Kiss and Tell 3 (4 page)

“Kirby?” Mom shouted. She wasn’t screaming or hollering, just talking loudly. “Where are you, honey?”

I heard Mom twisting my doorknob and had just enough time to remove my hand from my pants before she entered. I had no idea how long I’d been sleeping, but the light coming through my windows was still bright, and my fingers were still wet and slippery.

“How did today go?” Mom asked, walking into my room as if she had free range. I ran my fingers over my shirt, hoping to wipe away any lingering scent of my self-gratification.

“Okay,” I said, sitting up in bed. I was a little dazed. I’d just woken up, mind you. “I got a call from Dessert Oasis, in town. They want me to come in for an interview on Wednesday.”

I was so proud of what I had to tell Mom, but she just looked at me as if I were crazy. ‘That’s good,” she said, hawing over her words. “But what happened at Parker & Swift this morning? I tried calling you earlier, but there was no answer.”

Shit!
So much had gone on that I wasn’t supposed to tell my parents about that I’d forgotten to mention what I
was
supposed to tell them about.

“Oh,” I said, pulling my story back together. “Mr. Swift had an urgent last-minute appointment this morning and had to reschedule… I don’t know when I’ll get to see him again, but he said he’d have someone call me.”

Just then, it hit me—what if London took Anthony up on his job offer? What would my mom think about
him
getting a job at Parker & Swift when I didn’t get one? Surely that wouldn’t sit well with her! That was just another crack in the story Anthony and I would have to tend to.

“I see,” Mom said, somewhat crestfallen. She glanced at the nightstand beside me and saw my folded-up scrap of paper, the one I’d written my interview information on. The words “Dessert Oasis” were obvious on it, and I’d drawn a hot, steaming pie next to it.

“Well go ahead and pursue this shop job,” Mom said, still eyeing the paper. “And, if you hear back from Mr. Swift, you can take it from there.”

I wanted to sit up and stand up to Mom, to tell her that I didn’t need her giving me career advice, but, instead, I leaned back and nodded.

“Alright,” I said. “But I’m not going to hold my breath.” I couldn’t tell Mom, but I knew that Anthony
would
be in contact with me soon, though it wouldn’t be about work or anything related to Parker & Swift. And, even if it was, I could never take a job with the company, for a variety of reasons, none of which I could tell Mom.

Even before any of this all started, I never wanted to work in the advertising industry, especially not at a firm as demanding as the one Dad worked at. Now, given all that had happened over the past couple weeks, I had even more reason to not want to work there. I didn’t want to be under the employ of my lover, whether or not he remained my lover, and didn’t want to work in the same building as London, should he take Anthony up on his offer.

“I thought maybe we all could go out to dinner tonight,” Mom said, changing the subject. She looked me over again, examining the clothes I was wearing, then turned to the outfit I’d word earlier and discarded on the bench at the foot of my bed. “Get dressed and ready. Your father should be home soon. When he gets here, we’ll head out for something… How about sushi?”

Sushi, for the most part, was a good compromise between Mom’s health kick and my craving for real food. It was hip, tasty, and fresh, and it was an appealing meal option.

“Okay,” I said, sitting up again. “I’ll put on what I wore earlier.”

Mom shook her head in the affirmative. She’d obviously selected my wardrobe when she stared at my outfit a moment earlier, and she seemed pleased that I picked up on her cue.

“I’m gonna go freshen up too,” Mom said, turning back toward my door. “Just come down when you’re ready. Dad should be here in a half-hour or so.”

As soon as Mom left the room, I got out of bed and collected my change of clothing. I quickly changed before heading to the bathroom, washing my hands and face, and reapplying a bit of makeup.

By the time I was done in the bathroom, I could hear Mom on the phone downstairs. From the sound of things, she was making reservations at Ramaka, a premiere sushi joint on the outskirts of town. Now that I knew where she wanted to dine, I understood why she wanted me dressed in my version of a power outfit.

I could tell that Dad wasn’t home yet, and I didn’t want to deal with Mom one-on-one again just yet. So, before heading downstairs, I went back to my room, just to drag things out a little.

Sure enough, it was a good thing that I went back there. I’d left my cell phone in my oversized purse beside my bed, and I wanted to transfer it into the bag I’d be taking with me. As soon as I pulled my phone from my big bag, it started buzzing, and I looked down at it. I’d just received a text message from an unfamiliar number—but, of course, I knew who it was from.

It’s A,
the message read.
Just checking in and giving you my number. Long day, sorry I couldn’t touch base sooner. How are you?

I started swiping back, and, just as I did, I heard Dad’s car pull up in the driveway, which made sense. Both men worked at the same place, and both had probably shared the same long day, which they both were now free from.

Doing okay
, I texted back.
Going out for sushi with parents now. Will text you later.

