Father Knows Best

by Lynda Sandoval

  She closed her fingers around her own mug and crossed one leg over the other. “I understand. Do you know, I’m still friends with by best gal pals from high school. We meet in New York City once a year for a long weekend of shopping, laughter, and no sleep whatsoever.”

  I perked up at the mention of New York City and silently forgave her for using the dorky phrase gal pals. So Nancy Drew, you know? Not that I didn’t gobble up those books about the Tahitian-haired puzzle wonder back in the day. I still own a hundred or so of them, but so? That was then, this is now.

  What freakin’ color is Tahitian, anyway? I can guarantee you they don’t have that shade of dye at the Aveda salon. And, while we’re on the topic, what was with that alleged boyfriend of hers, Ned Nickerson? They never really hooked up in the books, but it seemed like they were “close.” The question is, how close? More than friends, close? Was he her boyfriend on the sly and they just hooked up off page? Or maybe he was just her “fun gay pal”?

  Startled, I blinked.

  You know, that possibility never occurred to me before, but it could totally be true. Ned did emit a bit of a queeny vibe, now that I’m older and have a wider perspective and the benefit of hindsight. And George Fayne, the so-called “tomboy” cousin? Nancy’s “gal pal”? [snarf] Yeah, definitely gay. I don’t care that she found a boyfriend in the later books. Gay. Totally. And, good for her. I always admired George for that. Difficult to figure out the Ned stuff, though…wish there was someone I could ask for a definitive answer. I concede, the books were written in the Stone Age. Maybe they just weren’t allowed to include the hotter romantic details and / or gay stuff back in the day. Why was I thinking about this?!

  Dad wrestled the mug from my spaced-out clutches, filled it, then handed it to me. I smiled my thanks, turning toward Chloe as Dad returned to the sizzling skillet on our stove. He always cooks great breakfasts on the weekend. It’s a ritual.

  But, back to moi. I bet, years from now when Meryl, Caressa, and I are old like Chloe Sebring, we’ll meet up in New York City, too, because Caressa will be working there.

  But where will I live? What about Meryl?

  The idea that we might be stuck here with the other Lifers in White Peaks, Colorado, was enough to harsh on my (questionable) mellow in a permanent way. I pushed the possibility firmly out of my mind. “Do you know where Tribeca is?” I asked Chloe instead.

  She actually looked relieved that I was conversing with her. That kinda made me feel bad, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. “Yes. It’s in lower Manhattan. A big artist’s community, lots of great restaurants and shopping. Why?”

  I moved around the breakfast bar and claimed a bar stool, then sipped. Ah, blessed caffeine. I swear you can feel that first gulp shooting straight to your veins. “Oh. Um. Caressa’s staying with family friends in their Tribeca loft while she does this Broadway thing.” Confusion showed in Chloe’s blue eyes. Clearly my father hadn’t spent the evening regaling her with my friends’ summer plans—don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it—so I explained about Caressa’s kick-ass internship and what it entailed.

  “Wow,” Chloe gasped, laying a palm on her chest. “I would’ve given anything for that kind of experience when I was your age. Or even college age. That will give her memories to last a lifetime, I’m sure.”

  I sucked down another giant gulp of my java, nodding as I swallowed. “She’s totally amped. It’s what she wants to do after she graduates. Work in makeup and costuming for Broadway shows, I mean.” I rolled my eyes. “That, and have a Sephora store within walking distance.”

  Chloe laughed.

  I planted my elbows on the counter top. “In fact, her summer goal is to do such great work that they’ll invite her back after graduation for a real job instead of an unpaid internship.”

  “If anyone can do it, Caressa can,” Dad said, sliding his signature cinnamony-yumfest French toast onto two plates and setting them in front of Chloe and me simultaneously. He followed that with butter and syrup.

  “Thanks,” Chloe and I said, in stereo.

  I did a double take. Wait a minute. How had we come to be sitting side by side at the breakfast bar, speaking in tandem, all family-like? My heart started to pound, so I began doctoring my French toast and, well, rambling. I ramble when I’m nervous, especially when the question “Did you get naked with my father?” keeps threatening to blurt out, all on its own. Because, really, I don’t want to know! My imagination concocts enough psyche-damaging images all on its own, thankyouverymuch.

