Her mother called the place a “work in progress,” and the Fosters were using Tinka and Jane as cheap labor. Jane saw no problem with this. But, for Tinka, the house wasn’t the only issue. There was also the golf.
Today her dad had woken her up at six o’clock and driven her immediately to the resort course for a round of eighteen. When they returned, she’d barely had time to wolf down a room-temperature sandwich (the perils of having no fridge), before her mom handed her a roller and ordered her to start painting the guest bedroom on the second floor.
“We can do this every day.” Her dad had cheerfully hauled a new vanity up to the guest room. “We’ll golf in the morning and then fix this house the way we want it in the afternoon. It’s going to be a great summer.”
Tinka nearly drowned herself in a gallon of dove gray latex paint right then and there. She was on a hamster wheel of torture, yet she kept smiling. Twenty-four hours down; so, so, so, so many more to go.
She did have to give her parents credit for one thing: they hadn’t put out any Christmas decorations. At least not yet. Outside the resort, the town of North Pole was a year-round winter wonderland. Grown adults had painted their fairytale cottage-esque homes with an array of candy-colored paint. Though it was June and fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk hot, most of the houses still boasted holiday decorations on their lawns. Tinka was fairly certain she’d wandered into a cult.
Even the infamous Mark and Trish were in on this nonsense. They had a plastic Santa with his reindeer on the roof and a gigantic, illuminated blowup menorah on the lawn in front of their blue and green Victorian home.
When Tinka stepped inside, the sweat on her arms evaporated immediately. She’d never take air conditioning for granted again.
Jane hugged Trish like an old friend and said, “Your house is beautiful. I love the Christmas decorations in June. So edgy.”
“They’re for Christmas in July. We don’t keep this stuff out all year.” She turned to Tinka with a wink. “Don’t judge us. Please.”
Trish didn’t seem so bad, but maybe Tinka was just feeling charitable because of the A/C.
In the living room, Trish introduced the girls to her husband, Mark, who immediately handed Tinka’s dad a beer and her mom a glass of wine.
Tinka sat on the couch, which, unlike the ones at her parents’ house, was soft and velvety and not covered by a plastic drop cloth. She observed her mom and dad like she was watching a play and they were the actors. Her parents didn’t drink, really, other than the occasional beverage at a wedding or whatever. Maybe that was because back in Minneapolis they didn’t have many friends. But now they had Mark and Trish, apparently.
Her parents clinked glasses and took swigs of their drinks. They weren’t pretending. They were actually consuming the alcohol. Tinka got the sense that they’d done this before, possibly more than once.
The house smelled overwhelmingly like lavender, which was coming from one of those flameless candle warmers her friend Karen’s mom used to have around the house. “What’s for dinner tonight?” Tinka asked, making sure to smile pleasantly.
“Burgers and brats.” Trish beckoned them to follow her. “But not ’til way later. Right now it’s happy hour on the deck.”
“Fun!” Jane said.
Tinka started sweating despite the air conditioning. Dinner was merely a concept at this point. The Fosters were at Mark and Trish’s for the long haul.
“We’re so glad to have you all over.” Trish lit a citronella candle on the table outside as her guests grabbed seats. It was needed. Tinka had already swatted away three mosquitoes. “Your mom and dad come for dinner all the time.”
“Whenever we need a home-cooked meal, which is pretty much every night.” Her dad touched glasses with Trish.
Tinka stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“So, you girls go to boarding school?” Trish sipped her wine.
“We do,” Jane said. “In South Carolina. I’m from Charleston originally.”
“But your parents’ live in Dubai?”
Jane accepted a glass of pop from Mark. “For now. My dad’s opening a hotel there. They come home to the states for the summer, but they’re going back again in the fall.”
“It’s so nice that you have Tinka’s family to stay with while they’re gone.”
“Very.” Jane squeezed Tinka’s knee. “She’s a great friend.”
Tinka nearly choked on her pop. “Great friend” was so not an apt description.
