Father Knows Best

by Lynda Sandoval

  “Yeah.” The smile lines around his eyes deepened, and he pressed his lips into a flat line. “Sounded like a cat with its tail stuck in a door. Horrible.”

  I gave a watery chuckle.

  Dad reached across the table and took one of my hands in his. “I’ll always love her, Lila. No one can or ever will replace your mother in my heart.”

  “I know.”

  “You remind me so much of her, m’ija, now that you’re a young woman. I catch a glimpse of you sometimes and it’s like a kick in my gut.”

  Great. Now I really wanted to cry. Sob, really. The kind with drool and boogers and irreparable public humiliation. I staved it off, albeit with considerable effort. “You’ve always put us kids first, for so many years. You deserve to be with someone you like. Someone who gets you.” I shrugged. “If that’s Chloe, then it’s Chloe, regardless of the fact that she’s my boyfriend’s mom. I’m sorry if I was a jerk about it before.”

  “You weren’t. I would never think badly of you for feeling what you feel.” He reached across the table and cupped my chin. “You’ve really grown up recently, you know that?”

  “I’m trying. But, man, growing up sucks.”

  “You’re a whiz at it.”

  I sat a bit straighter, proud that he thought so. “So, about this Friday?”

  “Consider it done.” He smacked his palm flat on the table. “I’ll stay home alone, the perfect spinster dad.”

  I laughed. “I don’t think a guy can be a spinster.” Could he? I’d have to ask Meryl. She’d know. “But thank you anyway.”

  “De nada. Anything for my baby girl.”

  We dug into our burgers, then, the air cleared like it hadn’t been all summer. In between bites, I decided, since I was on a roll, I might as well throw down the big mondo request. “Can I ask for one more thing?”

  “Sure.” He eyed me. “As long as it doesn’t involve a keg for your party.”

  “Dad!” I bugged my eyes with indignance. “Get a grip. It’s me, Meryl, and a pregnant girl, for God’s sake!”

  “Good point. Plus I was joking. Okay, shoot.”

  I gulped and doubted myself. But if I was going to bring it up, now was the time. “If you and Chloe decide to, like, move in together…or get married, can you at least wait until Dylan and I are both in college? I just can’t bear the thought of my boyfriend living in the same house with me.”

  Dad leaned his head back and laughed out loud. “That statement is music to a father’s ears, babe,” he said. “And of course. You have my word.”

  I sigh-smiled.

  “Just so you know, Chloe and I haven’t even broached the topic of taking our relationship to that level.”

  My tummy flopped. “It’s okay if you have, and really, I don’t need details.” Gak! “But thank you. Again.”

  That settled, we relaxed and enjoyed the rest of our meal, the conversation centering around Jennifer’s predicament (my dad was shockingly compassionate—although I don’t know why that surprised me), next year’s plans for the Junior Narcs (yes, after all my whining last year, I’d decided to stick with it another year anyway since the heinous uniform was broken in and all that—so what?), and an update on Caressa’s adventures in the big city, including the recently gleaned fact that she has a hottie boyfriend.

  As I wadded my greasy burger wrapper into a ball and stuffed it into the empty French fry container, I decided I have a pretty awesome dad. Okay, so he jacks up my life on a fairly regular basis, but I suppose that’s just part of his fatherly duties. Being female, I couldn’t be sure. In any case, Chloe wouldn’t be spending the night during our slumber party, so no parental sex awkwardness, and Dylan wouldn’t be witnessing my morning bed head anytime soon.

  Two fewer worries for moi.

  Plus, I felt…grown up. Closer to my dad.

  I’d dealt with the situation head-on rather than freaking out about it like usual. Excellent results for one dinner’s worth of work, if I do say so myself.

  I decided I would indeed have a Burger Wonderful evening.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next afternoon, Ismet and Dylan surprised Meryl and me by picking us up from work for a treat at I Scream. Can we pause for a moment and reflect on just how cool it is to (1) actually have boyfriends after being guy repellant for so long, and (2) have the kind who think to pick you up for surprise ice cream dates?!? This time last year, I was destined to be one of those thirty-year-old virgins from the movies. Being an almost-eighteen-year-old virgin? A-OK with me. A thirty-year-old virgin? Whooooole different ball game, folks.

