The Last Best Kiss (30 page)

Ginny steps forward and I can see her through the open doorway. She’s buttoning her blouse with one hand and holding up the other hand in a placating gesture. “Everything’s cool, Lizzie. Relax.”

“What the hell, Ginny? I mean,
what the hell
?”

“Why are you freaking out?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Yes, I’m seriously asking you that!”

Their voices are almost identical, high-pitched and outraged.

Well, Lizzie’s may be just a touch shriller. “He’s my father! That’s so incredibly— Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself? Ever?”

Ginny tucks in her shirt and smooths her hair. “I just don’t see what the problem is.” She spots me and Finn hovering in the shadows and beckons to us. “Help me out here, Anna. Anna’s known about me and your dad for a long time,” she informs Lizzie. “And she’s completely cool with it, aren’t you, Anna?”

“Oh, Ginny,” I say, kindly but sadly. Not for any special reason--I’ve just wanted to
oh, Ginny
her for a while.

I’m saved from saying anything more—which is good, since I have nothing more to say—by my father’s appearance behind her, fully clothed and not a hair out of place. Either things hadn’t progressed far, or he can pull himself together quickly. He steps past Ginny and puts his hand on Lizzie’s arm. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what happened.” He passes his hand over his forehead. “I think I had too much wine at dinner.”

Ginny stares at him openmouthed. “You’re
sorry
?”

He avoids her eyes as he strokes Lizzie’s shoulder reassuringly. “This is very awkward for us all,” he says gently.

I hear a little cough from Finn, and I glance over. I see how the edges of his mouth are twitching and our eyes meet, and then he has to cough again. He’s desperately trying to stifle a laugh. That starts me off. I have to press my hand against my mouth to keep from giggling audibly. We press our shoulders against each other, shaking with repressed laughter.

“I came home just to see you, Daddy,” Lizzie says in a little-girl voice. “I missed you. I didn’t know
she’d
be here.”

“Do you want her to go?” Dad says. She nods, and he musses her hair a little. “All right.” He turns to Ginny. “I think it would be best.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she says. “I mean,
seriously
?” She shakes her head vehemently. “You have
got
to be kidding me.”

“Let’s take a short time-out,” he says. “That’s all we need. Just a little time. Everything is fine. We’re all good here. We just need some time. . . .” His eyes flicker around desperately and settle on me. “Anna? Can you give Ginny a ride home?” He nods at Finn. “Hello there, young man. I assume you’re a friend of Anna’s? Welcome.” Trust Dad to keep his company manners even in this situation.

Finn introduces himself, and I say, “We can drive Ginny home.”

Ginny straightens her shoulders and raises her chin. Her breasts are kind of magnificent when she stands like that. “Are you sure?” she says to my father in a coldly dignified tone. “I may not come back.”

“Just go,” Lizzie snarls from the safety of my father’s arms.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

twenty-six

G
inny dissolves into tears on the way to her house. “I thought he was different,” she moans from the backseat. “I thought, here’s a nice guy. A decent guy. Someone who can take care of me. I mean, he takes care of all of
you
, right?” And then she wails, “My father never took care of me—he was an alcoholic, and I always had to take care of hi-im!”

My phone buzzes. At the next red light I check the text. It’s from Finn:

well that explains it, right? The father thing?

I glance over at him and nod, pressing my lips together hard and biting the inside of my cheek so I don’t laugh out loud.

“I thought Lizzie was my friend,” Ginny says a little while later. She’s stopped crying, but her nose sounds stuffed now. “How could she act like that?”

“I think she was just surprised,” I say.

“Even so . . . she didn’t have to be mean.”

When we reach her apartment building, she opens her car door then turns back to us. “Tell your dad—” She stops. “Never mind,” she says. “If he wants to apologize, he knows my number.”

Finn and I wish her a good night and watch her walk up the path to the front door of her building. It’s one of those ugly little apartment buildings you find all over the west side of LA: squat and stuccoed and no different from a dozen others on the same block.

I say slowly, “If you had told me six hours ago that I might feel sorry for Ginny Clay . . .”

