Who's Your Daddy?

by Lynda Sandoval

  “Yeah?”

  “Totally. But see, I don’t feel that pressure from you.”

  “That’s because popular jocks are usually major tools.”

  He laughed and tugged at my hair a little harder. “See? With you, I can just be myself.” His expression grew serious, and his voice got huskier. “I like it, Lila. A lot.”

  AHHHHH, he was leaning closer! I felt like a tornado was touching down inside my stomach, so I went for the flippant reply. “It’s nice to know you have the capacity for taste in women, Dylan. I was really beginning to worry about you.”

  He grinned. “Lila?”

  “What?”

  “I so totally want to kiss you right now.”

  ACCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCK!!!

  “Y-you do?”

  “Yep. How do you feel about that?”

  I moistened my lips with a quick flick of my tongue. “I feel like I’d rather do it than talk about it.”

  Dylan released a low, totally hot little growly laugh, then leaned forward. He cupped my cheek gently, and his eyes locked with mine. “I’ve wanted to do this for the longest time.”

  “Y-you have?”

  “Oh yeah. Want to know something?”

  “Um … sure.”

  “Jennifer was jealous of you.”

  I snorted. “Not a newsflash, Sebring. Tell me something I didn’t know.”

  “Alright. She had every reason to be jealous of you.”

  My heart absolutely soared. He almost didn’t have to kiss me for that moment to be perfect, except he went ahead and did it, and the moment transformed into freakin’ stupendously, life-altering perfect. His lips were warm, soft and firm at the same time. It was the best first kiss in the history of the universe, and I made a mental note to send Jennifer a thank you note for giving Dylan the practice.

  Ha! Not really, but the thought cheered me so much that I decided this day, which had started out so badly, had turned out to be the best day of my life.

  Dylan pulled back from the kiss slightly. “Lila?” I could feel his warm breath against my mouth.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you want to go out?”

  My stomach quivered with excitement. “You mean, ‘go out,’ go out?”

  He laughed softly. “Yeah.”

  I smiled. “Okay. On one condition.”

  Dylan laughed again, all private and intimate-like. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you have conditions?”

  “Do you want to hear it or not?”

  “Whip it on me.”

  I reached up and traced the edge of his jaw with my finger. I only wondered if that was a stupid move for a split second, and then decided it felt just right. I’ll go out with you, if you promise that one of our dates is to prom.”

  He pulled his chin back. “That’s it?”

  “What do you mean, that’s it?”

  “I was planning to ask you a long time ago, but I needed to get things with Jennifer squared away and make sure you didn’t totally despise me first.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Dead.”

  I could have killed him. If he only knew the trauma I’d gone through trying to get fate to point me AWAY from Someone Else’s Guy. But I had to forgive him, because, hey, we were going to prom!!! At least, I thought so. He hadn’t actually confirmed it. “Are we going to prom together, then?”

  “We’re going to prom together.”

  I grinned. “That totally rocks.”

  “I’ll say.” And then he leaned in and kissed me some more.

  We were so caught up in each other, in sharing little coffee-flavored kisses, that it took three rings before we noticed that someone was calling Dylan’s cell. He pulled away from me, yanked his phone off his belt clip, then read the caller ID. His baffled gaze flicked up and met mine. “It’s Caressa.”

  “Huh? Why’s she calling your cell?”

  “I don’t know.” He flipped it open. “Hello?” A pause ensued, while he listened. “Yeah, hi. She’s right here.”

  I cocked my head questioningly, and he shrugged and handed the phone over.

  “Hey, Caressa.”

  “Lila.” Her voice was more wigged than I’d ever heard it before. “Holy, holy, holy crap. I’m so glad I found you.”

  I sat forward, immediately alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Or maybe everything,” she rasped. “I’m not sure at this point because I can’t think straight.”

  “What’s going on?!” I demanded.

  “He’s here.”

  “Who?”

  “Bobby Slade. He’s at my house.”

  “NO WAY!”