  Sunlight streamed down onto Main Street as the four of us ambled toward the ice cream parlor with that carefree summer attitude of having all the time in the world. If I could swing a butterfly net around and capture Everything Good in the Universe, that’s how life felt to me right then. Flowers cascaded out of giant urns spaced along the sidewalk, and the air smelled sweet and juicy, like a slice of watermelon. Perfect afternoon, perfect friendship, perfect boyfriend, perfect simple surprise.

  I slid my hand into Dylan’s and moved closer. We shared one of those private BF / GF smiles as we listened to Ismet relate his tale of a harrowing encounter with a rattlesnake earlier that afternoon. (Ismet won.)

  Ismet, incidentally, had scored a job on a landscaping crew for the summer, and—all snake encounters aside—the outdoor, physical work agreed with him big time. He was looking mighty tan and muscular. I’d say Meryl was a lucky girl, but anyone who really knew Mer would agree that Ismet was a lucky guy.

  Meryl’s just…totally stellar.

  Unique, quirky, but definitely top shelf. I mean, look how she’d opened her heart to Jennifer when she had no logical reason to do so. That’s the coolest thing about both of my best friends. I wanted to be more like each of them, just in different ways.

  At I Scream, we ordered, then settled at an umbrella table with our goodies and continued talking about our various work days while we ate. Meryl told us about some weird lady from Troublesome Gulch, a nearby town, who’d brought in all the clothes she’d purchased from the secondhand shop to have them “exorcised” of their previous owners’ karmas. Hilarious, I tell you. Dylan had taught a seventy-five-year-old lady how to grass ski that day, and apparently she kicked ass.

  I’d done my usual Office Assistant duties, dull in comparison to a poisonous snake, a garment exorcism, and an athletic grandma, but I was able to share that Alan had booked an older couple on a freaky-expensive, four-month, round-the-world trip that morning—a total score for the agency. We’re talking thousands of dollars, a full college education worth of cashola, with out-of-state tuition, books, and beer included.

  Just perusing their itinerary was enough to make me drool (and—how much does this rule—they’re making a stop in Phuket!).

  Dylan finished his gigantic, repulsive waffle cone concoction from hell about the same time I savored the last bite of my single scoop (butter pecan—duh) in a cup. He took my trash and his and chucked them in the bin, then sat down next to me again. Ismet and Meryl were still eating.

  He looked around the table at each of us in turn. “What do you guys think about having a marathon Monopoly tournament on Friday night?” Dylan asked. “Couple versus couple? Winners take all?”

  “All of what?” Meryl asked, ever the pragmatist.

  I flicked a glance at her. “That would be fun, but Meryl and I…kind of have a thing on Friday.”

  “A thing?” Dylan asked.

  Ismet nodded once. “Ah, that is the night of the birthday sleepover at Lila’s for the pregnant girl, yes?”

  Shoot. The ice cream curdled in my gut.

  “Yep,” Meryl said, cheerily. “I just bought her present today. I think she’ll like it. In fact, I know she will. Have you shopped for a gift yet, Lila?”

  I felt like I had a wasp in my throat. A pissed-off wasp. “Um, no. Not yet. I’ve been busy.” Yeah, just swamped
staring at my ceiling for hours on end.

  I suck.

  Clearly she and Ismet had discussed The Big Event.

  As for me? Well, let’s just say my girlfriend ranking dipped instantly, because I hadn’t said word one to Dylan about Jennifer coming over. Why? Because it seemed sticky, and avoidance had always been so convenient for me, sort of my Way of Life. Caressa even gave me a coffee mug for Christmas last year that says, “Hard work may pay off eventually, but procrastination always pays off now.” So profound.

  But now I’d been outed, so I had some ’splaining to do.

  I met Dylan’s surprised and curious gaze, silently pleading with him to wait. I tried to telegraph the message that I’d tell him everything later, that it was no biggie, and that I really did L-word him and hadn’t meant to be a jerk. Hard to convey all that in one glance, but I threw out my best shot.