Mark plopped an unmarked bottle in the middle of the table. The entire party so far was just glasses clinking and liquids sloshing. There was one tiny bowl of guacamole and blue corn chips as an appetizer, but that was it in the way of sustenance.
“Homemade Limoncello. Moonshine.” Trish poured four shots. Moonshine, shots, and very little food. Mark and Trish were living in a frat house.
Tinka’s dad waved Trish off. “None for me. I’m driving.”
“I can drive,” Jane offered.
He tossed back the moonshine. “Well, okay then.”
Tinka jumped up. Though she was outside, claustrophobia hit her and she scanned the yard, looking for an out. She needed to walk, to escape this scene of her parents doing shots with Mark and Trish. “Bathroom,” she said, already making her way toward the house.
“Just off the kitchen!” Trish shouted.
Inside, Tinka booked it right to the powder room, where she splashed cold water on her face and rested her hands on the sink, letting the water drip down her cheeks and into the bowl.
She was in a parallel universe where her parents were happy and liked to drink moonshine with their friends. She’d spent the past six months worried sick about them. Her mom had gone from calling Tinka five times a day to calling her two times a week. Tinka had assumed they’d been lost while she’d been at school, that they’d drifted into despair without her there to reel them in. But no. They’d been fine without her. Better than fine. They had Mark and Trish.
Tinka wiped the last of the water from her face and returned to the patio. She’d fake an illness. She’d say she needed to go home, so could they please stop doing shots for a minute and let Jane drive them all back to the house?
As she stepped out the sliding glass door to the patio, she heard Jane asking, “I have to know. Why did you decide to move here?”
Tinka paused at the door, waiting for the answer. Her parents stared at each other with tilted heads and faint grins. Eventually, Tinka’s mother pulled her eyes away from her husband’s and said, “We used to talk about moving here years ago.”
Tinka said, “Here? North Pole?” All eyes swung to her. “I never knew that. Not once in seventeen years have I ever heard you even mention this place.”
Her mom’s eyes turned glassy. She smiled. “We used to come here all the time before you were born.”
Tinka knew what that meant—they used to come here with Jake, back when life was perfect and they were happy. Tinka prepared herself for an emotional breakdown, but it didn’t come. Her mom tickled her dad’s arm, and he rested his head on her shoulder.
Mark and Trish grinned at them like they were all in on this together, and wasn’t that just fantastic?
Jane gazed at the Fosters with a dreamy, satisfied expression. “That’s so sweet.”
It wasn’t sweet. It was weird. These were not Tinka’s parents. “Really, though. Why now?” What she didn’t ask about was the catalyst for this emotional breakthrough. Did it have something to do with her being gone all year? Maybe Tinka’s presence really had been the thing keeping them in life limbo for sixteen years. She ran her fingers along the rough, warm brick behind her.
“Right house, right time,” her dad said. End of story.
So, he didn’t think she deserved a straight answer, not even after she’d spent her entire existence bending over backward to keep them happy and make their lives easier. She opened her mouth to tell them she needed to leave, but she didn’t get the chance.
“Excuse me.”
Tinka stepped out of the way on instinct, and turned to see a guy maybe a few years older than her stepping through the door.
Trish jumped up and ran to hug him. “Dylan!” She grabbed his arm and led him over to the patio table. “Everyone, this is our son, Dylan. Dylan, these are the Fosters. And Jane.”
Still hovering near the door, ready to escape at any time, Tinka sensed Dylan’s eyes on her. He was cute in an obvious, preppy, rich boy kind of way, and she suspected he knew it. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know she’d noticed him even the teensiest bit. He was nothing special. Her boarding school was full of Dylan Greenes.
Tinka’s dad stood and shook Dylan’s hand. “Eleanor and I have heard so much about you.” He glanced over at Tinka and nodded toward Dylan. “Duke golf team.”
“Good for Dylan.” Tinka folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the sun-baked brick wall.