  “Way. Freakin’ totally WAY. He’s in my dad’s studio as we speak, jamming the blues with my father.”

  fifteen

  meryl

  Svuda podji svojoj kuci dodji.

  That was a Bosnian phrase I’d learned that meant, “You can travel the world round, but you will always return home.” I hadn’t realized how utterly true it was until that day.

  In the aftermath of the crisis, Ismet’s mom rode along to the hospital in the ambulance and his dad followed behind in the car. I offered to drive Ismet and Shefka there, but they wanted to go home instead, to get things ready for Jenita’s return. That meant making up her bed with clean, soft sheets, putting fresh flowers we’d picked up at the grocery store in a vase on her nightstand, and cooking her favorite Bosnian dish—a really yummy-smelling spiral pastry and meat thing called burek. l was honored when they asked me if I’d like to help.

  Exhausted as we all were from the search efforts and stress, bustling around the house getting things in order gave us a sense of purpose. Soon, however, we’d finished. Jenita and Mr. and Mrs. Hadziahmetovic had returned home, with Jenita’s broken ankle trussed up in a bright pink cast. The entire family hovered around, showering her with love and tenderness. I welcomed Jenita home, too, but soon I started feeling out of place and awkward. I hung back, but soon even that wasn’t enough. There is a time for friends and a time for family, and sometimes, those don’t overlap.

  A profound sense of loneliness settled over me as I backed out of the Hadziahmetovic family circle, knocking me into a big funk. Watching the Hadziahmetovics made my thoughts drift to my own unique and loving family. The bummed-out mood coupled with a tidal wave of shame over the way I’d been skulking around for the past several months, doing things I’d never even considered doing before.

  Mom and Dad had always accepted me for exactly who I was, and I felt terrible for having tried to change into a different person. Trying to be someone other than myself was stupid, even with a great motivation, such as catching the attentions of a guy like Ismet. The sad fact was, even though I’d gone against my beliefs and my family’s rules to fill my mind with television and pop culture about which I couldn’t care less, in the end, none of it had made Ismet like me.

  And it hadn’t made me like me. Not one bit.

  Seeing Ismet dote on his little sister that evening was probably the first time I’d ever really glimpsed the real Ismet. He wasn’t trying to fit some American ideal for once. He was just being Ismet Hadziahmetovic—plain and simple. Man, I really liked the real him, and realizing that made me recognize with a jolt that I really liked the real me, too. I’d veered so far off the path of my life, trying so hard to be someone I thought Ismet wanted me to be, that I’d completely forgotten how great it felt to just be the girl my parents had raised. Thoughtful, introspective, easygoing, self-accepting, and open to others.

  Svuda podji svojoj kuci dodji.

  Those odd foreign words really meant something to me now. I definitely felt like I’d traveled the world over, like I’d journeyed far from who I really was, who I wanted to be. It was, indeed, time to go home.

  I slipped out the front door of the Hadziahmetovics’ house and stopped for a moment on the porch. Snowflakes so big they reminded me of white, lace doilies fluttered down and melted on my skin. I couldn’t see
my beloved stars tonight, but I knew they were there. They were always there, just like family.

  The day’s events had winnowed down all the dreck of junior year until I could see the truth clearly for the first time in months. I didn’t want to be the perfect popsavvy teenager to win a great guy, or for any other reason. I wanted to be Just Meryl, the girl who knows way too many boring facts and isn’t afraid to share them. The girl who wears clothes because they’re comfortable, not because they’re in style. The girl who FINALLY knows who Buffy is, but doesn’t freakin’ care.

  THAT was me.

  If and when some guy was smart enough to value all the facets of my admittedly quirky personality, then swell. I’d have a boyfriend. Until then, I was perfectly fine with being Meryl Morgenstern, the unhip girl who’d once been mistaken for a subsistence farmer.

  I jumped into the Volvo with a smile on my face, more than ready to move on from the past few months. I didn’t want to go back into the house and tell the Hadziahmetovics good-bye right then, but I figured they had enough on their minds anyway. They wouldn’t even miss me. I would call tomorrow and check on Jenita’s condition and say hello.

