Just Flirt

by Laura Bowers

  “Huh. Don’t you think this is weird?” she asks.

  I motion to the party. “What, Larson being with Mona?”

  This seems to set off a trigger in Roxanne. “Why would that be weird, because Mona isn’t worthy? Because she’s different?” she asks, her face turning red. “Who are you to say a man like Larson couldn’t love a woman like her?”

  Something tells me she’s not talking about Mona.

  Natalie holds her hands out, coming to my defense by saying, “Whoa, Dee didn’t mean it that way, but come on, Larson looks like a total player, so his hooking up with Mona is like George Clooney hooking up with a waitress his own age.”

  “How do you know? Maybe George woke up one morning and said, hey, I want a woman who can serve me a damn good piece of pie. Maybe George is—”

  “Maybe George is broke,” Natalie says, pointing to her computer screen. “What I was going to say is how it’s weird that Larson’s inn reviews for the past six months have been terrible. Poor service from a short staff. The rooms aren’t kept clean. And one of the bands from the pub is suing him for back payment! This can only mean—”

  “Shh!” I wave my hand frantically in front of her.

  “Did you just shush me?” Natalie asks.

  “Would you please just be quiet?”

  They follow my gaze. Larson is now walking toward us, pulling a cell phone from his trouser pocket. We duck lower, my stomach clenching when he nears the Suburban. He stops, glancing around to make sure he’s alone before dialing. Holy crap, Natalie mouths as Larson holds his cell to his ear and drains the rest of his wine.

  “Hello, Henry, it’s Larson, how are you? Yes, I know … I’m a couple months behind with my payment, but if you can be patient a little while longer, I can assure you I’ll get caught up soon. Yes, I know. Thanks, Henry.”

  We don’t move a muscle until Larson hangs up and saunters back to his party.

  Couple months behind? Holy crap is right.

  Natalie turns to Roxanne. “Hmm, still think all George wants is pie?”

  “Yeah. Two million dollars’ worth of pie,” she says, slumping back against the roll bar. “But if he’s using Mona, what can we do, try to prove it? There’s no chance of that happening unless we can find someone to dig up dirt about him, someone who can…”

  Roxanne stares at her mother.

  She opens her mouth, and then closes it quickly, as though she changed her mind. But when Roxanne sees Mona cleaning up a wine spill like a servant she says, “I have an idea,” while hopping out of the cart with a burst of confidence and opening her cell. She dials, and seconds later Victoria Swain steps away from the crowd, answering her own phone as she walks down the deck steps.

  Roxanne’s determination fades as Victoria steps onto the curb.

  “Uh, hey, Mom, it’s me. Please don’t be mad, but—”

  Victoria Swain’s free arm drops to her side in a clenched fist as she responds to Roxanne’s please don’t be mad line, not knowing that we can see her. It reminds me of the time when I saw Blaine walk past me at the mall while I was in line for a smoothie. I called his cell, but he ignored it after seeing my name on the screen. That really sucked, but this sucks more.

  Blaine was just a bad boyfriend.

  Mrs. Swain is Roxanne’s mother.

  “Mom, stop, I didn’t do anything. It’s just that I’m at—” Her mother keeps talking as she walks, until Roxanne finally says, “Look to your right, Mom.”

  Victoria jerks her head up, searching until she sees Roxanne on the sidewalk, who gives her a weak wave. Victoria tiptoes across the yard in her heels. “Young lady, what’s wrong, are you okay? And why, exactly, am I not supposed to be mad?”

  “I’m fine, Mom, it’s just that … I need…”

  “And how in the world did you get here?”

  Roxanne has no choice but to nudge her head toward where Natalie and I are trying to look inconspicuous. “I sort of drove over here with them. But there’s a very good reason why we—”

  When Victoria leans over and sees the golf cart, it is clear that she’s not happy with our mode of transportation. “Roxanne Swain, you came here in a vehicle that’s not legal! You knew I wouldn’t approve of that! And look at your new shorts, they’re covered with motor oil. Here I was so excited when you finally agreed to go shopping the other day, and now they’re ruined!”

