Her Best Friend's Dad

by Penny Wylder

  “Is tomorrow too soon?” he questions. “Maybe next Saturday instead?” He’s teasing as I protest. Beck brushes his lips across the diamond ring, grinning at me like he’s won the lottery. Yeah. I can so get used to waking up to that face on the pillow beside me, even if I sort of remember him snoring when I was there for sleepovers during high school.

  Beck offers me the use of a fleet car to go home. “You should go have your talk with Tasha, and I’ll figure out how we can get through the rest of the planned events for this party in what little time we have left. Should I pick up an order of taco pizza from Mangia’s and a two liter of grape soda on my way home?” It was always Tasha’s favorite food for a late night emotional binge.

  “Yeah. That would probably be good. I think she’ll need it.” My stomach growls and my mouth waters as I think of everything else at the restaurant. “Maybe their chocolate cherry brownie pizza for dessert?” I bat my lashes as I ask.

  “We have an entire table of desserts here. We can box up anything you want.” Beck looks down at my upturned face as I frown. “What?”

  I drag his hands to my belly. “Baby wants chocolate cherry brownie pizza from Mangia’s.”

  He’s smiling indulgently as he kisses me. “Then I guess I better get a taco pizza, a dessert one, and the grape soda. Text me when you are ready for me to come home.”

  The tree canopy is so dense I can’t make out the sky, and I regret not bringing a real flashlight to make my way through the darkness. Years of sneaking through the overgrown paths grant speed to my steps, and I run through underbrush, ducking past thorny vines and branches. One snags my hair, catching, and I tug free the strands with only a wince. The blackberries growing thickly here have done worse to me in the past.

  Beck’s six acres blends into a nature preserve on the back of the property, and it’s in that no-man’s land of wilderness that Tasha and I discovered a treehouse when we were kids. We hid in the treehouse for most of a night when she accidentally broke a window trying to recreate a favorite movie scene. It was where I ran and took shelter from the world when my mom died. The treehouse witnessed all our important moments. It was where Tasha and I talked about what it was like having her parents divorced. We were even there at fourteen when she told me about letting a boy touch her barely-there boobs and how he’d gotten hard and ran away from her in embarrassment. We laughed about boys there, cried over boys there, and it was our special place long after we should have given up treehouses at the edge of spooky woods.

  It was also in our treehouse that Tasha made me promise not to sleep with her dad. It has to be there that I tell her about Beck and me. I wasn’t able to bring her to the treehouse when I first lost my virginity; being a few states away had made that conversation happening in person unlikely. All our big events had been shared in the old oak tree with its planks of wood and a rope ladder Beck had replaced with one not so dilapidated after I dislocated my shoulder falling from it.

  When I called Tasha from the company party and asked her to meet me at our old hideout, there was no asking of why or delaying it to tomorrow. She knew whatever I had to talk about was big. She promised to bring the requisite popcorn. I didn’t have the heart to tell her no. Rituals were meant to be kept, even if promises couldn’t be. I couldn’t wait. Couldn’t risk her hearing it from someone else.

  Ahead of me, the darkness is pierced with the golden glow of a lantern. At least one of us thought ahead. I only have my phone’s flashlight, and I don’t want to use up the battery that quickly. If she abandons me here, I might need it to find my way back.

  “Lia?” Tasha’s voice is uncertain, wavering as she calls out to my crashing through the underbrush.

  “Yeah. It’s me.” I emerge into the clearing surrounding our refuge and look up at the sky. The stars are brilliant overhead, unchanging to my eyes despite the years. I stumble over a gnarled root exposed in the dirt and catch myself on the tree trunk.

  My fingers close on the ladder’s rungs, and I start to haul myself up. It is harder now than six years ago, and I have little doubt that even six months from now it will be near impossible. My forehead is sweaty by the time I reach the platform, and I sort of wish I had gotten here first so Tasha doesn’t have to witness my lack of dexterity and grace. She is the gymnastics enthusiast.