Almost immediately, my phone buzzed back with another text from Anthony.
K
, it read.
I’ll be waiting. :)

I threw my phone in my smaller purse, along with my wallet (which I took with me because it contained my ID, which I might need if my parents were liberal enough to allow me to order a drink with my dinner) and a tube of lip gloss. I walked out of my room, shut the door behind me, and went downstairs to meet up with my parents.

Dad smiled when he saw me walk into the room. Mom was with him, and it was evident that she’d already explained things to him and talked his ear off about my day. I’d heard their conversation tapering off as I came downstairs, and I was glad that Dad didn’t keep it going when I entered.

“Ready for Ramaka?” he asked as I approached him.

“Sure am,” I answered.

Dad held out his arm, like a gentleman waiting to escort a lady. I walked over to him, and put my arm in his, playing my part in his gesture.

“Maybe on the way back, we can stop for a treat,” Mom added. “Perhaps dessert at Dessert Oasis?”

Dad and I rolled our eyes as the three of us left the house and walked to his Volvo.

Ramaka is a totally upscale, high-end eatery that really knows sushi. The get the freshest fish in town, and they treat it like the essential elements of artwork. Their dishes are not only delicious; they’re also delightful to look at, and every plate they send out is sure to please each and every of your senses.

The fact that Mom was able to land a last-minute reservation was a bit of a shock to me, but I figured she had some sort of connection “on the inside.” Mom was that type of person, you see. She always knew someone somewhere and tried to work her connections to get what she wanted—and, tonight, fortunately for us, what she wanted was an awesome meal that I was totally down for.

The girl who greeted us at the podium in the entryway was super sleek and sexy. She could have been a model for any one of Dad’s high-profile ad campaigns—you know the ones, where the girls are super-thin and kinda look like prepubescent boys a little.

Once Mom checked in with her, the girl led us to a table near the center of the place, which was filled with a wide variety of people, from suit-clad businessmen with their wives, secretaries, and/or mistresses to ultra-hip hipsters wearing seasonally inappropriate sweaters, canvas belts, and plastic-rimmed glasses.

We, the Millers, were just another ingredient in the mix, and we blended in easily as we were seated at a table adorned with minimal accoutrement. A split-second after the sleek hostess left us at our table, a man, just as sleek, though slightly older, appeared at our table with a handful of menus. He handed the three of us three large folders listing foodstuffs, then handed Dad a smaller folio listing drinks and spirits.

I wanted to trade menus with Dad right away but fought back the impulse. He looked at Mom briefly before turning to the waiter, who was still beside our table.

“We’ll start with Saki,” he said. “Warm, please.”

“All three of you?” the waiter asked.

“Yes,” Dad answered without thinking. He didn’t bother to ask me if I wanted any. I guess this was a privilege or being over-21, or perhaps a reward for my day (if only he knew how much I actually deserved to be rewarded, he’d have ordered something a little stronger, I’m sure).

I’d never had Saki before—warm or otherwise—but I appreciated Dad including me in the drink order. Mom, however, didn’t seem so receptive. She shot Dad one of those “How could you?” looks, and he just let it roll off of him, like water off of a duck’s back.

When she failed to get any type of response from Dad, Mom turned her attention to the menu. “Everything’s so good,” she said. “What should we get?”

We read over our menus and discussed our options. Eventually, we decided to each select two items, which we’d all share with each other. Mom chose a nigiri platter and a tuna sashimi, while Dad opted for a California roll and a shrimp tempura roll. I went with the less obvious choices and kept it even simpler, ordering fried tofu skins and a platter of crabsticks.

The Saki arrived just moments after we placed our order—and,
fuck
, was it disgusting. If I’d thought a martini was bad, I had no idea what was coming when I put the tiny little cup of Saki to my mouth. Why did fancy drinks have to taste so bad? I guess I wasn’t cut out to be fancy—or to be an alcoholic.

I sipped at my Saki like a kid sips at medicine. I hated it, but was thankful for the opportunity to drink it. The fact that my dad had ordered it for me meant that, at least in some way, he saw me as an adult, and I was grateful for that—and hopeful about it. Maybe if I was old enough to drink with him, he’d think I was old enough to do other adult things too, like make my own decisions about important personal things… such as dating.

If I didn’t say it earlier, let me say it now—Ramaka was packed. Even though we were seated promptly, our orders were taken swiftly, and out drinks arrived in no time, our food felt like it was taking forever to get there, which was incredibly frustrating. Remember, we’re talking about
sushi
here, so it’s not like they actually had to cook it! My mouth watered every time I saw a waiter or waitress walk by with a tray of food that was never destined for us.

Mom and Dad are more socially slick people than I am, but even they were drooling a bit as they watched others around us receive, and eat, their food. Every now and then, one of them would perk up a little when they saw out waiter with a tray, only to be let down when they saw him unload it at another table.

I was starting to think I’d never eat again when I saw Dad perk up again—and, this time, he maintained his posture. Mom turned her head, too, to look in the direction Dad was looking, but I continued to look straight ahead, running my fingers over the top of my Saki glass, opining its wretched taste.

