
“Well I never fancied myself the kind of person someone falls in love with, but now you’re here and I’m willing to explore that possibility.” He runs a hand down my spine until I shiver against him. Over the past few weeks, he’s admitted (rather sappily) that nothing makes him happier than hearing me laugh, and tickling is the fastest way to do it. He goes on, “”Especially not someone as amazingly fly as you.”
Love in the Time of Cynicism Page 15