Thirty Sunsets (14 page)

“You think I don’t know which house is yours?” he says, grinning.

I lean closer and give him a peck on the cheek. “Seven at my house. Now, lemme finish my walk, for crying out loud.”

He squeezes my hands, then trots back toward his friends.

My heart feels like it’s about to leap from my throat onto the beach.

Seven at my house.
That has the most incredible ring to it.

twenty

“I told you: it’s just a friend.”

“Well, what’s your friend’s name?” Mom asks, her hands on her hips.

Damn. Did I really think this through, pulling Nosy Nora into my romance?

“Scott,” I say, then feel my heart sink as Mom’s eyes widen dramatically.

“A boy.”

“Mom, please don’t make this a bigger deal than it is,” I plead. “He’s just a nice guy I invited over for dinner.”

Mom reaches into a plastic bag to continue putting her groceries away. “Of course,” she says, pulling out a can of diced tomatoes. “Your friends are always welcome.”

“What are you cooking?” I ask anxiously.

“I was planning on meat loaf … ”

“Mom,
please
not meat loaf.”

Mom sets the jar of tomatoes on the kitchen counter. “What did you have in mind?”

I shrug. “Do you know how to make lobster?”

“Lobster?”

“Or shrimp, then. Maybe shrimp pasta?”

Mom’s eyebrows crinkle. “I’d have to head right back out to the store … ”

I sigh with relief. “Perfect. Thank you, Mom. Need some help putting the groceries away?”

“Well, considering that I’m headed right back out … ”

“Leave it to me.”

Mom studies me for a second, then picks up her purse.

“Pasta and a salad … is that all right?” she asks.

“Perfect.”

I impulsively kiss her on the cheek, and she heads back out the door.

I walk through the family room to the deck, where Dad is reading a book.

“Imbroglio,” he says, not looking up as I join him.

“Like, a big mash-up of confusion,” I say.

“You must have been studying a dictionary. Webster precedes lots of definitions with the word ‘like.’ ”

I wink and sit beside him. “You’re just mad you can never trip me up. I have, like, the gigantic-est vocabulary ever.”

Dad sets his book aside and stretches his legs out. “Things settling down with Mom and Brian?” he asks.

“Brian says she’ll never lay eyes on his baby, but other than that … ”

“So they’ve basically patched things up.”

“I dunno … it’s quite the imbroglio,” I say, messing with Dad by pronouncing the
G
. I tap a finger against my thigh for a couple of moments, then add, “Oh, by the way, a friend is coming over for dinner tonight.”

Dad raises an eyebrow. “A friend.”

“Yeah. No biggie.”

“A friend from home?”

I sigh, exasperated. “No, Dad. Just a friend. Like I said, no big deal.”

“Well, does the friend have a name? Or should I just say, ‘Hi, Friend’?”

“Scott. His name is Scott.”

Dad takes that in, then nods slowly, staring at the beach.

“A new friend?” he finally asks.

“Just a friend, Dad. Can we not make this a big deal?”

“Like, an imbroglio?” he says, messing back by pronouncing the
G
.

“Funny.”

“So,” Dad says, practically doing backflips to try to sound casual, “this Scott is a nice guy?”

I huff. “Why is so inconceivable to everybody that a guy might be interested in me?” Uh-oh. I’m trying to keep things casual, and here I go casting myself as a needy loser.

“I just asked if he’s nice,” Dad says, holding up his hands in self-defense. “And by the way, nothing seems less inconceivable to me than a guy thinking you’re the most spectacular girl on earth.”

Oh god.

“You know,” Dad continues, still staring at the ocean, “I hardly dated at all before I met your mom.”

I wish I could shift the conversation back to vocabulary words, but I guess it’s too late for that now.

“Yeah?” I say, feigning indifference.

“Yeah. I was always really shy around girls. Plus, I think it’s well established what an outstanding student I was, and, you know,
that
takes lots of time.”

I snicker. “So you were shy around women, but Mom, of all people, was the one you finally felt comfortable enough with to ask out?”

“Oh, no,” he responds. “Nothing about your mom made me comfortable. She scared the bejeesus out of me. So pretty and confident … ”

“So why her?” I ask.

He shrugs. “My interest outweighed my fear. I’d had my eye on her a long time … kept trying to be at the right place at the right time, dropping all kinds of hints … but she wasn’t interested in some guy loitering on the sidelines. I had to get in the game to stand a chance with her.”

“So you finally asked her out?”

“Yeah. I finally asked her out.”

“And you swept her off her feet?”

His eyes turn wistful. “Your mom’s not a swept-off-her-feet kinda gal. But it was enough. Whatever I had to offer was enough.”

I lean closer to him. “Dad, you’re way more than enough.”

His expression lightens. “Tell her that for me, will you? And while you’re at it, mention I’m really hungry for meatloaf.”

I grimace. “Sorry. I kinda ruined that for you. Is shrimp pasta okay instead?”

He pouts. “The girls always get their way around here.”

I stand up and tap his knee before walking back inside. “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”

“A guest for dinner, huh?”

I swat Brian with the kitchen towel. “This is why I don’t date.”

“Looks like you’re dating now,” Brian says in a singsong voice.

Olivia walks into the kitchen. “Who’s dating?”

“Forrest has a ‘friend’ coming over for dinner,” Brian answers, with elaborate air quotes around “friend.”

Olivia sucks in a breath. “The guy from the beach?” she asks me.