I was distracted from my glass a moment later, when, rather than having food placed in front of me, I saw Dad push back his chair and stand up. He reached his hand out across the table, and Mom flashed a huge smile across her face.

“Good evening, sir,” Dad said in that fake voice I’d heard far too often over the years. “Imagine running into you here… like we don’t already see enough of each other at the office.”

Dad had just told a fake joke in his fake voice, but nothing about the situation was funny. I looked up from my Saki glass and saw that salt-and-pepper hair and those piercing blue eyes.

“Funny, huh?” Anthony said. “I don’t know what came over me—but, earlier, I got the overwhelming urge to go out for sushi.”

My heart was racing. What the hell was Anthony doing at Ramaka? What the hell was he doing standing at our table? He knew I was going out for sushi with my parents. Why would he show up here like this? Was he going to confront them? If so, shouldn’t he have given me some type of warning?

Or was he here for some other reason? Was he playing games with me? Or, wait—had something gone wrong?

What the hell was going on here?

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t just my heart that was racing. It was my mind too. My brain was flooded with so many questions, and they kept swelling and colliding. I couldn’t even think straight. My blood was boiling.

“Are you here alone, Mr. Swift?” Mom asked. “Would you like to join us?”

Dear God
, I thought to myself,
why’d she have to ask that??

“I just came in to get something to go,” Anthony answered. I felt a cool air of relief rush over me, but, just as quickly, I was hit with something else.

“But, I’d love to sit with you and wait while my order is filled,” Anthony added.

Of course, the three of us were seated at a four-top table. The fourth, vacant seat had been removed, but, as soon as Anthony raised his hand, a nondescriptly sleek busboy was at our table with another chair.

“I hope I’m not interrupting any type of special family dinner,” Anthony said, taking a seat. “But, when I saw you over here, I had to come over.”

Anthony glanced at the glass of Saki in front of me and raised his eyebrow. “I’m sure Kirby told you about how our appointment had to be cancelled this morning,” he added. It was actually pretty presumptuous of him to do so. How did he have any idea what I’d told my parents? A lot had happened since we’d come up with the story we agreed on. How did he know I had the wherewithal to stick to it?

“I wanted to apologize for that,” Anthony went on.

“It’s okay, Mr. Swift,” Mom said, jumping at the chance to speak to the man sitting beside her. “We understand that you have a very busy schedule.”

I felt a little guilty sitting there with my parents so oblivious to the secrets that hid behind this superficial exchange of words.

“I do,” Anthony responded. “But, there’s always room in it to extend a helping hand… I’d like to try and meet with Kirby again this week, if that’s okay with you?”

If we had a script, Anthony definitely wasn’t sticking to it. Where was his wherewithal?

“Of course,” Mom said. She didn’t even have to think before she answered. Dad simply bobbed his head up and down.

“How about Wednesday?” Anthony asked, turning his attention toward me. I hadn’t spoken yet and was still speechless. Like Dad, I simply bobbed my head up and down.

“Wonderful,” Anthony said. “Come by my office around—”

“Hold on,” I interjected. It took me a second, but I remembered. “I have an interview on Wednesday, at 3:00,” I said.

“Oh, Kirby,” Mom whispered, leaning toward me. “You can reschedule
that
if you have to. Here Mr. Swift out and see—”

Now Anthony interrupted Mom. “That’s okay, Judy,” he said. “If Kirby has an interview at 3, we can work around it.” He looked at me coolly yet curiously. “Just come by my office after you’re done. I’ll tell my secretary to expect you around 4 or 4:30.”

“That’s very accommodating, sir,” Dad said, edging his way into the conversation. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Anthony said. He smiled at Dad, and Dad smiled back. In fact, smiles were exchanged all across the table, though my smile felt more forced than ever.

What Anthony had just did bought us time, or, at least, it bought us time together, but I didn’t understand why he had to go about getting it the way that he did. Why did he have to show up at Rakama and do something that amounted to asking for my parents’ approval? And, what was he asking their approval for anyway? He was asking them to approve a meeting, not a relationship—and, we were ever to have any type of relationship, how would he explain this away later? Did he even see us having any type of future together? What was I—his plaything?

My mind was racing again, along with my heart. I was so confused. I was frustrated and relieved, on-edge and at-ease, and I jolted slightly when a waitress showed up at our table.

She had a bag in her hand, which she handed to Anthony. He took it from her, looked at us, and smiled. “Guess I’ll be going now,” he said, lifting the bag.

“Thanks for the chat,” he told my parents before turning to me. “I look forward to seeing you Wednesday,” he said with a coolness that warmed me.

As Anthony walked away from our table, some of my tensions left with him. His coolness really had warmed me and melted away a lot of my concerns. If anything, once he was gone, I was rather impressed by what he’d just done. He’d managed to arrange a date with me, right in front of my parents without their knowing—and, on top of that, he’d managed to get his take-out a hell of a lot quicker than we got our food.