Kiss and Tell 1

by Faith Winslow

  I shook my head and laughed, as well, but my laughter wasn’t nearly as loud as the stomach growl that followed.

  Dad raised his eyebrow when he heard my tummy rumble. “Your mom won’t be home for a couple hours,” he said somewhat mischievously. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  My mind was flooded with memories, and a smile spread across my face. When I was younger, Dad used to take me on “secret” trips every now and then when Mom was busy or he was free. It was always little stuff—like a trip to the ice cream shop, a walk in the park, or, as I got older, a small shopping spree. There was nothing scandalous about our trips. They were just “secret” because they were between only Dad and me. But considering Mom’s recent health kick, what Dad had in mind this time was something we definitely didn’t want her to know.

  “I’ll go get ready,” I said, bouncing out of my seat and rushing off toward my room.

  A few minutes later, I came back dressed and ready to go. Dad smiled at me as he grabbed his phone and keys, then looked at me inquisitively as we walked to the door.

  “How about Henry’s?” I asked.

  “Perfect,” he replied.

  Chapter 7

  When you think about it, restaurant names are sometimes very interesting, and are sometimes very strange. Normally, when you think of a pizza place, you think of something with an Italian word or name in it, and sometimes words like mama or papa come to mind. So, given all that, a pizza place named “Henry’s Pizza” doesn’t necessarily sound right—but trust me, the food is off the chain. Henry’s Pizza didn’t just make pizza, it made the best pizza in town, and that was exactly what I wanted to eat during my secret dinner date with Dad.

  We strolled into Henry’s around 5 p.m., and the place was already packed. Even more noticeable than the crowd was the aroma of the place. The moment we walked through the door, my mouth started watering and I felt like my belly would implode if it wasn’t soon filled with food.

  As soon as we were seated, the waitress handed us our menus. Dad put his down and tapped his fingers on top of it. “The usual?” he asked. Like me, he had a starved look in his eyes.

  I nodded my head, and when the waitress came back, Dad ordered a medium pizza with pepperoni and extra cheese, along with an order of fried mozzarella sticks to tide us over until the pie arrived.

  After ordering, Dad and I went on to catch up and talk about random things. Catching up with him was nothing like catching up with Mom. She’d been more thorough and probing with her questions, whereas Dad was more casual and seemed to only want to know the basics, which was all I really wanted to share.

  Soon enough, however, there was something else I wanted to share. Halfway through our discussion over what type of job I hoped to find, the waitress arrived with our cheese sticks, and that was enough to silence us both. We both greedily grabbed at them once she was out of sight.

  As Dad was chewing on a bite, I saw him roll his eyes, though I didn’t know why. As soon as I saw him reach in his pocket and pull out his cell phone, I figured out that he’d been distracted by a call.

  “Just a minute, honey,” he said, eyeing the number on the screen.

  Dad stood up and walked toward the front of Henry’s, near the cash register. He answered his phone and quickly got to talking while I remained dedicated to my food. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, and didn’t really care, but it sounded like he was talking about something important, and it sounded like it was stressing him out.

  When I ate the last cheese stick (which should have been Dad’s), I thought he’d be pretty stressed out about that, too. But as soon as he got back to the table, I found out that was the least of his concerns.

  “I’m sooo sorry about this, Kirby,” Dad said, unable to look me in the eye, “but I have to go back to the office. That was Mr. Swift on the phone, and he needs me to come back and polish off a few things before a meeting we have with a top client tomorrow morning.”

  “You have to go back to the office?” I asked. “Now?”

  Dad still couldn’t look me in the eye. “Yeah,” he said as he set his phone down on the table. “I know. It’s bad timing. But I have to go…now. He won’t be in the office for much longer, and I’ve got to get there before he leaves. So, by the time we close out here and I take you home, I’ll just make it.”

  “Are we gonna get to eat our pizza?” I inquired like a confused child.

  “Well,” Dad said, finally looking at me head-on, “we’ll have to get it to go.”

  “Won’t Mom be mad?” I asked, still the child.

  Dad laughed as he flagged down the waitress. “Probably,” he replied. “But not at us. Once she sees Henry’s in the house, she’ll cave and want to eat some, too—then she’ll be mad at herself for breaking her own rule.”

  The waitress came over to our table, and Dad told her to make out pizza “to go.” She said it was almost ready, and that it’d only be a matter of minutes before we had our pie.

  “Why couldn’t you just work from home like you did last night?” I asked.

  “Our client’s coming to the office in the morning,” Dad explained. “We prepared a presentation with demo boards and cards, but there’s an issue with how they came out. I need to go in and see it in person to take care of it.”

  As a child of the technological revolution/boom, I was a little surprised to hear that “boards” and “cards” were still being used in any type of presentation, and I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that there was anything that couldn’t be handled online. But, then again, what did I know? As I’ve said before, I’d never worked a day in my life.

  “Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked. She swooped up at our table from out of nowhere, but I was pleased to see her arrive. She had our pizza box in her hands, and I wanted to yank it from her and dig in.

