[Something in the Way 01.0] Something in the Way

by Jessica Hawkins

  “You shouldn’t have.” She took the bouquet. Mom had twisted her hair back from her face, and as she inhaled, a few strands fell forward. “My favorite. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for having me. Dinner smells great.”

  “I’ve been in here all evening, so even if you don’t like the steak, say you do.” Mom laughed. Nobody ever disliked her food, but she said that a lot. “Lake helped,” she said, and as an afterthought, added, “Tiffany, too. She’s great in the kitchen.”

  “She is not,” I said. “She wouldn’t even set the table.”

  “Lake, honey.” Mom chuckled and passed me the bouquet. “Put these in water and get our guest something to drink.”

  I frowned. I just wanted Manning to know I’d done my part of the cooking with him in mind. But when he nodded at me and patted his stomach, I understood—he did know.

  “I put some wine out on the bar,” Mom told me. “You like wine, don’t you, Manning?”

  He hesitated. “Sure.”

  It didn’t sound convincing. “Dad has beer, too,” I said.

  “It’s okay. Wine is great.”

  I put the flowers in a vase, then went to Dad’s bar and carried two heavy bottles back into the kitchen. I’d never opened wine before, though I’d seen it done plenty of times. I set them on the island and went to find the screw-looking thing Mom used. I rifled through a couple drawers before picking out what I was pretty sure was the right utensil. I had no idea how it worked, though.

  “Did you grow up here, Manning?” Mom asked.

  “Pasadena.”

  I assessed the bottle of wine. The sharp part went into the top, but the top had a wrapper around it. Did that come off first?

  Manning took the thingie—a corkscrew, that’s what it was called!—out of my hand and peeled away the foil.

  “I know how to do it,” I said under my breath.

  “You shouldn’t. You’re only sixteen.”

  I watched closely as he stuck the sharp, coiled end into the cork. Exactly what I would’ve done, but when he bore down to screw it in, I was pretty sure I would’ve messed it up somehow. “I don’t know how to do it,” I admitted.

  That earned me his first smile of the night. His neck muscles strained and the cork slid out with a pop.

  I turned around to find Mom watching us. She pulsed her eyebrows and mouthed, So handsome.

  He was. It was like our first date, me bringing him home to meet my parents. Manning moved around me, looking for wine glasses. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him where they were, because I couldn’t speak. I just wanted to watch him. Manning was here, in my kitchen, where I’d made him steak, and it was going well.

  As he pulled down two wine glasses, he glanced at me. “You okay?”

  I nodded. Hard. “Yes.”

  “Got some sun today, huh?” He winked. “Were you outside?”

  “I went to the—”

  I heard Tiffany before I saw her. “I’m here, I’m here,” she said. “Sorry I’m late.”

  My heart fell, my smile melting. Tiffany came around the corner in her short dress and a black cardigan. She’d ripped a synthetic daisy off an old hat and stuck it in her hair. She went directly to Manning. In her platforms, she had a few inches on me and came up to his shoulder. Mom wore heels. I was the only one without shoes on.

  Tiffany leaned toward him, offering her cheek, but he kissed her forehead. “They kept me entertained.”

  She smiled. “You met my mom?”

  “Yep. Just getting her some wine.”

  Tiffany moved aside so he could pull a third glass from the cupboard, but he only poured two drinks. He handed one to my Mom and kept the other for himself.

  Tiffany put a hand on her hip. “What about me?”

  “You’re not twenty-one. Other one’s for your dad.”

  “It’s fine if she has one,” Mom said. “We aren’t stupid; we know Tiffany drinks. At least here, we can monitor it.”

  Manning had the bottle in his hand, looking unsure of what to do. He set it down, so Tiffany poured her own glass.

  “So, Manning.” Mom took a sip. “How long have you and Tiffany been dating?”

  “We’re friends,” he said.

  I looked at the ground to hide my grin.