  For the first time since the night Shefka had told me what kind of girls Ismet yearned to attract, I actually felt okay being alone and dateless.

  There was another Bosnian phrase I’d learned that suddenly popped my head: Ne sij tikve di jos nisu nikle. It meant, “Don’t plant pumpkins where they never sprouted.”

  Duh!

  I’d planted and planted and planted hopes and wishes and dreams all year long, always in the same field (Ismet’s), and always with bad results. It was high time I started looking for a new plot of land.

  I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t feel a pang of regret about Ismet, but I was done sowing seeds in a fallow field. Maybe I’d take a break from planting altogether, get my world back on track. Next time, I’d pick something easier to grow … like a second head!

  I’d been home for about an hour, and I’d just gone up to my room to send an email to Lila and Caressa when I heard unfamiliar voices downstairs. Unfamiliar, that is, until I strained a little to make out the words.

  My heart leapt. Ismet?

  Curiosity warred with shock inside me, but for some reason, I didn’t run immediately downstairs to find out why he was at my house. When I’d left his place, he’d been ensconsed in the family fold taking care of his sister. In fact, that was where he should be right this minute.

  Why WAS he here? On tonight of all nights.

  I had to know.

  As quietly as I could, I crept to the top of the staircase and sat down. Ismet was engaged in polite small talk with my mother while they waited for my father to join them. When he finally did, my parents invited Ismet into the living room. From my vantage point, I could see them through the balusters, but they couldn’t see me. Perfect.

  “What brings you out on a snowy night like this, young man?”

  “It is Meryl, sir.”

  My nerves zinged, and I covered my mouth with both hands to hold in the squeak that wanted to emerge. For a few moments I went bonkers with excitement, but then I figured his parents probably sent him over to say thank you for my help or find out why I’d left without telling them, or something. That settled me down enough to listen calmly.

  “Meryl told us what happened to your little sister. I trust she’s okay?” Dad asked, clutching his pipe between his teeth. It was odd—I loathed cigarette smoke, but the scent of pipe tobacco felt safe and comforting to me, because it reminded me of Dad.

  “She has a broken ankle, but that will heal. We are thankful to have found her. When I left, she was sleeping from the medication.” He cleared his throat. “But, about Meryl.”

  “She’s upstairs if you’d like me to run and get her.”

  I half stood, preparing to bolt if my mom headed this way.

  “Not yet,” Ismet told them, surprising me again. “I came to speak with you both.”

  Mom and Dad exchanged a look, then Dad asked, “What’s on your mind?”

  “Can I get you something to drink, Ismet?” Mom asked.

  ARGH! I wanted to throw a pillow at her. Quit with the hospitality, already, Mom. LET THE GUY TALK! He was trying to get to the ME part, and I so wanted him to go there.

  “No, thank you.” Ismet stalled with a bit of fidgeting and throat clearing, but he finally looked at my father directly. “You see, I have been sort of blind to Meryl, although she and I are friends. I thought that I wanted … well, what I mean to say is I never noticed … what I would really like is permission to date your daughter.”

  My eyes bugged, and I took a risk and pressed my face to the space between the balusters. I wanted to make sure his words had been sincere and not some kind of a joke. They didn’t appear to be. He looked like he meant it.

  ISMET HADZIAHMETOVIC WANTED TO DATE ME!!

  How? Why? When?

  I forced my racing thoughts to still and just listened.

  Ismet sat on the edge of one of my mom’s leather club chairs. He wore a navy blue pea coat, unbuttoned, and he grasped his knit ski cap in both of his hands. He looked earnest and sweet and sooooooo totally adorable.

  My parents must’ve thought so, too, because they shared one of those “Awwwww” smiles with each other before answering.

  God, what if they said no?!

  “We can’t give you permission to date our daughter, Ismet,” my dad said, bringing my worst fears to life.

  I leapt to my feet and raked all ten fingers into the front of my hair. Did I just hear what I thought I heard? I was ready to hurl myself down the stairs and plead Ismet’s case, when my dad surprised me by adding, “Only Meryl can decide if she wants to date you. But you do have our blessing to ask her.”