  “Yeah, Caressa will do it. She’s determined. And, um, Meryl’s summer goal is to learn Bosnian so she and Ismet can backpack through his former country after graduation. That’s where he’s from. Bosnia. Cool, huh? I mean, most people would just rely on Ismet to do all the translating, but not Meryl. She wants to understand. I think Bosnian is a pretty difficult language, too. Plus there’s the Croatian and Serbian, which are sorta like the same language as Bosnian but a little different. Like British English versus American English versus Australian English, at least that’s how Meryl describes it. But she’s really good with foreign languages, and I’m not even talking about pig Latin, like the rest of us speak…”

  Pathetic, dwindling end to ramble. Commence face-stuffing.

  “That’s really impressive,” Chloe said, just as I jammed an oversized bite of the syrupy toast into my mouth.

  I nodded.

  “My daughter has a wonderful circle of friends,” Dad said.

  Chloe flashed him a quick smile, then turned back toward me. “What’s your summer goal, Lila?”

  Gak!

  That was more than just an expression in this instance, by the way. It’s almost what I did. Gak up my food, that is. After the instantaneous lurch of my stomach from the unexpected question, I tried to swallow the bite too fast or something, and the toast took a wrong turn, launching me into a near-puking hack fit.

  Luckily, nothing sprayed out during the spectacle.

  Being a female herself, Chloe likely would not transport that kind of embarrassing story back to her son, but one never knew.

  When I pulled myself together and reassured everyone that, yes, I would live to see another day, both Chloe and my dad settled back down and peered at me in anticipation.

  My gaze ping-ponged from one to the other. “What?” I asked.

  “Your goal for the summer?” Dad prompted. “You never answered the question.”

  “Yeah, I was busy almost going toward the light, sorry,” I said, with classic Lila snarkitude and a prodigious scoff.

  I waited for them to drop it.

  They waited for me to answer.

  Good thing I hadn’t showered yet, because I instantly began to sweat, interrogation-style. I slid my glance away, another clear sign of deception. Sometimes it sucked having a cop for a father, because he would know I was hiding something. “I, uh, haven’t actually decided on a goal.”

  Dad laughed.

  I’m not sure what that meant.

  Before I could ask, he lifted his chin toward my plate. “Finish up, m’ija. I have a big surprise for you today.”

  Surprise? Rock on!

  But wait—what about Dylan? “Today?”

  “Trust me.” He held up a hand. “You’ll like it.”

  Curiosity got the better of me. I admit it. “Tell me!”

  He grinned, plating some French toast for himself. “It’s something you’ve been talking about for a long time now.”

  Enough with the teasers already! “What?!”

  “We’re going to buy you a car.”

  My fork dropped with a clatter, thanks to the shock-provoked hand spasm. I didn’t even bother to pick it up, because I wasn’t hungry anymore. Instead, I gripped the edges of our countertop, fighting hyperventilation. “Dad, if this is some sort of a cruel joke—”

  “It’s not. I promised I’d match your savings, didn’t I?”

/>   “Yeah?”

  “And I think you’ve proven yourself responsible enough after last year’s problems.”

  Forging parental signatures for cash, getting busted, detention. Ugly memories. “I did. I am. I swear.”

  He took a bite of his French toast, chewed, swallowed, then wiped his mouth. “Then today’s the perfect day. It’ll take your mind off Caressa leaving.”

  “Oh, Dad!” I scrambled from the bar stool and ran over to throw my arms around him. “Thank you! You rock the most.” Then I remembered we had an audience, and the self-consciousness kicked in big time. So naturally, Luke swaggered in, all wrinkled clothes and bed head, at that moment.

  “Aw, check out the sweet little suck-up,” Luke drawled.

  “Shut up, Luke.” I scowled.

  “Don’t tease your sister, son,” Dad said. “Do you want breakfast?”

  “Can’t. Gotta bounce. I’m meeting Miffany.”

  Miffany, his horrific girlfriend and—oh yeah—Jennifer Hellspawn Hamilton’s good friend. More about her later.

  “Hey,” he said to Chloe, hiking his chin while he snagged a protein bar out of the cabinet.

  “Hello, Luke,” she said, oblivious to his heinousness.

  Right after he (thank God) left, the reminder of my plans with Dylan—which I really, really, really wanted to keep—slapped me in the face.

  Internal war. Dylan? Or a car?