  Unlike me, neither Mom nor Tiffany liked that answer. “I’m sorry,” Mom said. “I got the impression—”

  “I told you he’s a gentleman,” Tiffany snapped, looking away. “He doesn’t discuss stuff like that.”

  The timer beeped. “Well, we’ll leave it at that then,” Mom said. She slid the steaks from the oven and set them on the counter. “Lake, go get your father.”

  Like most other nights, I went and knocked on my dad’s study, waiting until he said, “Yes?”

  “Dinner’s ready,” I said.

  “I’ll be out soon,” he said without looking up from his computer. “Start without me.”

  If it were up to him, he’d eat in here. One wall was a library of business and law books. His desk was topped with USC paraphernalia. Against another wall stood his regal glass case of guns. “We can’t. He’s here.”

  Dad glanced up wearing his default expression, heavy-browed annoyance. “Who?”

  “Manning. Tiffany’s friend.”

  “Christ. Come get me when dinner’s on the table. I’m not interested in entertaining her flings.”

  I didn’t want Dad at the table at all. At best, he wouldn’t be nice to Manning. At worst, he’d try to cut him down in front of us. Manning didn’t deserve to be embarrassed. I’d have been happy to let Dad stay in here with his toys, even though it’d surely kill Tiffany a little bit that she wouldn’t get to rub Manning in his face, but Mom would never let Dad skip dinner. As it was, they’d fought about it already. Mom thought Tiffany was better off with a boyfriend. Dad didn’t want to deal with it. “It’s on the table already,” I said. “He’s been here a while.”

  Dad stuck his elbows on the desk and massaged his temples. “I work all damn day. I should be able to enjoy a nice, quiet meal in my own goddamn home.” He looked up at me as if he’d forgotten I was there. “Go on. I’ll be right there.”

  He made it seem as if he was doing us some kind of favor, but his response sounded more like a threat than a concession.

  9

  Lake

  Mom, Tiffany, Manning and I were all seated in the dining room by the time Dad came out of his study. “Why are we eating in here instead of the kitchen?” he asked before he’d even pulled out his chair.

  “Because we have company,” Mom said.

  Manning looked surprisingly relaxed in his chair, his plate served, food untouched like all of ours. He watched my Dad.

  “Daddy, this is Manning,” Tiffany said.

  They locked eyes finally, holding each other’s gazes, a silent conversation passing between them.

  “Thank you for having me,” Manning said.

  “I’m not having you,” Dad replied, scooting his chair into the table. “My wife is. Thank her.”

  “He already did,” Mom said softly but firmly. “You’re being rude, Charles.”

  He glanced at her and then Tiffany before picking up a serving bowl of broccoli. “Did you cook tonight, Lake?”

  Even though everyone had started eating, my fingers were laced tightly in my lap. I was the tensest of everyone, and this didn’t even involve me. I wanted it to go well for Manning. I didn’t need to give him a reason to stop coming around. I wasn’t sure what was developing between us, but if we couldn’t find out until I turned eighteen, then he needed to stay in my life two more years. “I helped with the steak and dessert,” I said.

  “Good,” Dad said. “I like when you cook.”

  “I was just asking Manning about home,” Mom said. “He’s from Los Angeles.”

  “Pasadena, specifically,” Manning said.

  “Aside from my time at USC, never been a big fan of L.A.” Dad cut into his meat. “Too diverse. Even the neighb
orhood the campus is in is dangerous. Too much crime.”

  “Jesus, Charles.” Mom said. “I’ve told you before, you can’t say those things.”

  “The hell I can’t. This is my home.”

  “Daddy, please,” Tiffany said.

  My dad made comments like that sometimes, but never in front of company, mostly because it upset my mom. It was the first I’d heard Tiffany speak up against it.

  Mom turned to Manning. “He doesn’t mean anything by that. I’m sure you come from a lovely home.”

  Manning chewed and swallowed. “It was all right.” He glanced away as he said it. “Nothing like this.”

  “This,” Dad said, gesturing around with his fork, “is the result of a lot of hard work and investment in education. Do you go to school?”