  “Mom, I’m sorry, but I told you people don’t wear stuff like this to races—”

  Victoria holds her hands up, ducking her chin to her shoulder. “You don’t have to explain. I should have known better. You’re like your father, who acts as though everything I do for the family is a complete joke.”

  As a stylish couple carrying a bottle of wine strolls past them, traces of Roxanne’s hostility return, the same anger that caused her to slam doors and pee ice cubes. But instead of yelling, Roxanne takes a deep, calming breath and says, “No, Mom, I never … Can we please just start over? I’m sorry for riding here in the golf cart, but we had a good reason why. And I need your help. It’s important.”

  Victoria narrows her eyes. “A favor? You’re asking me for a favor?”

  Roxanne nods. “Yes, I need you to find out all you can about Larson Walker, both business-wise and personal.”

  “Are you crazy, Roxanne? I will not snoop into Larson’s private affairs when he’s been nothing but kind to us. He’s going to be our next-door neighbor, for heaven’s sake.”

  “The guy’s a jerk, Mom! He’s only using—” Roxanne stops, as though she’s leery about saying more, which is smart. What if Mrs. Swain blabs about our suspicions to Larson? “I can’t tell you why, but it’s important, so can you please do it? Can you please take my side for once?”

  Victoria’s clenched hand starts to slowly open like she wants to say yes—needs to say yes—but her bitterness drowns out the notion. “Yeah, as if you’ve ever taken my side. And maybe I don’t want you involved with Dee right now.”

  Whoa, hold on, what does she have against me? A sudden resentment floods my veins, but it’s nothing compared to Roxanne’s reaction. “Are you serious, Mom? You’re the one who wanted me to be friends with Dee, remember? You wanted me to dress like Dee. You wish I could be Dee, someone who is pretty and thin.”

  Victoria steps back, complete surprise on her face. “No, that’s not true, Roxanne. I just want you to not push me away so much!”

  “Yes, you do think that and you know it,” Roxanne says, tears brimming. “You wish for a normal daughter, not one who wants to go to Lincoln Tech and has grease under her nails.”

  Oh God. No wonder she hated me.

  “Roxanne, I—”

  “And you’re right, Mom, it’s crazy to ask you for a favor. I was crazy to think you’d trust me enough to do something that doesn’t make sense when you don’t even trust me to look underneath the hood of your precious car. Look at us! We can’t even have a conversation. And yeah, maybe I do push people away. But so do you, Mom. So do you.”

  Jazz music drifts out from the party as they lock eyes.

  I hold my breath, feeling horrible for witnessing their raw emotions and wishing that Mrs. Swain would say something, anything. She doesn’t. Instead, she goes back to the party, leaving Roxanne with no other choice but to slowly walk back to us. We drive to the campground in silence, pulling off the road whenever a vehicle approaches. But after I park the cart in the shed, I say to Roxanne, “There’s something we need to introduce you to.”

  Natalie picks right up on it. “Yep. Skinny Cow Fudge Bars. Want one?”

  Roxanne nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

  But as we open the store’s freezer, her cell phone begins to buzz. She reads a series of texts that flash on the screen. “They’re all from my mother!”

  Larson is a UCLA grad, used to sell real estate before opening a restaurant, loves French cuisine so much that …

  … he has lunch plans at a French restaurant in Fairfield tomorrow at 1:00, which is odd
. Earlier on, Mona told me she works Sunday afternoons at the VFW …

  … Roxanne—please be careful. And my car is making this funny ticking noise. Think you can check it out?

  21 Sabrina

  If I hear Blaine say the word “bogie” one more time, I may vomit.

  Bogie, wedge, divot, birdie, mulligan—I have no clue what those words mean. And I’m sure Torrance and Bridget don’t know either, but they listen raptly to Blaine’s boring recounting of his amazing golf game with unwavering attention.

  Please.

  “We were behind these old women,” Blaine says, acting as though we didn’t just break up yesterday. “And Prescott, here, decides he’s tired of following them. So he uses his five wood to hit up behind them. You should have seen them jump!”