“I don’t understand your father. He didn’t even put up a fight.”

I’m silent for a moment. Then I say, “If he really does like her, he’s just made a terrible mistake. And he’s going to regret it. A lot.”

“Yeah? How would you know?”

I glance over at him. He tilts his head at me, his eyes aware and slightly amused.

“Some of us learn from our mistakes,” I say.

He reaches out for my hand and takes it. He presses each finger gently between his thumb and index finger. It’s the lightest touch, but it still makes me breathe in with sudden sharpness.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he says.

“Anywhere,” I say, and I mean it.

* * *

We end up back at the bluffs. As we hold hands and look at the dark water below us, I tell him again that I’m sorry, that I knew I was hurting him when I said I wouldn’t go to the dance, and that I’ve never seen the ocean since then without regretting it.

“Not even the Atlantic?” he teases.

“Not even a Great Lake,” I say. “A glass of water makes me feel bad. . . .” I shake my head. “I’m serious, Finn. Well, not about the glass of water. But about feeling bad.”

He’s silent for a moment, then he shifts and says, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Be all regretful.” His voice speeds up. “I mean, look at where we are, right now, today. Would we be this happy and this relieved and this thankful to be together if all that hadn’t happened? So many other things might have gone wrong along the way. But we’re standing here, looking at the ocean, happy to be together, and it couldn’t be any better. So don’t waste time with regrets. Okay?”

“Okay” is all I say, but I think, So this is what bliss feels like.

After the bluffs and some shave ice and a walk through the Santa Monica Promenade, which is crowded and noisy because it’s Friday night, Finn takes me home and we have a long, lingering good-bye, which only ends so we can get some sleep before we meet up again as early as possible tomorrow morning.

I text Lucy on my way upstairs.

If youre awake call me.

The phone rings as soon as I’m inside my room.

“It’s about time,” she says when I answer.

“About time for what?”

“That you told me about you and Finn. I can’t believe you told the twins before you told me.”

Right. My visit to Lily. News travels fast.

“It’s been like five minutes,” I say. “And I only told Lily first because . . . you know . . . it felt weird not checking in with her. And that was before I was sure about anything.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’m not really mad. I might have been if you hadn’t texted tonight, but you did, so we’re good. So . . . seriously? You and Finn?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. Weird, but cool. And you don’t have to worry about Lily at all. I talked to her, and she’s really happy for you guys. I think she felt guilty about dumping Finn for James, and this took that all away.” She pauses. “It’s funny, though, you know?”

“What?”

“That you wouldn’t even dance with him back in ninth grade. I guess people change.”

“Yeah,” I say. “They grow up and stop acting like idiots.”

“That’s half true.”

“Are you saying I’m still an idiot?”

“I’m saying we all are.” And then she talks for a while about Jackson and how he says he wants to see her but never has time. I listen and say all the right things, but mostly what I’m thinking is that any girl who likes anyone other than Finn is crazy.

Lily texts me on Sunday.

Well?

Well, what?

You and Finn?

I’m with him right now.

We’re drinking hot chocolate at Starbucks and supposedly doing homework. Our books are open in front of us, but we’re not actually looking at them. Finn was just telling me about this trip his family took to Scandinavia a couple of years ago and how the sun pretty much never went down and how he and his brother and his parents walked back to their hotel through the streets of Finland at 2:00 a.m. one day and he felt like he was dreaming. He’s excited, and he’s speaking quickly, and he’s shoving his hair out of his eyes as he’s talking, and he keeps pushing his glasses up his nose, and he’s so incredibly and adorably the Finn I’ve always known that I could explode with happiness.

It’s hysterical how you both felt like you had to come see me on Friday.

What do you mean both of us?

GTG

Lily always ends a conversation when she’s ready to, which isn’t always when other people are ready.

I look up from the phone. “Did you go see Lily before you came over to my house Friday night?”

He looks down at his empty mug. “Yeah. I should have said something, but I didn’t know how you’d feel about it. It wasn’t like I needed her permission or anything. I just knew I’d feel better if I told her how I felt about you. Just so everything was out in the open.”