  Inside, even by the yellow cast of the light, Tasha looks pale. She’s sitting cross-legged with her phone resting on one thigh. An opened bag of store-bought popcorn lies in front of her. “Watch out for the board on the right. It has mostly rotted through. The rest seems stable enough except right by the tree trunk.” She watches me as I crawl over to sit beside her. “I wish we still had blankets and pillows out here. I don’t remember the floor being so hard before.”

  “We were teenagers,” I remind her. “I hope I didn’t pull you away from Chris.” She had to work late at the gymnastics school where she works as a trainer and choreographer. Tasha had not been interested in rushing to her father’s work party when it would mean she could have a night with Chris instead.

  She shakes her head, curls springing free around her face from their bun. “No. I had just gotten home and showered when you called. Besides, if you had something to say here,” she says while patting the floorboards, “it outranks getting laid or watching him work on old cars before we go snuggle on the couch and watch movies.” We’re silent for a few minutes, both of us waiting for something…anything… to break the tension. Tasha gives in first. “What’s wrong, Lia? Are you moving away again? Please not that!”

  The lantern light gleams on her tears, and I pull her over into a hug. She sobs into my chest, shaking while she begs. “Anything but that. I just got you back, Lia. Please don’t go again!”

  I rock us both side to side, biting my lip to stave off my own tears. “No. No. I’m not going anywhere.” Making shushing sounds, I smooth back her hair and rub Tasha’s back until she calms. “I’ll be right here. Well, probably not right here unless we do a serious overhaul on the treehouse. I don’t think it’ll hold both our asses for many more years.”

  When I judge that she is ready to listen and I have the guts to tell her, I adjust our position until Tasha is leaning her head on my shoulder instead of being half in my lap. “Do you remember my promise?” It seems the most logical place to start. Jumping into the deep end and flailing in my attempt to learn to swim was always my style. Beck had been there to grab me and swing me up onto a raft for a gentler approach then. He isn’t here to save me this time, but I know he’ll be waiting with food and hugs inside when we’re ready.

  Tasha sits up, jarringly fast, and narrows her eyes. “A promise? I don’t… What did you—Oh my God!” she exclaims as the memory hits.

  The fact that she hasn’t noticed the engagement ring is lucky, and I could smack myself for forgetting that detail when I climbed. I hide my hand in my lap, readying myself for that reveal too. “I’ve been seeing your dad.” Admitting it to her seems easier than facing my father, despite my anxiety. “We didn’t plan on it, and I tried to stop seeing him so I could keep my promise to you.” My voice shakes, but I press on. “We slept together before his trip.” When she looks at me incredulously, I fake a smile and nod. “Banged the boss on my first day of work. Go me!” I pump my fist in the air half-heartedly and follow it with a sigh.

  “There’s more, Tasha. I’ve been on the pill since high school. You know that; you were there when I got my first prescription.” I stop, unsure how to say the rest.

  “Oh, boy. I think I know where this is going.” There is pain in her voice but also love.

  I open my photo album on my phone, swipe back to the right picture, and hand it over to Tasha. It’s displaying the picture I’d taken of the positive test just a few days ago. “I found out the night of my gallery, after Beck took me home from the frat party. I’m pregnant, too.” She stares at it, unspeaking. “Say something.”

  “Does my dad know?” When I nod, she asks if he knows about her. I nod agai
n. “You promised!” Her accusation stings.

  “I know, and I kept that one. I swear I did!” I promise. “Jean overheard us on the phone.” I tell her about Jean attempting to blackmail me into staying away from Beck. That leads into the public relations disaster at the party. I finish before telling her about the engagement.

  She is tense beside me. “Is that all?”

  Pinching my lips together, I shake my head. Using my best infomercial presenter voice, I say, “But wait! There’s more!” I hold out my left hand. “Your dad asked me to marry him. He proposed at the party after Jean told everyone about me being pregnant.” With Tasha stunned into silence, I launch into the story about the ring and the kitten, and even how he’s promised I can have a cat in the office, but maybe we should get one for the house instead if she doesn’t mind. I’m rambling to fill the space, waiting for a response.

