“Don’t forget having to say ‘Have a Burger Wonderful Day’ to customers as they leave,” she teased.
“So you’ve been there,” I said with a smirk.
“Who hasn’t? The outfits are hideous, to be sure, but they have great burgers.”
True enough. I did quick salary calculations in my head. At ten bucks an hour, twenty hours a week, I just might be able to pay my dad off by the end of the summer if I scrimped. “I really appreciate you helping me out like this, Chloe. But, um…well, this is dumb.”
“What? Just ask me.”
I twisted my mouth apologetically. “Can I be called something other than a gopher? That job title is like asking to be ridiculed.”
She smiled. “How about office assistant?”
“Much better,” I said, with a sigh of relief. “Thanks for that.”
“No problem. It’ll really help us out having an office assistant.” Her gaze drifted to the desktop and she bit the corner of her mouth. After a sec, she looked up again. “And it’ll be a good opportunity for you and I to get to know each other better,” she said, in a softer tone.
My gaze bounced around, unsure where to land. “Uh…”
“I was your age once, Lila. I know the fact that I’m dating your dad is…difficult for you.”
I started to blurt a denial, then chose not to. Why bother lying about it, you know? My face flamed.
She leaned a little closer. “Maybe you’ll come to realize that I’m not so big a threat and you have nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not worried,” I stutter-fibbed, setting my empty coffee mug on the edge of her desk. So much for the not lying, huh?
She bestowed a patient, knowing smile. “Can you start tomorrow? Eight o’clock?”
“Definitely.” I gave Chloe Sebring a genuine grin, the first in a long time. Then, in a moment of impulse, I rounded her desk and hugged her. “You don’t know what this means to me. I’ll let you get back to work now, but thank you.” We split apart, and I sort of backed toward the door.
“No. Thank you,” she said. “For giving me a chance.”
As I left, I wasn’t sure if she meant a chance with the job or a chance with my father, but all I knew was, Chloe had just about saved my life. And right then, I didn’t even mind that she was sleeping with my dad.
Well…at least not as much.
*
On the way home, I decided to pop into Inner Power to (1) tell Meryl about my good fortune, and (2) buy a gratitude candle to burn in my room. She was dusting or something and looked up when I passed the window and waved at her. Dude, I have to say I’ve never seen Meryl move so fast, but before I could even reach for the door handle, she’d come outside and was standing in front of me.
“What are you, a sprinter now?” I joked.
“No, just…what’s up?” she asked, all breathless.
I frowned at her, confused. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why would anything be wrong?”
“Oh. Okay.” Whatever. “I was just coming by to tell you I found a job.”
All weirdness fell away and she smiled broadly. “Lila, that’s fantastic! Not Burger Wonder, I hope.”
“No, but you’re not going to believe it.”
“Tell me,” she said, bouncing.
“I’m working for Chloe.” I crinkled my nose. “Horribly hypocritical of me, but it’s an awesome job as an office assistant at the travel agency.”
Meryl clasped her hands at her chest. For the record, Mer was the only person I knew who actually did things like clasp her hands at her chest without looking odd. “What a great way for you two to get to know each other better,” she said, sounding more mature than the rest of us—like always.
“That’s what she said.” I gestured toward the door. “Can we go in? I want to pick up a gratitude candle to burn.”
Her face paled, and it’s hard to say that about a freckle-faced redhead. It’s like saying a puppy suddenly got fuzzy. But seriously, she paled. “Oh, I’ll pick you up one as a congrats gift and bring it to your house later.”
“Meryl, that’s nice, but Chloe’s paying me ten bucks an hour—”
“Wow!”
“I know. And thanks for the offer, but I think the gratitude vibe will be stronger if I buy my own candle this time.” I started to bypass her.
“No, it works either way.” She grabbed my arm to stop me. “Lila, I…”
Now this was definitely weird. “Meryl Morgenstern, what’s going on? You’re acting—”
Just then the door opened a crack, and a girl with light brownish blond hair pulled back into a ponytail stuck her head out. “Meryl, Reese wants to know if—”
My gut spasmed.