I laugh. “I did the exact same thing. I’m surprised we didn’t run into each other there.”

“Really?” He laughs too. “Well, that explains why she didn’t seem surprised to see me. I thought she was just distracted because James was there—”

“He was there when I came by. Either you and I just missed each other, or he’s always there. Or both.” I glance at him sideways. “Were you okay that she was there with him?”

“Totally,” he says. Then he hesitates. “Except—”

“What?” It comes out more sharply than I intend.

“She could do better. He’s kind of a pretentious douche bag.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I thought so too when I met him. But are you sure you’re not just saying that because you’re jealous of him? Maybe just a little bit?”

“Anna,” he says, and reaches for my hand, “I’m the guy the rest of the world should be jealous of right now.”

I squeeze his hand. “What would you have done if Lily had said she wasn’t comfortable with our going out?”

“I knew she’d be okay with it.”

“But if you knew, then why bother?”

“You went to talk to her too!” he says accusingly. “What were
you
thinking?”

“Exactly the same as you,” I admit. “That I didn’t
need
her to say it was okay, but I
wanted
her to. I have no idea what I would have done if she’d said she didn’t want us to date. Argued her down, I guess. Or told her I was sorry, but—” I stop.

“But what?”

“But I wasn’t going to give you up. I couldn’t.”

“And if everyone else had been mad at us because of her?”

“I wouldn’t care what they think. I’ve learned my lesson, Finn.”

“Good,” he says. And if he sounds a tiny bit smug, I can’t really blame him.

* * *

We spend the rest of the afternoon together, but he’s supposed to see his grandparents that night, so I go home alone around dinnertime. Lizzie’s gone back to school, which is a relief. She spent the weekend acting like she’d been injured in some way. Somehow she convinced Dad he owed it to her to take her to her favorite restaurants and even shopping at Fred Segal. I don’t know why he fell for her “poor little me” routine—he was the one who was barged in on—but I don’t care. While they were racing around spending money, I was hanging out with Finn.

Dad’s in the kitchen when I arrive, hunched over a plastic take-out container of sushi, some sort of legal-looking document next to it that he’s marking with a pen. He’s a small and solitary figure in our big kitchen, and I almost feel sorry for him, but his first comment—“Oh, it’s you. I was hoping Lizzie hadn’t left yet”—kills my budding sympathy.

“She’s gone,” I say.

“That’s too bad.” He glances around. “The house feels very quiet tonight.”

“You could call Ginny.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, no. That whole thing was a mistake.”

“Why do you say that?”

He seems surprised by the question. “Isn’t it obvious? Didn’t you see Lizzie’s reaction?”

“Does Lizzie’s reaction matter? She doesn’t even live here anymore.”

“This is still her home. And I care what my daughter thinks. What all my daughters think,” he adds. He skillfully and delicately picks up the last piece of sushi with chopsticks, pops it into his mouth, and pushes the empty container away. He chews and swallows and says, “It’s unfortunate that Lizzie didn’t call before coming this weekend. Always remember, Anna, that surprises are a bad idea. More often than not, the person who’s giving the surprise ends up getting one.”

“True enough in this case. Lizzie was definitely surprised.”

“Painfully awkward for everyone . . . But maybe it was for the best. In fact, I’m sure it was. Sometimes we get swept up in other people’s plans and lose sight of our own, and I’m afraid that in spite of all my education and experience, I’m as susceptible as the next man.”

He must be making a point under all that verbosity. I try to figure out what it is. “Are you saying Ginny liked you more than you liked her, and you were just going along with what she wanted?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I can’t speak to her emotions. I do think she was more focused on creating some kind of forward momentum than I was.”

Why can’t he just say things normally? I’m still confused. “You could ‘speak to’ your own emotions, Dad. What were they? What are they?” I really want to know the answer to this. Does he like her? Is he embarrassed by the idea of going out with her? Is he worried he’s too old? Was he already getting sick of her? If Lizzie had been in favor of the whole thing, would he have been relieved? Or was he relieved that she tossed Ginny out? He must feel
something
about all this, right?