  Ismet visibly relaxed in his chair, and my shoulders dropped, too. I blew out a breath as my hands and knees trembled.

  “Thank you. May I—” He glanced toward the staircase and I backtracked so fast trying not to be seen, I knocked my calves on the top step and fell on my butt, right there on the landing. Yeouch. But, at least Ismet hadn’t busted me.

  “May I see her for a few minutes?”

  “Of course, dear,” my mom said. She stood and smoothed the front of her wool skirt. “Let me just run and get her.”

  And there it was, my cue to bolt. I sprinted back into my room, yanked a brush through my hair, chomped down a breath mint, and fluffed a little bronzer on my cheeks, all before my mom knocked. Before replying, I took a flying leap across the room and landed on my bed. I picked up a book, and I swear I looked and sounded totally nonchalant when I said, “Come in.”

  Mom cracked the door slightly and peered in, her smile big and her eyes shining. “Honey, Ismet is here to see you.”

  I feigned surprise. “In this weather?”

  She nodded. “Perhaps you should come down.”

  “Okay,” I said, with excitement. I couldn’t fake the whole casual thing anymore. I walked over to my mom and we hooked arms.

  “He’s very cute,” she whispered.

  I giggled. “I know,” I whispered back.

  When we reached the bottom of the stairs, Ismet saw us and stood. He smiled at me in a way I’d only dreamed of before—as though he really saw me, and liked what he saw. “Hi, Meryl.”

  Yummmmmmmmmmmmy accent. “Hi.”

  “We’ll just leave you two to talk, won’t we, honey?” she said to my father.

  “Absolutely.”

  He stood, then Mom said to Ismet, “It was so nice to visit with you. Please give our love to your little sister.”

  “Thank you,” Ismet said.

  “I do hope you’ll be back.”

  Ismet gazed at me before telling my mom, “I hope so, too.”

  It was so romantic! SWOON!

  After my parents had vacated the general vicinity, I tilted my head toward the heated sunroom at the front of the house. “Let’s go out here.”

  I watched his Adam�
��s apple jump a couple times, and I have to say it was a relief to know he seemed as nervous as I felt. The equal footing was a good thing, especially because I had some things to say to Ismet that weren’t going to be easy.

  Ismet followed me into the sunroom, and we took a seat side by side on the glider. Thick thermal windows ran along three walls of the room, opening up to views of the storm. The only light came in through the window into the house, as an ambient glow from the living room. We decided to leave it that way so we could watch the snow.

  “I can’t believe you’re here on tonight of all nights, Ismet. How’s Jenita?”

  “Jenita is fine.” He turned so he could face me, and for a few moments, he seemed to struggle with his segue into the meat of the conversation. “I went to look for you, Meryl, and you were gone.”

  I lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “You needed some family time.” Now was my chance. “And, if you want the truth, I needed some, too.”

  He pressed his lips together, then reached over and took one of my hands in both of his. His thumb brushed gently over my knuckles, and I could swear my heart had stopped. “I owe you an apology,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For …” He did this self-deprecating little mouth twist that made me melt. “… I guess for not treating you as kindly as you treated me.”

  “You’ve always been kind, Ismet.”

  “Yes, but—” He blew out this impatient breath. “Not in the way that… what I mean is … I just want you to know—” He broke off, swearing in Bosnian, which made me giggle. “Meryl, would you like to go out with me?”

  I studied him for a few long moments. Part of me wanted to say yes immediately and forget the past few months, but I knew I needed to clear the air a bit. I wanted to start our dating relationship with everything out in the open. “I would love to go out with you, but only under a few conditions.”

  A small line bisected his forehead, just between his sandy brows. “Conditions?”

  I nodded, feeling strong and determined. “You see, I’ve been trying to catch your attention for months.” I paused, and he showed me the respect of not feigning surprise. “When I couldn’t accomplish that by just being me, I did some things that weren’t me. Things that made me feel like I was living a lie.”