  Prescott laughs and affectionately rubs Vanessa’s neck like he’s such a good boyfriend who never cheats on his lady, oh, no! “It worked, didn’t it? We played through and saved at least forty minutes in our game. Too bad Danny wasn’t there.”

  Of course Danny wasn’t there. He had a race, but something tells me he wouldn’t have thought so highly of Prescott’s stunt. Blaine, however, claps him on the back and Torrance giggles, even though—hello—Prescott could have hurt one of the older women.

  Jerks.

  Did I always know they were jerks? Yes, I did, so either I’ve overlooked it for so long or I’m a jerk, too. But leaving this crowd now with senior year right around the corner would be socially disastrous. And besides, I was here long before the charming duo of Larson and Blaine Walker breezed into town. I am not about to be shoved out of my own territory, even though my territory sometimes feels like a war zone—and Blaine will probably soon start bringing around whichever skank he was cheating on me with. Is that why Danny isn’t here tonight, because he broke up with Torrance and now he doesn’t feel welcome?

  Oh, no. That’s not going to be me.

  Of course, Torrance claimed to be relieved because Danny always smells horrible after working in his garage. Yeah, right.

  I check my cell for the time. Two more hours of torture to go, since my stupid car is still in the shop and Mom is my only way home. No, make that a lifetime of torture, if Mom is actually serious about her engagement and Blaine becomes my stepbrother and Larson my stepfather. No wonder Blaine agreed to the breakup because things were too “weird.” This is more than weird.

  This is nauseating.

  Once again, my head throbs at the memory of seeing Larson waiting in our driveway after the settlement meeting. The way he smiled and leaned against his car like a dog that has just marked his territory brought my own hackles up. But Mom was ecstatic to see him, even more so than the day she won front-row Reba McEntire tickets. So although the thought of her with my ex-boyfriend’s father makes me ill, I have to admit it’s nice to see her happy.

  I still can’t help but ask myself: Why did he pick her?

  At least I do know the when. Mom confessed how it was Larson who sent her the tiger lilies, which was most likely the real reason she offered to drive me to Blaine’s after my car wouldn’t start. So I’m betting Larson asked her out sometime after Rex gave her a tour of the Swains’ house.

  From the upstairs deck, I hear Mom’s nervous laughter. This morning she threw open my bedroom door at eight, wearing a jogging suit and hardly any makeup. “Wake up, sugar,” she said, “the mall opens at nine. I have to find the perfect, PERFECT outfit for tonight’s party, so will you please help me? I made you coffee. And I heated up one of those yummy Toaster Strudels you love so much.”

  For some reason, I thought of Meghan from the blog, and how her daughters didn’t help her shop for new clothes. So I said yes.

  “Camera!” Mom exclaimed as I crawled out of bed. “Don’t let me forget the camera tonight. I need plenty of photos of our first family event. Can I borrow yours? Mine is so big and clumsy. Just think, a wine tasting party! Doesn’t that sound classy?”

  Mom rattled off more things from her shopping list, like extra panty hose in case hers got a run and wine from the liquor store, while she shoved dirty clothes in my hamper and shooed dust off my bureau with her palm. I was about to tell her that no one wears panty hose in the summer when she slowly picked up the framed photos of Dad and Blaine. “Sweetheart … I’m sorry your father canceled on you again this weekend. And I’m truly sorry about you and Blaine breaking up. I feel like that’s all my fault, but, Sabrina, I couldn’t help but fall in love with Larson, so please be happy for me.”

  But nagging doubts make that impossible.

  Especially when it took us nearly four hours to find a summer dress that wasn’t too young and wasn’t too old—something that’s harder to do than I thought.

  And especially when we had to spend the rest of the day running errands for Larson, picking up napkins, getting his dry cleaning, and calling people like Rex who forgot to RSVP for the party. And Larson even dissed the wine she gave him as a gift. “Aw, you’re too sweet—you bought this cheap wine as a joke, right, darling?”

  It wasn’t a joke. She loves that wine, regardless of the price, but instead of standing up for herself, Mom tittered out a self-conscious “Yeah, ha, ha, ha!”