I roll my eyes. “A friend is coming over for dinner. That’s it. Don’t you think I have my hands plenty full keeping Mom in line? Just be cool, okay, guys? Please? For me?”

“When did you invite him?” Olivia asks.

“I didn’t
invite
him,” I snap. “I just said, you know, like, ‘Hey, we’ll be eating dinner around seven if you wanna come.’ ”

“Now, granted, my vocab can’t compete with yours, but I’m pretty sure that qualifies as an invitation,” Brian says. “And you’re sure he actually RSVP’d … ?”

He’s teasing, but my stomach is tied in too many knots to play along. Scott will be here in less than an hour. I’ve already helped Mom peel the shrimp, so now I have to go shower the fishy smell out of my pores and decide what to wear.

“What are you gonna wear?” Olivia says. I swear, it’s like people are reading my thoughts these days.

“Just
whatever
,” I say.

Brian snorts. “Like you haven’t thought about it.”

“Wanna borrow something of mine?” Olivia asks.

I squeeze my hands into fists. “You guys! Please just cool it, okay? I’m capable of having a friend over for dinner without a team of advisors.” I glare at Brian. “Or smartasses.”

“Well, if I
was
advising you,” he says, “I’d definitely suggest showering. You smell like shrimp.”

I stick out my tongue and leave the kitchen. Olivia follows me down the hall.

“Hey, Forrest?”

Oh please don’t make me keep talking about this. I’ll barf, I swear I will.

“Yeah?”

“I just … I’m glad he’s coming to dinner. I know you like him, and that’s great. I was just a little worried, based on … well, you know. But if he’s coming to dinner and meeting your family, well, that’s great.”

I manage a tight smile. I know she means well, but geez, I’m sick of being under a microscope. “Thanks. I’m gonna grab a quick shower.”

“Right. And I meant what I said … about borrowing an outfit, if you want. I could help you pick one out … ”

“I’m cool. Really. But thanks.”

“Right.”

Olivia smiles and heads back toward the kitchen.

Maybe the knot in my stomach will unravel by the time Scott gets here.

twenty-one

“What is an oligarchy?”

“What is an oligarchy?” the
Jeopardy!
contestant on TV says, and Dad smiles. He’s always a step ahead of the
Jeopardy!
contestants.

His rat-a-tat answers are the only thing lifting the tension in the room as the moments tick away. At first, we all tried to act casual; seven o’clock came and went, but, whatever, lots of people show up late for a dinner date. Then, at ten after seven, it was like, no big deal, Scott will be here any minute. Then ten more minutes … then another ten … then
Jeopardy!
started, along with Mom’s questions about whether my “friend” was sure which house was ours …

And maybe he’s not. Scott
said
he knew where I lived, but I never gave him the address, and he doesn’t have my phone number in case he needed to call, and …

And nothing. Every neighbor within a mile knows us, so if he went to the wrong house, somebody would immediately point him in the right direction. He’s had time to find me.

He just doesn’t want to.

I guess he never had any intention of coming. But in that case, why not just say so?

I can’t believe my stupidity. He blows me off once, then I give him a chance to do it again? A few kisses on the beach and I think we’re some sort of couple? Never a single real date, yet I blithely assume he’d jump at the chance to spend an evening with my parents? I’m the loser of the universe.

The only thing worse than the pity I feel emanating from my family’s pores is the fact that they’re trying so hard not to show it. Just hanging out, watching
Jeopardy!
, ready to eat cold pasta whenever I give the word, but no rush, no biggie …

I’d go collapse on my bed if I could, but that would just add more layers of awkwardness, more hushed conversations about who should go check on me, more forced cheerfulness to make sure I’m clear that being stood up on my first real date is
no big deal
.

So all I can do is sit there and listen to Dad answer the
Jeopardy!
questions while stomachs grumble around me. Seriously, I’m no drama queen, but there is no form of death right now I wouldn’t welcome. After all, I have to survive not only
this
excruciating moment, but every moment for the rest of my life hereafter with this searing humiliation looming sadistically in my memory bank. I’d throw confetti on the Grim Reaper if he walked in right now.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

We all exchange startled glances. It’s weird that Scott is banging on our front door rather than merely ringing the doorbell, but omigod I am so relieved he’s here that I could cry.
He’s here! He came! I’m not the most pathetic person on the face of the earth!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Mom is heading for the door when it suddenly flings open.

“Where is she?!? Where is my daughter?!?”

We’re all on our feet now, rushing toward the foyer. We’re so ridiculously disoriented that the woman on the doorstep stops ranting long enough to absorb our stunned expressions.

But just for a moment. Now she’s ranting again: “I want my daughter NOW!”

“Mom!” Olivia gasps, lunging to her side. “What are you
doing
?”

“I’m taking you home!”

The woman flings her arms around Olivia’s neck, sobbing as their long blonde hair intertwines.

We stand there for a moment exchanging what-the-hell looks, then Dad prods mother and daughter inside and closes the door behind them.

“Why don’t we all sit down … ” he says.

“I don’t want to sit down!” Olivia’s mother shrieks. “I’m taking my daughter home this instant!”

Olivia disentangles from her mother’s embrace. “Mom, what are you doing?”

“I told you! I’m taking you home! We’re not spending another minute around these maniacs trying to steal your baby!”

Brian’s back stiffens. “What home are you talking about?” he asks her. “You’ve never made a home for Olivia in your life!”