  “Yes, sir. At night.”

  “For?”

  Manning had a mouthful of steak, so the table sat quietly as he chewed and then sipped his water. “I’m going into law enforcement.”

  “A cop?”

  “Yes.”

  “And after that? Want to be a lawyer?”

  “No. I want to help people.”

  “If you want to help, go to the top,” Dad said. “Officers don’t have any clout. They just do what they’re told.”

  Mom cleared her throat. “Charles—”

  “What?” he asked. “What now? These kids need a dose of reality. I’m just trying to be helpful.”

  I’d figured this would happen, that my dad would try to make Manning feel small. Knowing how much Manning’s future career meant to him, I opened my mouth to interject.

  “Cops do help people,” Manning said before I could speak. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  Dad shrugged. “Good, then. Do that. The world needs policemen.”

  “More than it needs lawyers,” Mom added.

  Manning turned to me, maybe looking for an out. “Did you make the salad, too?”

  I hadn’t even told him. I smiled. “Yes.”

  “You should try it then,” he said, nodding at my full plate.

  I’d been so wrapped up in a conversation that didn’t involve me, I’d barely touched my food. I took a bite of a fresh, crisp tomato, and juice dribbled down my chin.

  “Where are you on the reading list, Lake?” Dad asked.

  I dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “The last book.”

  “Perfect. I’ve just picked up some more I think you’ll love, including a non-fiction about perfecting the college essay.”

  “Maybe it’s time for a break,” Mom said. “Summer vacation’s almost over.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying,” Tiffany chimed in.

  “Don’t be fooled. USC looks as closely at summer vacation as they do the school year. They don’t accept slacking off.”

  I’d heard the same speech every year since I’d entered middle school. Once it was clear Tiffany didn’t have a shot at USC, my parents had turned all their attention on me. “I know.”

  “You want to go to USC?” Manning asked.

  “University of Southern California,” Dad said.

  “I’ve heard of it.” Manning was beginning to look irritated. “Private university in L.A., rival of UCLA.”

  “We’re hoping to get her started in a pre-college program next year,” Mom said.

  “Already?” Manning asked.

  Mom nodded. “These things start early. Years before college applications. And Lake wants this, so we’ll do whatever we can to get her there.”

  Manning shifted his eyes to me. “Why USC?”

  “It’s where I went,” Dad said.

  I sensed by the fact that Manning ignored him that he was looking for an answer from me. Throughout my childhood, I remembered my dad happiest when relaying his years at USC, as if it were some kind of adult Disneyland. I hadn’t ever considered anywhere else. One of the best schools in the country was practically in our backyard.

  “USC has all kinds of great programs,” I said.

  Dad nodded, picking up his wineglass. “It’s a top-tier school.”

  I smiled at Dad. I never felt closer to him than when we were on this subject. “They have a football team, a beautiful campus, and a great reputation.” I wanted to make my dad proud. To call myself a Trojan with the same pride he did. “And, yes, my dad’s an alumnus. I can’t really think of a reason not to go there.”

  I looked back at Manning, and my world slowed. He wasn’t listening. He watched Tiffany push food around her plate.

  “Did you ever think about USC?” Manning asked her. She didn’t even realize he was talking to her. “Tiff?”

  “What?” She looked up and blinked. “Did I want to go there? Me?”

  “Why not?”

  “It takes hard work, dedication, and planning to get in to a top university,” Dad said. “Tiffany spent her time in school doing God knows what, but it wasn’t any of those.”

  “I knew a kid who started at community college and transferred to Berkeley,” Manning said. “Tiffany could do that if she wanted.”

  “That’s what Charles did,” Mom said, raising her glass to Dad. “He couldn’t afford private but he worked his way up through community college.”

  Tiffany crossed her arms, sitting back in her chair. “Believe me, I don’t want to go to that dumb school. It’s like a fucking cult.”

  Dad pointed his fork at her. “Watch your language. You’d be lucky to be at that school rather than wasting your time here watching TV and spending my money.”