Jennifer Hellspawn Hamilton.
I hadn’t recognized her sans highlights and a spackle-thick layer of makeup coating her rapidly widening face.
“Oh,” the two of us said, in dazed unison.
Hellspawn recovered first. “I’ll tell Reese you’ll be back in a sec,” Jennifer said to Meryl, quickly disappearing back inside the shop.
Silence descended. My heart thrummed in my chest, and Meryl looked miserable, as well she should. This was a pretty huge friendship omission. I didn’t want to feel angry or betrayed, but I couldn’t help it. I lowered my tone to a rasp. “What the hell is she doing inside Inner Power?”
“Working.” She quirked her mouth. “Sort of.”
Jealousy stabbed through me, and it didn’t feel good. My hands tightened into fists at my side. “You told me they weren’t hiring.”
“They weren’t. They didn’t, Lila,” Meryl pleaded. “I know it’s going to sound weird, maybe even like a lie, but I swear it’s true. She’s working for free.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Huh? Jennifer is doing volunteer work? Riiiight.”
“It’s not like that,” Meryl said.
I paced about five feet away to gather my wildly bucking emotions, then stomped back. “Then please, please, tell me what it is like, because I’m feeling really awful right about now.”
Meryl sighed, and then this huge story just came tumbling out of her mouth. A bench, rainstorm, ugly hoodie, chunky highlights showing huge roots. Reaching out, feeling guilty, hot chocolate, Blessingway ceremonies (heh?). “So, Reese and I both told her she was welcome to hang out in the shop if she needed to get away from her parents and their issues, and she took it to heart. She just started just showing up. Every day.”
“Stalker,” I muttered.
Meryl went on. “After she followed me around so much, I got to the point where I shoved a feather duster in her hand and sent her over to dust the angel and goddess statues, just to get her off my back. And”—Meryl shrugged helplessly, her eyes brimming with tears—“she never left. I would never do anything to hurt you, Lila. You’re my best friend in the world. You and Caressa. We’re the Three Amigas forever. Please believe me.”
I crossed my arms and sighed, kicking the toe of my pink checkered Chuck Taylor into the sidewalk. The thing is, I did believe her. But did she think I was such a hateful wench that I wouldn’t have understood had she told me about Stalker Jennifer?
I pondered that.
And, you know, I could understand if she felt that way.
“I’m not going to be her friend,” I said stiffly.
“I don’t expect you to be,” Meryl said. “I’m not really friends with her either. We don’t hang out or anything.”
I nodded. “What happened to her blond highlights?”
“Kelly gave her some natural henna treatment to darken her back to her natural color. I guess you’re not supposed to dye your hair with regular hair dye when you’re pregnant or something, and she was starting to look like a four-lane highway ran down the middle of her head.”
I couldn’t even laugh. My chest was too tight. “Is the baby Dylan’s?” I asked quietly.
Meryl’s blue eyes widened. “You
think I wouldn’t tell you that if I knew?”
I huffed. “Well, gee, I don’t know.”
“I haven’t asked her.” She spread her arms, looking hurt. “I told you, it’s not like we’re bosom buddies. I’m just being me. I’m trying to pay it forward, show her by example that life is much more pleasant when you’re not a bitch.”
Right. Jennifer had cornered the market on bitchy. “Is it working?” I asked in a skeptical tone.
“I don’t know and I don’t care. That’s her journey. Mine is just to do the right thing.”
Silence descended. It was so hard to stay mad at Meryl when she was just being…Meryl, the oddball girl I’d known and loved for so long. Truthfully, I admired her for having the decency to reach out to a person who had no one else. I just hated that it was Hellspawn. That was small and petty and nothing I was proud of, but there you have it. I guess that was my journey—abdicating the pettiness from my heart and mind.
Maybe tomorrow.
Finally, Meryl cleared her throat. “Her pregnancy is none of my business, Lila, and she doesn’t want to talk about it anyway. Nor do I. She comes into Inner Power to get away from her problems.”
“And to steal my best friend,” I said, feeling my face heat up when I realized I sounded like a petulant, insecure child.