Jane couldn’t take her eyes off this guy, but Tinka gave her a pass. Jane had only recently broken up with her boyfriend of three years (shudder, Colin) and was new to the dating scene. She didn’t know that Dylan, Colin, and half the other guys like them at Florian’s were avoid-at-all-costs kinds of guys. “Tinka’s on the golf team at our school.”
“She’s there to work with Gregor Kiln,” Tinka’s dad said.
“The golf coach?” Dylan’s jaw dropped as he turned toward Tinka. “Impressive.”
Tinka’s dad pulled out the chair next to him and urged Dylan to sit. “You know, Duke is on our college shortlist.”
Tinka gawked at her dad. What? They—she and her father—had a college short list? Since when?
“We’ll have to get together for a round sometime.” Tinka’s dad glanced over at her. “Wouldn’t that be fun, Tinka?”
“Wonderful.” Great. Now not just more golf, but golf with a skeevy guy who couldn’t take his eyes off her. This summer was going to be aces.
Trish took another pull on her wine. “You know, Eleanor and I were talking, maybe you two should hang out together sometime—”
“Get to know each other,” Tinka’s mom added. “You might wind up at the same college, after all.”
This was a setup. Tinka’s gut had been right. Dread had been the appropriate emotion for this occasion. Her survival instincts had been doing their job.
A knowing smile played on Dylan’s lips. “I’d definitely be up for that, if Tinka is.” He really had the preppy god bit down pat. Well, he was barking up the wrong tree. Tinka ate guys like him for lunch, and she had lost her appetite.
She reached behind her and pulled open the sliding glass door.
“Where are you going, hon?” Her mom patted the chair next to her. “Come on over. Get to know the Greenes.”
Tinka’s claustrophobia was back. She was suffocating here, not just in this house, but in this town. She’d spent the day golfing and doing hard labor because she was the good daughter, because she’d always been expected to go along with whatever her parents asked of her. She’d never questioned them, ever.
But now they were messing with her love life. They were asking her to throw herself at their new BFFs’ son, whom they’d handpicked for her. The way her mom was looking at her right now, it was like she’d thrown all her hopes and dreams into this potential relationship.
Of course they’d expect her to go along with it, no questions asked. She’d never, ever pushed back on anything, and she couldn’t start now. She was only going to be here for a few months. Tinka shut the door, dragged herself back to the patio, and sat next to her mother. She’d give Dylan a shot, for her parents’ sake.
…
“It has been decided, Craig. The people have spoken. It’s Christopher Guest night, and we’re showing Waiting for Guffman.” Sam was manning the register at the shop where he worked. Every Saturday night, Maurice’s Video Store showed a different movie in the back room. It had been a North Pole tradition for decades and the hot date spot for high school students—watching old movies in a dark room on saggy couches and old beanbag chairs.
Craig Cooper, however, was not in high school, nor was he here on a date. He was here to bully Sam into showing the movie he wanted to see. The twenty-something DJ/sporting goods store employee hiked up his mom jeans. “For Your Consideration is better.”
“You know it’s not.” Sam handed Craig his complimentary popcorn and pop of his choosing—in Craig’s case, a can of Mellow Yellow. “You only like For Your Consideration because literally no one else does.”
“This attitude is not a good look on you, Sam.” Craig stepped away from the counter.
“Take it up with the manager.” Sam nodded to the back room, where the owner of the video store, Maurice Gibbons, was setting up the movie.
Sam peered into the screening room as Craig opened the door. There were only a few people there so far, but it was still early. He checked the popcorn machine and restocked the fridge. Then he resumed his place behind the register and watched people file past the shop.
North Pole changed identities with the seasons. At Christmastime, there were constant crowds. Visitors merrily skipped through the snow, stopping to chat with elves and check out festive window decorations. The locals pushed past tourists, avoiding Main Street, patronizing the few places frequented only by those who lived here—Mags’s Diner, the library, and, yes, this movie shop.