  “That’s not what I do all day.” She glanced nervously at Manning. “I’m looking at schools. I just don’t know where I want to go or what to major in yet.”

  “Business,” Dad said. “Can’t go wrong with that. Once you get your degree, maybe you could manage a clothing store. Since you love to shop.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Maybe I’ll open my own clothing store.”

  “Run your own business? Do you have any idea what that takes? Discipline. Hard work. Start-up capital. That’s just the basics.”

  I could see where this conversation was going, and even though I didn’t always agree with my sister, I didn’t want to see her embarrassed. “How about a fashion designer?” I suggested. Managing people wouldn’t be good for her. She was more creative than us and did better without confines or rules. That was how I’d heard Mom defend her to my dad, anyway. “You’d be good at that.”

  She ignored me. “You act like my life is over just because I don’t know what I want to do,” she said to Dad. “I could be a lot worse off right now, you know. I ran into Regina Lee at the mall today.”

  He frowned. “Who?”

  “That girl in my class who got pregnant.”

  I remembered the name. The story of her relationship with a math teacher had been all over the news. Things like that didn’t happen at our school. It was when I’d learned the term statutory rape.

  “The worst I did in high school was get bad grades and maybe have a little too much fun,” Tiffany said. “Regina has a baby. She was crying to me about how she’s raising it alone.”

  “What’d she think was going to happen?” Dad asked. “She’d ride off into the sunset with a pedophile? How much time did he get? Three years?”

  “I think so,” Mom said. “Statutory rape.”

  “Goddamn ridiculous. They went too easy on him. I would’ve charged him with real rape.”

  “They were in love,” Tiffany said.

  “I don’t care.” Dad stabbed a piece of steak with his fork. “I have plenty of friends in the legal system. If that’d been Tiffany, that scumbag’d be away so long, he’d come back a different person.”

  “Oh, my,” Mom said, glancing at Manning. “How’d we get on this subject?” She refilled Dad’s wineglass. She knew when and how to steer the conversation, especially when Dad and Tiffany were at each other’s throats. “You know, Lake’s off to camp soon. Are you looking forward to it, honey?”

  I was a
bout to say yes. As a kid, I’d had fun, but I’d enjoyed last year even more as a junior counselor. Young Cubs was a week-long sleepaway camp in the woods with outdoor activities and nightly campfires. But a new thought occurred to me. What would happen with Manning when summer ended? I wouldn’t be able to find him at the lot during the day. It wasn’t as if I could get in a car and go see him, and that wasn’t just because I didn’t have my license. Summer ended in just over four weeks. If I spent one of those away at camp, that only left me three with Manning. “Do I have to go?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” Mom asked. “You had a great time last year.”

  “But yes, you have to,” Dad said. “It looks good on your application.”

  Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Does everything have to be about college?”

  Dad looked at her, then Mom. “Your daughter has more attitude than an entire sorority house.” He chuckled.

  Tiffany scoffed, but she was smiling. “And whose fault is that?” she asked. “It’s genetics.”

  Dad, finishing his second glass of wine, muttered, “Attitude is not genetic. There—put that on a sticker and slap it on your bumper.” Everyone but Manning laughed. Tiffany had stickers plastered on her school supplies, her desk, her walls, and even a couple on her car. They ranged from a pink, glittery one that read “Warning: I Have an Attitude and I Know How to Use it” to a black, round one with a red “A” scratched in the center. I’d asked why she had an anarchy sticker, and she’d given me a funny look and told me it was “punk, duh.” Dad said it was to piss him off.

  Manning had already cleared his plate and was going for seconds. “What’s this camp thing about?”

  “It’s in Big Bear,” I said.

  He nodded his approval. “Love it up there.”

  “It’s for kids,” Tiffany added. “I would die of boredom.”

  “I’ll be a junior counselor,” I said, “which means I’m going to be paired with an adult counselor and we’ll be in charge of a cabin for the week. We sleep there at night and do activities during the day.”

  “Like what?” Manning asked.