  He studied my expression, then gave an almost imperceptible nod. “That’s cool. I have the whole weekend free. How about Saturday night, then?”

  “Works for me,” Meryl said.

  “Me, too,” Ismet said.

  I still hadn’t found my voice, what with the wasp, so I just nodded. And, despite the gorgeous afternoon and the super fun surprise, I really, really wanted to break up the ice cream social ASAP so I could come clean to Dylan before this lie of omission came back to bite me in the ass.

  We continued to make small talk, but seriously, the moment Meryl and Ismet finished their shared banana split (yes, they’re that cute), I smacked my palms together once then rubbed them rapidly. “I hate to eat and run,” I said, in an overly chipper tone, “but I have something to do for my dad.”

  “No problem,” Meryl said, with a smile. “I promised my mom I’d go through my closet and gather all the things I no longer wear so we can take them to charity before the school year starts. Maybe I should have the karma exorcised out of them first.”

  The guys laughed.

  “I’ll call you later to firm up the plans for Friday, Lila.”

  “Okay.” I glanced up at Dylan, who’d already stood. Gulp. “Do you have time to walk me home?”

  “Definitely,” he said, the muscle in his jaw clenching. That one word was packed with so much meaning, I can’t even tell you. Problem was, I didn’t possess the decoder ring to decipher the message.

  We did the hug-hug good-bye ritual all around, then Dylan and I headed off toward my house. For the first block, I couldn’t come up with a way to launch this particular squirmy-icky-blechy conversation. Luckily, I didn’t have to. Dylan gets me, so he’s always good about pushing me out of procrastination city.

  “So,” he started. “A birthday sleepover for the pregnant girl?” His tone sounded more mystified than pisstified.

  A positive sign. I think.

  I sighed. “Let’s stop in the park and I’ll tell you all about it. Do you have time?”

  His brow furrowed. “I have all the time in the world, but I thought you had an errand to do for your dad.”

  “Oh.” I flipped my hand, feeling all busted and stuff. “Actually, that was sort of…a lie.”

  He studied me with pity, then shook his head. “You really should stop with the lying stuff, Lila.”

  “But it was a harmless lie. A lie with purpose!” I spread my arms. “I just wanted time alone with you to explain what’s up.”

  He nodded, lips pressed together. I still couldn’t read him, and that freaked me out.

  I stared at him.

  He stared at me. “Is this when the explanation part happens? I’m just trying to get the timeline down.”

  “Come on.” I grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the gazebo. We settled on top of the empty picnic table beneath it, our feet resting side by side on the seat bench. The shade felt comfortably cool on my overheated skin, helping me relax. I wound my fingers together in a decent rendition of a Celtic knot and blew out a sigh. “So, the thing is, in a moment of…I don’t know…weakness, idiocy, you name it, I invited Jennifer for a sleepover. With Meryl and me. Friday.”

  “I gathered that part,” he said, in a wry tone.

  “Right.” I stared at the ground. Why was it always so difficult to get to the heart of a discussion like this? I plunged back in. “Does it wig you out?” He didn’t answer for so long, I glanced over. “Does it?”

  “No.”

  “Seriously, Dylan.”

  “I am being serious. It’s not that. I’m glad you and Jennifer aren’t doing the whole mutual hate thing anymore. That scratchy girl-fight stuff always makes me uncomfortable.”

  “She started it.”

  “I know.” He hesitated.

  I thought about further arguing the fact that I had never once engaged in a scratch fight with the chick, but decided that was a tangent not worth pursuing. “But?”

  He reached over and wrangled one of my hands out of its knot so he could hold it. “I guess I’m just curious why didn’t you tell me.”

  “Oh.” That. I shoulda known.

  “Meryl told Ismet.”

  “Yes, but Ismet never dated Jennifer.” The hand-holding thing eased my worry a bit. He even massaged my knuckles. But still.

  “Weak argument. Come up with something better.”

  I twisted my lips, thinking. “Just because, I don’t know.”

  He scoffed. “Even weaker. Geez, Moreno, I used that argument in third grade.”