After the holidays, things slowed to a crawl, which Sam loved. January was an exhale. Suddenly the streets weren’t as crowded, and the people who remained were familiar faces—the locals—who’d come out of hiding. This year had been especially fun because the Princes had run a contest that had everyone running around town in parkas and hats, interacting with one another.
In summer there was more intermingling between the guests and the townies—local girls and guys falling for people who were here for the summer. Maybe it was simply because everyone happened to be wearing much less clothing.
Sam perked up as the door swung open and in came his friend, Brian Garland, who, like Sam, had recently graduated from North Pole High. Brian held the door for a small brunette.
“Hey, buddy.” Brian put a few bills on the counter. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going.” Sam nodded to the girl. “New friend?”
“That’s Abby. She’s from Canada.”
Sam tucked Brian’s money inside the register.
As Abby wandered off to check out the horror section, Brian whispered, “She’s a gymnast. Maybe she has a friend for you.”
Sam’s siblings weren’t the only ones trying to pair him off. “I’m good, thanks.” His mind went right to the girl on the Fosters’ balcony, something that had been happening all day, despite the fact that Dottie had been texting him non-stop over the past twenty-four hours. “Hey. Do you know anything about the family who moved in next door to me?”
Brian took the popcorn and shoved a handful into his mouth. “The Fosters.”
Sam nodded.
“The guy comes into Santabucks once in a while, but that’s it. He likes non-fat cappuccinos.” Brian’s mom owned the coffee shop.
“Nothing about a daughter?”
Brian made sure Abby wasn’t listening in before he whispered, “Daughter?”
“She kind of…showed up. I was wondering.”
Brian grinned. “You were ‘wondering.’” He put the “wondering” in air quotes.
Blushing, Sam waved him off. “In a neighborly way.”
“Sure, Sam,” said Brian. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
Brian and Abby headed into the screening room as a group of high school students filed in. Sam was so busy taking their money and slinging popcorn, that he hadn’t noticed Dottie Gold was among them. After everyone else headed toward the back, Dottie remained up front. Sam busied himself wiping down the counter.
He’d regretted texting Dottie as soon as he’d pressed “send” last night. She’d responded
seconds later, saying she was happy to hear from him and that she’d love to hang out sometime. Then she started sending him diatribes about all the people she hated at North Pole High and what they had done to slight her. Sam was starting to think that maybe she wasn’t so much the misunderstood nerd as she was the girl in the horror flick who vows to destroy her enemies.
“Is the movie any good?” Dottie still had her hair up in the blue buns, and she was wearing a dress with a movie ticket print, as if it was her uniform for nights like this.
Sam handed her a bag of popcorn. “It is good. A classic. And it’s about to start.”
“That’s okay.” She leaned against the counter. “I’ll wait for you.”
“You don’t have to.” Shit. This was her cashing in on his offer to “hang out.”
Sam cast about for something, anything to do that would give him the appearance of being busy. The look on Dottie’s face was one Sam was familiar with, though it was not a look normally directed at him.
Brian’s brother, Danny, came in with his girlfriend, Star, and Sam sent the pair into the screening room armed with popcorn and two cans of ice cold Diet Sunkist.
Dottie sneered. “Star Lyons.”
“What’s wrong with Star?” He asked the question, even though he knew the answer was Star had somehow done something rude to Dottie at some point.
Dottie turned to Sam with a sly grin on her face. “I was in charge of the cake for her sweet sixteen last year. I swapped flour for the powdered sugar in the frosting.”
Sam wrinkled his nose. “Ew.”
“It was ew.” Her eyebrow twitched. “Star had been planning that party for months, and she even came in several different times to taste the cake. Such a bummer it didn’t turn out well.” She brushed something invisible off her shoulder. “Aunt Nancy changed the locks on me after that, but it was worth it. Besides, there are other ways in.”
“Your aunt’s the baker, though. Didn’t she get in trouble?”
Dottie waved him off. “She gave Star store credit or something. No big.”
“Kind of big,” Sam said. “That’s your aunt’s livelihood.”
Artificial Sweethearts (North Pole, Minnesota) Page 3