  I pressed my mouth into a thin white line.

  “What’s wrong?” my way-too-perceptive dad asked.

  “I’m totally psyched about the car thing. But…does it have to be today? Because—” I flicked a glance toward Chloe.

  See?

  Do you see the problem here?

  How could I bring up my boyfriend in front of his mother?

  The whole thing was fart-in-church awkward.

  My dad cocked his head to one side. “Because why?”

  I raked my bottom lip in between my teeth for a moment and flashed another sidelong glance at Chloe. “It’s just, I’m supposed to spend the day with…Dylan.”

  “Is that all?” Dad said, looking relieved and unconcerned. “Bring him along. I’m sure he’d love to car shop with you, give you his opinion when you don’t want it, linger too long over the engine components while you’re focused on the paint color and stereo capabilities. We men are like that.”

  “So true,” Chloe said in a dry tone.

  My heart soared. “Really? Okay.”

  Dad’s eyes widened as though he just had a tremendous brainstorm. “Wait—Chloe, do you have plans?”

  Just as quickly as it had soared, my heart took a nosedive, straight into the rocky ground—like a twin-engine lawn dart.

  “Not a one,” MBM said, with a clueless-to-my-trauma smile.

  Dad chucked my chin and winked. “Excellent. What do you say we make it a foursome then, m’ija? Roadtrip to Denver? We can have lunch there, too.”

  “Sounds like a blast, doesn’t it, Lila?” Chloe asked, just a bit too enthusiastic. She leaned in, all conspiratorially. “We can keep the boys’ noses out of the engine if we team up.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Gosh,” Chloe continued, this faraway expression in her eyes. “I remember buying my first car. An old, ugly 1966 Dodge Dart.” She laughed. “Oh, how I loved that hideous beater. Right up until the engine imploded while I was on the way to take midterms in college. Boy, what a hassle.”

  I should’ve asked about her car.

  I should’ve asked polite questions about where she went to college.

  I should’ve done a lot of things, but I didn’t.

  Instead, I pasted a brittle gash of a smile on my face. “Great. I mean, sorry about the, um, Dart”—who’d ever heard of such a car?—“but great about today. Well. Uh. I’ll just, um, go call Dylan, and—”

  “I can call him,” Chloe said, reaching for her mom-purse.

  “No, really. Let me,” I said, trying not to beg.

  Clearly, she caught the thread of near hysteria in my tone, because she studied me for a moment, then set her purse down on the floor again. “Okay.”

  “I need to take a shower, too. Thanks for breakfast, Dad.” I snagged my coffee mug from the countertop and fled without another word.

  Dude. I mean, duuuuude.

  A freakin’ foursome? What were we, golfing buddies now?

  For the love of God, the phraseology alone could kill me.

  I thought waking up with Dylan’s mom in our house, all implications sickeningly included, would be the worst thing ever, but now we were practically, like, double-dating! Not really, but it felt oogey enough to be true. Bleh! As much as I looked forward to finally having a car of my own, this happy-freakin’-family situation was reeling way out of control. And fast.

  The shower could wait.

  Dylan could wait.

  I had to talk to my friends.

  Chapter Three

  I signed on to my computer and launched a group IM to Meryl and Caressa, drumming my fingers on the desktop as I waited for them to cyber-appear.

  LawBreakR: Meryl and Caressa, I know U have plans, but please, please, PLEASE tell me UR still there!!!!!!!!!

  Lipstickgrrrrl: I’m here. Surfing Sephora. What’s up?

  LawBreakR: Aren’t U supposed 2B packing?

  Lipstickgrrrrl: Done. U know my anal-retentive mom.

  MerylM: I’m here, too. Waiting for Ismet to pick me up. What’s going on?

  LawBreakR: Get this! Wait—do U want the good part or the bad part first?

  MerylM: Just tell us all of it. And don’t you think it’s about time to change your screen name, all things considered, Ms. Police Explorer?

  Lipstickgrrrrl: What she said.

  LawbreakR: No time 4 that. Listen. My dad’s taking me 2 buy a car of my very own today.

  Lipstickgrrrrl: LILA, OMG, THAT ROCKS!!!!

  MerylM: I’m so happy for you! Be sure to get something safe and environmentally sound.

  LawBreakR: Wait, UR missing the traumatic part.

  MerylM: So tell us!