Meryl gasped. “Do you honestly think she could do that?”
I thought about it. “No. But she might try since she doesn’t have any of her own.” I crossed my arms. “She thinks I stole her boyfriend, after all.”
“Who cares? It wouldn’t work anyway even if she did try, which she isn’t. I wish you’d believe me.”
“Okay. But…still,” I muttered.
“She’s just…here, Lila. I promise. And this whole pregnancy thing has knocked her down several notches. You wouldn’t believe how much she’s changed.”
“I don’t.”
“She actually apologized for having treated me horribly over the years.” Meryl raised her eyebrows. “Does that sound like the Jennifer we all knew and loathed?”
“Probably some part of her evil plan.”
Meryl eased out a sigh. “There is no evil plan. She has no friends, like you said. Nobody. Everyone dumped her, as if pregnancy is contagious or something. And you know how welcoming Reese and Kelly are. They’re like the ultimate cool aunts everyone wants to hang out with. She started out with all these asinine homophobic beliefs that made me want to smack her—”
“Go figure.”
“I know.” Meryl grimaced. “I almost punched her.”
Ah, my first smile of the day.
“But the more she’s around Reese and Kel, the kinder she’s becoming. She’s bonding with them. It’s a good thing.”
I sniffed. “How do you know for sure that she isn’t launching some scheme to hang out with you?”
“Because I know,” Meryl said softly, like she really did. “Personally, I think you should just ask Dylan if he’s the father. Get it over with. Odds are, he isn’t, and the two of you can move on. In the meantime, Inner Power is just walking the talk, welcoming everyone, serving as a haven.”
She had a point. My anger dissipated, but a rush of fear replaced it. I bit my lip. “I’m so afraid to ask Dylan.”
“Oh, come on,” Meryl said, in a tone that felt like she’d shaken me by the shoulders. “The Lila Moreno I know isn’t afraid of jack shit.”
My jaw dropped open, and I blinked up at my best friend. “Meryl Morgenstern, did you just swear?”
Her cheeks reddened. “I was just trying to make a point. Besides, I swear.”
“You don’t say stuff like ‘jack shit,’” I said, laughing.
“I do now,” she said, all tough-girl. Well, as tough as Meryl could get, which was sort of like Disney bunny tough-girl. Then just as quickly, her face sort of crumpled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “I was going to tell you, I swear. Are we okay?”
I opened my arms and we hugged. “Of course we’re okay. How can I fault you for being the person I know you are? Just, next time, trust me enough to tell me sooner.”
“I will. I’m so, so sorry.”
“And if she tries to steal you to be her best friend, I’ll kick her butt.”
“There is no chance of that.” She squeezed me harder. “I’m just trying to be the bigger person. That’s all.”
We pulled apart. I took a deep breath and blew it out. “So, you’ll come over tonight? Bring me that gratitude candle? Maybe we can even do a group IM with Caressa, celebrate the fact that I can take myself off the dreaded Burger Wonder waiting list and won’t have to wear a French fry hat. Ever.”
Meryl smiled with relief. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. I’ll totally need you there. This Dylan / Jennifer thing is freaking me out like you wouldn’t believe.” That inner shaking I’d felt for days returned.
“Go ask him,” she said.
I grabbed both of her hands and squished them like tension-relief balls, feeling more scared than I ever had in my life. “I’ll think about it.” Translation: The Land o’ Denial was a much more comfortable place to be, thankyouverymuch, and I’d rather just stay there for a while, bathed in my pretty illusions.
Chapter Eight
Turns out Dylan was sick of being avoided.
My super-cowardly Live in Denial plan? Denied.
When I arrived home, he was sprawled on our front steps drawing cartoon images on the soles of his tennis shoes with a red Sharpie. “Hey,” he said all casual-like, when I got out of my car and closed the door.
“Hey.” I wanted to puke.
“You’re avoiding me.”
Nothing like getting straight to the point. My throat tightened. “No, I’m not. I was looking for a job.”
“And avoiding me,” he said, accustomed to my bullshit. Trust me, his words hadn’t been a question. “All I want to know is, why? Did I do something wrong?”
