The Starter Boyfriend (17 page)

“My thanks, Adam,” my dad replied. “We never would have gotten it back without you.”

Parting my lips to second that, I was thunderstruck by the sudden sight of Adam reaching in and patting the top of Tux’s head. Gently, like he might do when saying so-long to the family dog.

While part of me expected him to shatter the moment with a joke about Tux needing a nose job or resting in peace, instead his voice got real low, both in tone and volume. “Later, Dude.”

Then he threw me a sad look and walked off.

Leaving me with my mouth hanging open, and way more Adam confusion. The good kind.

* * *

Since there was no reason to head to the shop, my dad drove us straight home. He grabbed Tux’s feet and I took hold of the shoulders, and we carried him up into the townhouse for safekeeping, ultimately balancing him upright in the living room. It gave me a chance to give the tuxedo a look-over, and I was relieved to find it no worse for the wear than some wrinkles and dirt patches.

At least we had that.

When my dad wandered toward the kitchen, I whispered a little “Sorry, it’s been fun,” to Tux, just to make our break-up official to the cosmos. Especially since I was likely to never see him again.

Up in my room, I didn’t even bother to wipe off my eye make-up. I simply fell face-first onto my bed, so overwhelmed by my feelings that I could oddly feel almost nothing. I might have laid there forever, eyes closed in my own empty world, had my dad’s voice not penetrated my consciousness from the open doorway.

“You okay, Courtney?”

I rolled over, realizing belatedly there were some words left to be said to him, too. “Yes, thanks.” I sat up. “And thank you for helping me tonight. For listening to me and driving me and standing by me...”

“Of course.”

“And for not freaking out,” I added, then felt my throat go moist. “That I’ve turned out to be such a—a disappointment.”

“Courtney, no!” He steadied himself by grabbing the doorjamb. “I mean, I know tonight got out of hand, but this is once in seventeen years, right? And I’m just glad you came to me.”

I was, too.

“Jennifer keeps telling me I need to be around more for you more. You’re on top of everything, handle it all so beautifully. The housework, your grades, your, well...”

I knew he was going to say “job,” and watched as he shook that thought away.

“What I mean is...I don’t want to get in your way or insult your intelligence. Or hold you back from the incredible person you are on your way to being.”

My damp throat gave way to damp eyes.

“From the moment your mother left, you stepped up,” he said, his voice cracking. “Just took over. Cooking, cleaning, laundry. It was amazing.”

Everything tightened inside of me. I knew I should simply relish these out of nowhere and desperately needed compliments. Whether it was his weary voice, Jennifer’s advice or the fact I was simply too tired to do what was best for me, I felt myself shake my head. “Well, because Mom told me to.”

Tension puckered between his dark brows. “What?”

“She left me a note. Plus, long ago, she’d told me that it was what you expected of women. Because of your aunts.”

His gaze went distant, as if he could see hundreds of yards on through my wall. “My aunts...yes...and I remember that note. That didn’t mean...you didn’t have to...” He seemed to focus back on me, his gaze turning wary. “Your mother made you feel...like you had an obligation to me?”

I nodded and drew in a breath. If we were going to do this, we were going to
do
this. “You seemed to expect it. Seemed to
need
my help, Dad.”

“I did?” Alarm shone in his eyes. “I am perfectly capable of housework and fundamental cooking and errands. Like today, I picked up your dry cleaning.”

“Thank you. I guess I didn’t have the chance to tell you how much that meant to me. But Jennifer told me she asked you to do it. Is that right?”

He nodded, then bent forward, as if he’d been kicked in the gut. “Christ, am I
that
clueless?”

I was on my feet before I realized it, and stepping toward him. I had never meant to hurt him. “Not clueless. Just comfortable. And it’s just as much my fault as yours because I had a voice and I didn’t use it.”

He pulled me to him. Pressing my cheek against his shirt, I tried to remember the last time we’d hugged—really hugged. I came up empty. Maybe because it had been forever. Or maybe because the power of this moment was filling the entire confines of my brain.