  LawBreakR: Dad invited Dylan to join us.

  Lipstickgrrrrl: Traumatic? Duh, stoner, that’s totally cool!

  MerylM: Yeah!

  LawBreakR: Oh, I know. But, that’s not the bad part. He also invited Dylan’s mother. Over breakfast, of all things, because she was still here, need I say more. And he called the outing “a foursome.” A foursome! That’s one person worse than a threesome, I think. I swear, I could die.

  MerylM: Lila, honey, take a deep breath, okay?

  Lipstickgrrrrl: Listen to Mer. This isn’t as horrid as you think. Just go with the flow. UR getting a car!

  LawBreakR: [scoff] Easy 4 the 2 of U2 say—UR parents are still married, therefore not on the prowl.

  MerylM: Lila Jane Moreno, your dad is not on the prowl. These things happen. And Ms. Sebring is really nice. That’s the part you’re missing.

  LawBreakR: I knowwwwwwwww she’s nice! U guys just don’t get it! I’m not feeling the loving support I need from U!

  Lipstickgrrrrl: No, we do get it. Honest. But try 2 have a little perspective. How bad could it really be? U like Dylan’s mom, right?

  LawBreakR: Not the point.

  Lipstickgrrrrl: I get that, but look at the bright side—U have to grit your teeth 4 a day, and U score a car out of the deal. A car!!!

  LawBreakR: Yeah, probably a 1966 Dodge Dart.

  Lipstickgrrrrl: Huh?

  MerylM: What?

  LawBreakR: Never mind. I just don’t want 2 double date with my father. The word godawful comes to mind. Also heinous. And puke-worthy.

  MerylM: I don’t think puke-worthy is an actual word, just for future reference. Besides, it’s two words, hyphenated.

  Lipstickgrrrrl: LOL, Mer! Lila, it’s not a double date, geek. Just ignore the parentals. Spend time with Dylan, find the car of UR dreams, turf off the rest.


  MerylM: I agree. You’re blowing this thing up into astronomical proportions. Fantasticno je!

  LawBreakR: Heh? Meryl, is something wrong with UR computer?

  MerylM: No. That was Bosnian (well, technically CROATIAN) for “it’s fantastic.” I’ll teach you how to pronounce it next time I talk to each of you.

  Lipstickgrrrrl: [baffled] Bosnian, Croatian, Martian. U kill me.

  LawBreakR: Me, 2. Mer, UR an overachiever, but we love ya. Anyway, I can see I’m getting no sympathy from U2, and I have 2 get ready. I’ll fill U in later. Caressa, U will have UR BlackBerry, right?

  Lipstickgrrrrl: Yep, though I can’t check it when the plane’s in the air. E or text away. TTYL!

  MerylM: Bye, Lila. Hang in there. It’ll be fun.

  LawBreakR: Riiiiight. Anyway, laters. Hey, wait!! One question.

  MerylM: I’m still here.

  Lipstickgrrrrl: Me 2.

  LawBreakR: Considering they never actually hooked up, despite having tons of chances since they spent so much time alone, do U guys think Nancy Drew’s alleged boyfriend was really her gay pal, and she was his straight cover?

  MerylM: Huh? Are you talking about Ned Nickerson?

  Lipstickgrrrrl: Gurl, what RU smoking!? Where did that come from??

  LawBreakR: Right. Whacked question. Never mind. Ignore me. Just having a mental breakdown or something. TTYL. Safe flight, Caressa. I’ll miss U!! Safe hike, Mer. E me when U2R back down from the mountain.

  *

  It wasn’t a Porsche, but it wasn’t a 1966 Dodge Dart either, which counted for something in my book. For a lot, actually. And, to be honest, I’d never wanted a Porsche. They suck in the snow, at least that’s the word on the street, no pun intended.

  I sat in the driver’s seat of the light green Subaru Outback sedan with my hands wrapped around the steering wheel in a proprietary manner. It occupied space 411 in the vast section marked “pre-owned,” which, I guess, was supposed to sound better than “used.” I don’t know, though. Applied to a different scenario, I would no more want to be “pre-owned” by a guy than I’d want to be “used” by one. But, whatever. Lingo schmingo.

  Anyway, whoever pre-owned this particular ride had taken really good care of it. It looked brand new! I sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the Patron Saint of Pre-Owners who were anal about car care.