  Like father like son, I think, while Blaine demonstrates the putt that won his game.

  No. Like mother like daughter.

  She’s putting up with Larson’s tricks just like I put up with Blaine’s because I was so afraid he’d break up with me if I didn’t. She’s hanging out with people she really doesn’t like, just like I do, because I’m terrified to lose the security of popularity. And I put up with all of my father’s canceled plans and excuses because I don’t want him to leave me.

  Just like he left Mom.

  But the funny thing is, it feels good to stand on my own without Blaine. It feels good to not be afraid or weak anymore. What did Superflirt—whoever she is—say? Weak—bad. Strong—good. And aren’t I the one who always said that weakness will get you nowhere?

  It’s time for me to follow my own policy.

  And I know just where to start.

  I leave the patio without bothering to excuse myself and walk into the basement that is crowded with men playing pool, smoking cigars, and chiding each other in that manly just kidding, dude way. Upstairs, the rest of the house is also crowded, so I duck into Larson’s office that could pass as a GQ photo set, with his executive-style chair, mahogany desk, and leather sofa with flanking dracaena plants.

  The leather feels icy against my thighs as I pull out my cell. Dad answers on the fourth ring, echoes of high spirits, shrieks, and music coming from the background. “Sabrina, is that you, can you hear me?”

  “Yeah, but the better question is, can you hear me?”

  Because he’s going to hear a lot.

  “Sorry, hon, we’re at Hersheypark in line again for the Storm Runner roller coaster,” he says. “It’s awesome! Zero to seventy-two in two seconds flat.”

  Huh, Hersheypark, so that’s why he bailed on me—again—because he wanted to take his happy new family out for a happy Hershey day without me around. And now that I think about it, the weekend of Angela’s birthday party, was that why he didn’t protest when Mom made me stay home, to keep things less awkward? Sure, maybe Belinda and Angela didn’t want me there, but can I blame them? It’s not as though I was the sweetest person, so of course they wouldn’t want me around. Why didn’t my own father?

  It’s time to find out.

  “Hey, Dad, why didn’t you invite me along? This was our weekend, remember?”

  The clicking sound of an approaching coaster and the whoosh of brakes tell me they must be near the front of the line. Dad waits for a safety announcement to end and says, “I didn’t think your mother would allow it, Sabrina. You know how Mona gets sometimes.”

  Tears gather in my eyes. I look up to Larson’s ceiling, trying to blink them away before my mascara is ruined. Maybe he’s right, maybe Mom would never let me go because of the shopping and Larso
n’s party. But maybe she wouldn’t let me go simply because she wants me in her life. She needs me.

  She’ll even fight for me.

  That’s what I want, for Dad to fight for me, to do whatever it takes to make me a part of his life. My lips quiver and my throat feels as though it’s wrapped with cable as I say, “Yeah, I know how Mom is, Dad. But guess what? She’s here. She’s here, with all her flaws and faults, she’s here, she never left me, not like you did.”

  From his end of the line, I can hear Belinda announce that it’s their turn next. “Oh, okay,” he tells her before saying to me, “Sabrina, look, I’m sorry things never worked out between your mom and—”

  “No, this has nothing to do with the divorce. If you’re happy with Belinda, then I’m happy for you and I’ll try to get along better with her, but what did you tell me the night you left? You said things between us would never change, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You broke that promise, Dad. You never fought for me. Instead, I always have to fight for you. So go ahead, have fun on the roller coaster, but you need to realize that before you know it, the ride will be over and it will be too late for us to have any kind of relationship because I’ll no longer be waiting in line for you.”

  “Sabrina, I—”

  “Goodbye, Dad.”

  * * *

  By the time I get back down to the patio, my headache has tripled and the boring conversation has turned from golf to clothes. “So, Sabrina, you didn’t tell me where you bought that fabulous dress,” Bridget says, biting into a chunk of Brie cheese that she’ll probably chunk up later in order to keep her emaciated figure. “Did you, like, get it at Lord & Taylor? Torr and I went shopping there yesterday. We got the cutest outfits. Mine is just like the one Miley Cyrus wore in her latest video.”