“Tomorrow morning,” he suddenly spoke definitively, dropping his arms. “I’m making breakfast.”

I stepped back to quirk a look at him.

“I have no idea what’s in the kitchen or what I’ll come up with, but your job will be to sit there and tell me you like it.”

“I think I can handle that,” I said and actually laughed.

“Now, do me a favor. Get some sleep so you can work up an appetite.”

“Will do.” I made a dive for my covers, a smile still tugging at the edges of my mouth. And hoping the feeling held while sleep took me away, propelling me into some pleasant or at least restful dreams.

Because with what was on tap for tomorrow, I knew I was going to need it.

Chapter 21

A woman shrieked.

At first I thought I was dreaming, since I was dug down deep under my covers, eyes closed and all. Next came frantic footsteps down the stairway.

I jumped up so fast my brain had trouble following. Then I skidded toward the steps, adrenaline pumping. Only to reach the landing to see a lady in a multi-colored gauze skirt hugging my father—Jennifer—her face all flushed, her mouth curved with laughter.

“Omigod, I was just dropping off the new seating chart and saw
that thing
,” she said and pointed at Tux’s elegant pose by the sofa. “I nearly had a heart attack. I thought it was an intruder—a burglar or serial killer or something.”

“A very well-dressed intruder,” my dad said in a rare display of humor.

I wanted to join in the fun—I did—but Tux’s face was all I could focus on. He looked immensely worse in the morning light, like he’d been on the wrong end of a golf club.

“Now, wait,” Jennifer went on, her tone evening. “Courtney, isn’t that the mannequin from the shop window?”

I managed a nod.

“What happened to it?”

I drew a long inward sigh, and felt my Dad touch my shoulder. “I’ll fill her in. You go take your shower.”

“Thanks,” I managed.

“Breakfast in twenty.”

A hot shower—hiding from the world while the grime of last night was rinsed away from me—sounded heavenly. Plus, my dad had definitely piqued my interest with breakfast. I couldn’t wait to see what he came up with.

But no matter. I was simply impressed he was following through, doing exactly what he’d promised in the heat of the moment. For while reasonably, rationally, I knew that this was
what people should do
, it just wasn’t what I was used to. Especially from people of the male persuasion.

Jennifer looped her hand through the crook of my dad’s arm as I headed for the stairs. “Bill, I want to hear all this—I do!—I just don’t have time to make breakfast. I need to stop by the florist and—”

My dad interrupted. “Who said anything about you cooking?”

“What?” After a long pause, her laugh filled the confines of the townhouse. Every nook and cranny. “You’re making breakfast?
This
I’ve got to see!”

Cruising into my room, I felt my own pearly whites flashing. Until I saw the text message icon on my phone, slamming me back into the real world.

I had not one, but three texts. From Flea, Saffron and Madison, all trumpeting that Jacy’s Facebook status had her going to Homecoming with Randy. And ending with
WTH
???

Before I could respond to any of them, a fourth text came in. From Randy:
We need 2 talk
.

Now, that was conversation I was happy to avoid. I quickly texted back:
No need. I heard. Have fun tonight with Jacy
. Then I added the name of the flower shop holding his boutonnière.

Thx
, came back from him almost instantly.
Ur great
.

I quirked my brow. If only that were true. And if only I could “apply” that opinion of me to Phillip, in some sort of a pay it forward cosmic way.

If only.

What I
could
do was take a peek at my online bank balance. In case Phillip would let me buy my way back his good graces by covering Tux’s reconstructive surgery or—gulp—a whole new window mannequin.

First, I needed to respond to the girls. I called Flea and brought her up to speed on Randy and Jacy getting back together, asked her to cancel my nail appointment, and to spread the news.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this, Courtney? Not just being all brave or anything?”

“I’m fine,” I told her with all the throaty warmth I could muster. The dance was the least of my concerns.

“At the very least, the softball girls can send them death looks all night.”

“You’re sweet,” I said, however odd that sounded. “But really, the best you can do for me is to forget about them and just have a good time. And call me tomorrow and tell me everything.”

“You got it, babycakes.”