  “Nope,” Dad said, not even waiting to see if I cared to offer a reply. He took the box from the girl, handed her two crisp 20s, and told her to keep the change. She smiled gratefully as she calculated her huge tip, then reached into her pocket and gave us a handful of individually wrapped peppermint butter mints.

  Like lightning, Dad jumped up and headed toward the door with the pizza box. I didn’t linger, but took a reasonable amount of time getting out of my chair. I’d be damned if Dad’s job was gonna make me break a sweat.

  As I was leaving, the waitress came chasing after me and called out. “Excuse me,” she said. Then, she shouted “hey!” to better get my attention.

  I turned to see what she wanted.

  “Your boyfriend left this on the table,” she said, holding out Dad’s cell phone.

  “My boyfriend?” I asked, half laughing. The other half of me wanted to vomit. “That’s my dad.”

  “Oh,” the waitress replied. “Sorry.” Her face was red with embarrassment. “Well, your dad left this on the table,” she amended as she handed me the phone. I took it from her, thanked her, and considered whether or not I would tell Dad about her mistake. I knew he’d think it was funny, but I also knew it’d go to his head to think that someone thought an old dude like him could land an attractive young girl like me.

  Once I got outside and saw Dad idling in the car, I decided not to tell him. It wasn’t necessary that he know, after all, and lord knows I didn’t want to discuss dating with him.

  As I looked at Dad, I also realized that, had an old dude like him actually landed an attractive young girl like me, he wouldn’t be that bad of a catch, either. He was nearing 50 but was still very good looking, and he was intelligent, successful, and kind. Any woman would be lucky to have him, and I’d be lucky to find a man like him.

  In fact, I hoped that I would find a man like Dad someday.

  Chapter 8

  Dad didn’t even pull into the driveway or put the car in park when he dropped me off back at home. I was surprised he even stopped the car, and surprised that I didn’t have a heart attack from how fast he was driving. Henry’s was
about halfway between our house and Dad’s office, so the fact that he had to drop me off meant he had a lot of backtracking to do, and his driving was obviously rushed to accommodate that.

  Mom’s car was already in the driveway when I arrived, and I was seriously hoping she wouldn’t interfere with my impending meal. It took a tremendous amount of restraint not to dive into the pie while Dad was driving, but once I was out of the car, I couldn’t think of much else.

  When I went into the house, Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, swiping away at her tablet. She looked up as soon as I entered, then eyed the box in my hands.

  “Henry’s?” she asked.

  “Yep,” I replied.

  “Give it to me,” she instructed, setting her tablet down and rising from her seat. I reluctantly handed her the box and hoped she didn’t toss it into the trash.

  Instead of tossing it, Mom took the box to the counter, set it down, and opened it. I saw her eyes widen when she saw the untouched pizza, and my eyes widened, too.

  “Dad took me, but we had to get it to go,” I explained, licking my lips. “Mr. Swift called him back to the office.”

  “Hmm,” Mom hummed, though I don’t think she really heard what I said. She, too, had fallen under Henry’s spell.

  Mom reached across the counter to the knife block, pulled out a small butcher knife, and sliced one of Henry’s huge slices in half. She picked up the small piece and took a bite, then I took her cue and went to grab my own piece.

  “What did you do today?” she asked, savoring the flavor of Henry’s somewhat sweet sauce.

  I took a bite from my slice, just to have my mouth filled, so that I could have another moment to think.

  “Nothing,” I finally said. There was nothing I could say to compensate for the fact that I’d done nothing—perhaps if I’d done something, anything, I could have inflated that and lied.

  Mom looked at me and shook her head. “Well, you’re not gonna sit around here and do nothing all the time,” she said. “We’ll say that today was a ‘settling in’ day, but tomorrow, I expect you to do something. Either get your job hunt going, or do something around the house. There’s still a lot we have to do before the party.

  I kept my attention focused on my pizza, not on Mom’s words, and suddenly found myself wishing there was a way out of this conversation. Even though Mom’s comments about London the night before were a little strange, I would have much rather revisited that conversation than the one we were having now.

  Mom finished her tiny half slice of pizza, then went back to the box to retrieve the second half. I wondered why she didn’t just take a whole piece to begin with, but I figured eating two smaller slices carried with it some sort of psychological effect. Maybe it made her feel as if she was eating more, or perhaps it made her feel less guilty about indulging in the first place.

  I also went to get another slice, and got to eating it right away. As we both ate our food, Mom kept looking at me in an expectant way, waiting for me to say something.

  “I’ll start looking for a job tomorrow,” I said. I knew it would be a hard task to find something without any experience, but I thought it’d at least give me an excuse to spend a few hours surfing the Internet.

  “Good,” Mom replied. “There are a few places I saw on my commute that are hiring. You can ride into work with me tomorrow and stop in to apply, then I’ll give you bus fare to get home.”

  Mom’s idea of a job search was a little more old school than mine. I hadn’t even thought about actually going to a physical place to apply and had planned on doing it all online. There were other parts of her plan I didn’t like so much, either—like waking up early enough to ride with her, and taking the bus home. I had my own car, after all, and could have done these things on my own. It was obvious that she didn’t trust me enough, though, and she had good reason. Like I said, I was just gonna use the job hunt as my excuse to play around online.