He was right. We needed to get past this.
“Are you hungry?” I asked. It’s sort of the Latina way, as instilled by my paternal grandma when I was younger. If you don’t know what to say next in any given situation, offer something to eat. The direct route is for wusses. (Right.)
“If it’s not for real food, sure,” he said.
“You’re speaking my language.”
We went for a couple of scoops at I Scream, because it was a normal Dylan and Lila thing to do. Dylan ordered this enormous waffle cone concoction with so many extras, it bordered on barf-worthy. Of course, it wouldn’t put an ounce of extra poundage on the guy (argh!), because the body fat universe is not fair. I settled for a single scoop of butter pecan in a cup.
Loved the stuff. Unfortunately, I couldn’t eat it.
My throat was still clamped and my gut felt as though it was having a grand mal seizure in the middle of a mosh pit, with all kinds of stoned rock fans stomping on it. All during an earthquake. Yeah, that bad. I poked at the ice cream with my plastic spoon while it melted.
We’d taken an umbrella table on the outdoor patio, enjoying (Dylan) or pretending to enjoy (me) the warm breezes, which were, admittedly, a pleasant change from the rain we’d been having over the past week. Despite everything, it was so good to see him. I studied him from beneath my lashes. He didn’t look like a teen father to be, not that I really knew what one would look like. No giant scarlet sperm tattoo on his forehead or anything. It just didn’t seem like such a big part of him was…somewhere else. He looked exactly like my Dylan—nice, fun, weird, sexy.
And then he lunged into this enormous bite.
I shook my head, rethinking the sexy part. Ha, not really. Still, I scoffed. “You’re such a hog, Sebring.”
Unapologetic, he hiked his chin toward my cup while he chewed. Once he’d swallowed (thank goodness his mother had instilled some manners into him), he said, “You aren’t eating.”
I started to make excuses, but stopped myself. “
Nope.”
“Why not?” He frowned. “The Lila Moreno I know never met a scoop of butter pecan she didn’t love.”
Now or never.
I garnered my courage. “I have to ask you something.”
I watched him freeze in mid-bite. He probably picked up on the tone or something in my words. But he didn’t seem cornered or worried or guilty. That gave me hope.
He skipped the bite. “Okay, shoot.”
Deep breath in.
Whoosh.
“I’m working with your mom for the summer.”
“Cool. I already knew because she told me.” He paused, lowered his chin. “But that’s not a question.”
My heart shook like a tambourine inside my chest cavity. Was that even safe? Like, did I need immediate medical attention? I’d find out in a moment, that’s was for sure.
“Jennifer Hamilton is pregnant,” I said in a rush, as if it were one long word: jenniferhamiltonispregnant. A German word, one of those super-gigantic compound nouns we learned about in seventh grade when we had one month each of four different languages, French, Spanish, German, and Russian.
Jenniferhamiltonispregnant.
Sprechen Sie Preggo?
He stared at me for several excruciating moments, then set down the remaining part of his porker cone. “I’d heard. But that isn’t a question either, Lila. Which brings up the point, what is your question?”
I blinked at him, feeling exposed and raw, wanting to cry and hating myself for it. Or maybe I should hate him for it. Yeah, much better plan. I mean, I’d never been a big crier. That kind of emotional display had never gone over well with four evil brothers on hand to mock and pummel me at a moment’s notice, so I’d learned to rein it in. And then along came Dylan, the one guy who made me feel all kinds of things I wasn’t used to. Yep, the crying urge? Definitely his fault.
“Lila?”
Oh yeah. The heinous conversation.
Just get it over with!
“Is it yours?” I asked finally, in a near whisper.
Dylan sat in silence so long, I started to think I’d spoken the question in Bosnian, or some other language he didn’t understand. Not that I spoke a second language with any kind of fluency, much to my bilingual dad’s chagrin, but maybe it was a stress reaction from a past life or something, during which I had spoken a different language. Tagalog or Mandarin Chinese or German, with its fun compound nouns. Or perhaps I’d just thought the question and not actually voiced it.
Father Knows Best Page 9