  I forced out a frustrated breath. “Okay. Because it seems bizarre and dangerous, even to me, that I’m willingly hosting your ex-girlfriend-slash-my former archenemy at my house. On a variety of levels. So I figured it would be even more bizarre to you.”

  “Then why are you doing it?”

  I chewed on the question. Brain malady? It was the kind of excuse the old, immature Lila would’ve jumped on, but I knew it wasn’t true. I thought about Jennifer at the coffee shop, and that pang of sympathy returned. “A few reasons, I guess. I’ve gotten to know her a little better since she’s been hanging with Meryl, for one thing. I’ve decided maybe she’s not from hell. Maybe only purgatory.”

  He stretched the corners of his mouth down and weighed it. “A step up, I guess.”

  “Plus, her parents are jackasses.”

  “True.”

  “And so are her friends. Ex-friends, make that.”

  “Isn’t Miffany still dating your brother?” he asked.

  “Yes. Hork.” I feigned the finger-down-the-throat action. “But they won’t be around Friday or it would never work.”

  He nodded, pursing his lips. I could tell things weren’t completely settled between us yet, despite my—if I do say myself—excellent display of raw honesty.

  I looked into his eyes beseechingly. “Listen. The invitation itself was spur of the moment, Dyl. I don’t know. It just blurted out. She’s turning eighteen and, like, no one was going to celebrate with her because she’s knocked—I mean, pregnant. That seems so harsh.”

  “Okay. I get that.”

  Startled, I asked, “You do?”

  He nodded again, then spoke in his version of a snark tone, which, incidentally, wouldn’t even warrant an associate membership in the Snark and Sarcasm Society. Props for trying though. “I know I’ve been hiding it behind a total jerkoff demeanor, but I’m actually a pretty reasonable guy.”

  “I never thought you were a jerkoff—which is a gross word, by the way.” Or is it wordS, as in plural? Meryl would probably say it was two words, hyphenated, but I had no plans to ask her the proper spelling and / or usage of jerkoff.

  “Sorry.”

  I rolled his apology off one shoulder. “I’m glad you understand because I’m not even sure I understand,” I muttered, refocusing on my feet. “I mean, I still don’t know if I want to be friends with the chick.”

  “Cut yourself some slack. And her. It was a nice, selfless gesture and it’s one measly night. She’s not so bad when she’s not with her pack.”
>
  “She’s packless at the moment. Pack-free. Unpacked—well, forget that one.”

  “Niiice,” Dylan said, sardonically.

  “My point—”

  “And you do have one—”

  “—is that she’s a lone wolf. A lone pregnant wolf, and if Disney made the movie, her parents would’ve been killed by hunters within the first two minutes of screen time. I always hated that about Disney animal movies.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Hence the invite.”

  He leaned over and kissed my temple. “It’s cool, Lila. Really. The invitation’s not even the issue.”

  I blinked toward him. “Then what is?”

  He shrugged. “I’m hurt that you felt you couldn’t tell me about it.”

  My heart shot into my throat as panic set in. “Not telling you didn’t mean anything. Honest. I’m ooged out, that’s all.” And frankly, I didn’t want to have another fight with him. About anything. Ever.

  He brushed my hair behind my ear. “But we’re a couple, Ly. Tight.”

  I leaned against him. “I know.”

  “So why can’t you talk to me about oog stuff?”

  “I can!” I widened my eyes. “I mean, don’t I always? You’ve been a witness to my neuroses more than anyone in the world besides my family or Meryl and Caressa.”

  He smirked. “Okay, you have me on that one.”

  I lifted our joined hands up and kissed the back of his. “I guess it’s just because the whole situation is…beyond strange. For one, she’s your ex-girlfriend—”

  “Ancient history.”

  “I know. But it still feels wiggy.”

  He didn’t respond.

  I squinched my nose. “I give. Not telling you was dumb and I admit it. I know all about your relationship with Jennifer, how it was. I should’ve told you right away and been confident that you’d be the coolest boyfriend ever about the whole stupid thing.” I paused. “I made a mistake. Probably the first of many. Do you accept my humble apology?”

  “Depends.” He tilted his chin down and eyed me. “Do you promise to be more open with me?”