With towel-dried hair and some dabs of blush standing in for makeup minutes later, I scooted in between my dad and Jennifer at the kitchen table. To find a cup of black tea, a slice of wheat toast, an open jar of apricot jelly, and a hard-boiled egg before me. Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast it was not. But it was warm, it was homemade, and it was real. It was a major start.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said and dug on in.

“I did good?”

“You did
great
,” I said, then shot Jennifer a grin.

Which somehow she missed. Because instead of returning one of her radiant dazzlers, she just looked on past me. Or basically through me. How could I blame her for spacing out? It was “T minus seven” on the wedding, plus she might still be quaking from post-mannequin shock.

Following some slurps, swallows and breaking the news that my Homecoming Dance date was off, my dad helped me carry Tux to the parking garage. We wedged the mannequin limbs into my passenger seat for what was definitely his last ride.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you, Courtney?”

“Thanks, but how about we say I’ll call you if I need you?”

“Before they sling on the cuffs, if you don’t mind.”

I forced a laugh.

Backing out, my dad and Jennifer flashed into my rearview mirror, their arms around each other’s waists, and my dad’s hand raised to me. Reminding me that while just about everything else in my life sucked dishwater, I was still pretty darned lucky.

* * *

Whizzing past Tux Everlasting for a turn into the back lot, I drew in a sharp breath. The sign on the door was turned to “We’re Open.” But it was the Caller ID on my ringing phone that told me Phillip didn’t necessarily need his Saturday morning coffee to be alert and observant.

I pulled into a space and caught the call just before it went to voice mail.

“Courtney,” Phillip huffed. “Do you have
any idea
what happened to the mannequin? There was no sign of a break-in, but it’s gone.”

“Yeah,” I said, my nervous voice going all yellow brick road Munchkin-like. “I have it.”

“You
what
? Where?”

“In my car. Actually, I—I’m in the back lot right now. I just pulled in.”

“You’re
here
with it? I’ll be right out.”

I disconnected and moved around to open the passenger door, riding a hang ten worthy wave of utter nausea. Looking up, I saw Phillip pounding across the lot.

I was so screwed.

“I can explain,” I squeaked out when he got within earshot.

He stopped at the hood of the car, folding his beefy arms across his chest, and eyeing me evenly. “Good.”

I shifted my weight in hopes of blocking his view of Tux’s face. At least for now.

“Well, see, my bonfire date last night turned out pretty badly.” I decided to skip over the fact I’d basically changed guys mid-evening, which sounded borderline slutty. “And I ended up coming over here to sit with, you know, the mannequin. Because sometimes being with him—I mean, it—well, makes me feel better.”

Phillip’s eyes glinted like hard gems, not making this confession any easier. I reminded myself of my decision to tell it like it was in the hope (against hope) that he found it in his heart to forgive me.

“Then I realized I’d left my phone on the beach,” I continued. “And since my dad made me swear I’d never drive alone after midnight, I had this bright idea to put the mannequin in my passenger seat. You know,” I said and paused to play what I hoped was my ace card, “for my own safety.”

For a long moment, he just stared at me. “You planned to return it before I got in this morning, and I’d never be the wiser, right?”

I felt a frown puff up my cheeks. “Something like that.”

“How many times have you done this before?”

“Never!” I held up a palm, as if taking an oath. “Not once. I’ve only been in the shop without you on Saturday mornings when I came in to start the coffee.”

“And to play with the mannequin.”

I shrugged. He had me there.

“Okay, so why didn’t you cover your tracks? Why are you just showing up now?”

“It got complicated,” I said and let out a hurricane-force sigh. “See, the mannequin sort of got lost last night.”

“Lost?”

“Well, stolen.”

“
Stolen
?”

I nodded. “And I went through this whole thing to get him back, getting my dad and my surfer guy friend and even the school principal involved.”

Phillip squinted with understandable confusion.

“We finally found him—it—on the principal’s lawn. And we were about to drive, but then we had an accident.”

“I see,” he said, although his facetious tone told me that clearly, he didn’t. “A car accident now, too?”