  “You’ve known you’re pregnant for a few days now and didn’t tell me?” Her chin tucks down into her chest, and I watch her chew on the inside of the cheek. It’s a bad habit she hasn’t lost despite her mother’s constant scolding as a child. “Why did you wait?”

  “I felt so awful about breaking my promise. It was the only vow you ever asked me to make, and I broke it. I tried to stop everything. I didn’t want to do anything to hurt you, to hurt our friendship, but—” I stop myself from asking if she’s looked at her dad. I know that won’t go over well. “We kissed in the garage that day you got a call from Chris, and it was the best kiss of my life.” I know I’m smiling like an idiot in love when I talk about kissing Beck. “And then I tried to stop things when your dad hired me to work at Huntsworth, but we were talking up on the roof, and there were stars and good food, and it was so easy to forget that he was my best friend’s father and not just an amazing man who is as attractive inside as he is outside.

  “Beck is brilliant, kind, funny, and caring.” I don’t talk about how good he is at sex; I can already imagine the face she’ll make. “We realized we were in love somewhere along the way, no matter how much I fought against it. And then Jean outed us to everyone, and your dad proposed to me. I don’t know if that was the plan, but he had the ring. Have you seen a more perfect ring?”

  Promising me she hasn’t, Tasha asks me the hardest question of the night. So far at least. “Would you have told me if I weren’t pregnant too?”

  I honestly don’t know. I probably wouldn’t have told anyone until I started to show. Putting it to words, I know the rambling must be obnoxious, and my attempt at an explanation falls apart somewhere around my sixth apology. “I’m sorry. I’m a bad friend,” I finally end with. “You told me you were pregnant the day after I found out. You needed me. I couldn’t do more to stress you out.

  “You’re my best friend, Tasha. I love you. I hope you’ll still be my friend after this.” We’ve weathered so many things, and I need her in my life. I need my best friend for getting through pregnancy and a wedding. “I need you, Tasha. I want you to be my maid of honor when I get married. And I want us to raise our kids to be not only family but friends, too. Please tell me you can forgive me.” I can barely understand my words through my tears.

  She hugs me, pulling me tight to her chest, and it’s her turn to rock us as we embrace. The treehouse’s boards creak beneath us, and we freeze, hugging without movement. “It’s okay, Lia. It’s not like you’re moving away and leaving me here. You are my best friend forever. That is always and forever.” She looks at my dress. “That better not have come out of my closet. The lace is frayed from climbing up here, and you smell like my dad’s cologne. I don’t want to think of you getting laid by my dad while wearing my dress. That is too gross.”

  Assured it is my own dress, not one that is borrowed, Tasha hugs me again. “I didn’t plan on falling in love with Chris, but I did. I understand that we can’t choose who we love. And I understand hiding things because we’re scared about how people will react. Is my dad mad?” she asks.

  Thinking of his reaction at the party, I try to figure out how to explain his thoughts on the situation. “He’s shocked, but he isn’t mad. He is sort of too excited about me being pregnant to have anything make him mad. Except for Jean,” I correct. “So, if there’s anything else you want to spring on him, now might be the perfect time. You could finally fess up about the nail polish stains in the formal living room.” They had to get the square of carpet cut out and replaced because Carrie had refused to get a rug to hide it.

  “Do you think he would accept me moving in with Chris?”

  I rest my head on hers, coconspirators of the future. “The house is huge. I could move in, and Chris could move in, and we’d still have room for two nurseries and more.” We muse over the weeks and months to come, sharing our experiences with morning sickness we had longed to talk about. After so many years of sharing everything, it is lightening, an unburdening, to open up to Tasha without a filter on my thoughts.

  An hour or more has passed when she starts giggling. “Lia, does this mean I have to call you ‘Mom’ now?”

  I make a face, wrinkling my nose. “I’ll make out with your dad in front of you anytime you do.” It’s a threat that will be a pleasure to fulfill. “We should go back to the house. Your dad is getting you a taco pizza.”