  “Okay,” I said as I swallowed hard. It wasn’t what I wanted to say, but I’d been backed into a corner and had no other choice. If I’d have said “no thanks,” I would have received a lecture, a reprimand, and a demand to oblige. I agreed just to cut out that unnecessary part of the process.

  “I leave here around 7:45,” Mom went on. “I’ll drop you off near two places that are hiring—a coffeehouse and restaurant. The bookstore and pet store are also hiring, but they open later, so you’ll have to hit those last.”

  A coffeehouse, restaurant, bookstore, and pet store?! Is that what my mom thought of me? Shouldn’t she be encouraging me to find a job in an office somewhere? I knew better than to ask her these things. She had a very impressive work history, stretching all the way back to age 14, and she’d worked many of those “blue collar” shop jobs before finding one that required her to wear a high-end skirt suit.

  I finished my second slice of Henry’s and was thinking about having another, but I decided against it. I didn’t want to hang around and keep at this discussion any longer than I had to.

  “I’m gonna go take a shower, then catch up on some e-mail,” I told Mom. She was staring at the pizza box again and merely nodded in response.

  I left the kitchen and went to my room before hitting the shower. I just needed a few minutes to enjoy my full belly and digest Mom’s plan.

  Chapter 9

  For the past four years, all throughout college, I made it a point never to take a class that started before 10 a.m., even if it was the coolest class in the world or a cake course. I simply didn’t like getting up early and was, by no means, a morning person.

  I’d showered the night before, so I didn’t have to worry about that part of preparing for the day, but I still had to get up super early to get ready, get dressed, and allow some of that morning grouchiness to fade away.

  That grouchiness almost became full-fledged bitchiness when Mom criticized my wardrobe selection. “That’s not professional looking enough,” she said when I came out of my room wearing black leggings and a blue short-sleeve tunic top. I wanted to snap back at her and remind her of the nature of the places where I’d be applying, stressing the fact that what I was wearing at the moment was as nice, if not nicer, than what I’d wear to work there.

  Despite my opinion, and my age, I listened to my mommy and changed my outfit, slipping into a pair of black trousers and a button-down light grey blouse instead. That outfit also looked like something I could be expected to wear in the places I was supposed to apply to, though it definitely wasn’t as fun, stylish, or comfortable as what I’d had on before.

  I skipped over the formalities of any type of breakfast, coffee, or other fuel and found myself in Mom’s car in no time, headed for my unwelcomed interaction with the working world.

  “I’ll drop you off at The Terrace,” Mom said as we were driving away from the house. I was familiar with The Terrace and had eaten there several times, but I didn’t like the idea of actually working there. I couldn’t see myself as a waitress. Not that I was above it or anything. I just couldn’t see myself working in that capacity.

  “It’s not even 8,” I said curiously. “Won’t they be closed?”

  “They’ll be closed for business,” Mom answered. “They don’t open to the public until 11, but there’ll be prep and cleaning staff inside, and probably a manager. Just go in and tell them you want to fill out an application and speak with whatever management’s there.”

  I nodded then stared out of the window. I gazed at all the houses we passed and thought of how many of them contained people who were still sleeping comfortably and aimlessly in bed. I wished that I was one of those people in one of those houses, and I resented the fact that I was awake and going on a job search I didn’t want to go on.

  “After that,” Mom continued, “you should head over to Christy’s Cup. It’s a new coffeehouse that only opened a few months ago. I’ve been in there a few times, and they’re always hiring. It’s open now, so you shouldn’t have any trouble finding someone to tal
k to.

  “The bookstore and pet store both open at 9. So by the time you’re done at Christy’s, you should be able to stop there and apply. Keep your eyes peeled along the way. There may be other places that are hiring, so look for signs in windows and on doors.”

  The more Mom talked about what I should do, the more I regretted agreeing to do it in the first place. This wasn’t just a job hunt in the real world, this was a job hunt that required a lot of legwork and gumption on my part. It required me to be proactive, direct, and unintimidated—and those aren’t really words I’d use to describe me.

  I spent the rest of the ride listening to Mom offer advice on what to say to make a good impression, how to explain my lack of work experience, and how to fill out applications the right way. It was all very helpful information, I guess, but I really didn’t want to hear it and feigned my interest.

  When we finally got to town, Mom pulled up in front of The Terrace and handed me $3.50—just enough for bus fare home, not a penny more. She also told me what buses to take, where I could find them, and approximate stop times. I paid greater attention to this part of our conversation than to the others, and I found this information more useful by at least tenfold. Since I didn’t want to be on this job search, I was glad to know how to end it and go home when the time came.

  I watched as Mom drove off, and for a moment, I thought about heading for the bus stop and going home right away. I figured I could lie to her and tell her I applied at all those places. It’s not like any of them were going to actually hire me, anyway.

  Before I could leave for the bus stop, the door to The Terrace opened and a woman around Mom’s age walked out.

  “Can I help you?” she asked. I was staring at the place while I was considering leaving, and it must have been obvious that I was doing so for a reason.