  I text Beck, letting him know we’re on our way to the house, and he writes back immediately for us to take our time and be safe. It’s weird not hiding the smile his text gives me, and I take a moment to let it all sink in. I’m marrying Beck and having his baby. His daughter is my best friend and going to be the maid of honor—or matron of honor since she’ll probably get married sooner than we do. My father isn’t disowning me, but I am getting Jean out of all our lives. I can’t help but do a happy dance once I’m back on the ground.

  Tasha bangs her shoulder into mine as we walk, head down as we try to keep to the beam of light made by the lantern she carries. “I was wondering if you would mind, or think my dad would mind too much, if I invited Chris here. He should probably be part of any discussions that take place.”

  “I’m good with that. I think it’s a great idea. Just, Tasha,” I say, “Chris isn’t allowed to call me ‘Mom’ either. I will kick him in the junk for getting my best friend pregnant. He didn’t even ask my permission before doing so. How rude!”

  We giggle for most of the walk, and Tasha lets us into the house through the back-porch door. “Dad’s home. I can smell the pizza.”

  Beck’s sitting up on the kitchen counter, long legs almost all the way to the ground, and I cross the room to him for a kiss. It’s short and sweet out of respect to Tasha, but no less warm. “Lia,” he breathes against my neck. “Your brownie pizza is in the warming tray, and there’s ice cream in the freezer in case you want it.” Beck peers over my shoulder at Tasha, and I turn to see her staring at her feet. “How are you feeling, Tasha?”

  She shifts back and forth, fidgeting beneath his stare. “A little hungry but fine.”

  They keep to this banter of small talk until I can’t take the tension anymore. “Okay, you two. Beck, she’s your daughter. You know she’s pregnant. You still love her.” I point to Tasha. “And, you, this is your dad. He still loves you and isn’t mad. He even got you your favorite pizza. Now, hug it out so we can go eat. I’m hungry.”

  Epilogue

  Beck

  I pluck at the sleeve of my tuxedo jacket, wondering if the color is what Lia envisioned when she told the tailor “I want him in midnight blue, not cornflower blue or sapphire, and definitely not navy. Midnight.” She was slightly over two months along at that point, far less miserable than she is now. She had returned the first two fabric samples with a politely worded note for him to try again. If this didn’t meet her expectations…

  I guess that’s what happens when you propose to an artist.

  She designed her wedding gown down to the tiny flower ribbon things she wanted sewn onto it. As long as Lia is happy with everything, I will be. I am ready to start our forever; the de
tails are minor to me. It seems like the past six months have been nothing but wedding plans, and I’m glad that today means I don’t have to answer another question about which type of fork I like better or what pattern I want on the plates we are renting from the catering company. There are reasons I give a theme to a planning committee and then let them have their way with the parties at work.

  We were up until almost midnight—Lia, Tasha, Chris, and me—finishing the party favors Lia wanted to give all the guests. There were homemade bubble wands that curved to make our initials, glass vials of bubble solution, and little fabric bags of flower petals. Lia claimed they were sachets to make everything smell pretty. I’m fairly certain they were originally intended for a different project that she knew we didn’t have time for and turned them into potpourri as a last minute gift.

  “How is Lia?” Paul is sitting on the arm of my favorite chair in my study, nervously rubbing his hands on his knees. He has been here since shortly after breakfast time, vacillating between being unsure if he’s ready to walk his daughter down the aisle or if he’s excited to see Lia in her dress. She’s let me see her through all the fittings, wanting my opinion every step of the way, but she wanted it to be a surprise for everyone else. After the rocky start we had thanks to her former step-mother, Lia and I have worked hard at communicating. We talk until we think we’re done talking, then clarify our positions one more time. Usually, our conversations end with us sweaty, sticky, and exhausted from great sex. After being interrupted while outside near the pool, Tasha and Lia developed a series of colored scarves that they’d leave around the house as warnings.

  “Lia is not puking, which she’s grateful for,” I answer him. “She is pretty tired and sore, though.” Her bouts of morning sickness and all day sickness subsided as she reached the third trimester, but our little one’s constant movement is keeping Lia up at night. As much as I hate seeing her so miserable, the entire process of the pregnancy amazes me. “I think she got up to pee at least three times last night.” I managed to stay awake through two of them, trying to be supportive.