Pushing a stray strand of hair away from my lips, he slides his other hand around my waist, holding me up against him. “In case I forget to tell you, thank you for your sacrifice tonight.”
I lift my hand around the back of his head and run my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s going to be difficult having to fake-like you.”
“Good thing you’ve been practicing.”
I nod timidly and just as he leans in, his pants start to vibrate.
“Wow, you do like this dress.”
He sighs and reaches down. When he holds the phone up to me, I see “Mom” flash across the screen.
“Hey, Mom,” he says after holding it to his ear and letting me go. “Yeah, we’re almost heading out. I’ll let you know when we get there. Eh, with Friday night traffic, there’s no telling. Just enjoy yourself. Okay.” He glances over at me and smiles. “She’s looking forward to meeting you too.”
And the anxiety returns. What will I say to them? He’s making small talk about restaurants so I head into the bathroom. I apply some lipstick and brush out my hair. My hands are shaking as I place the brush down on the counter. He steps in behind me.
“Do you want me to help you straighten up before we go?”
“No. I’ll get it later.”
“Are you ready?”
I nod nervously. On our way out the door, I grab a scarf and wrap it around my neck. It makes me more comfortable.
When we get to his car, he opens his door for me.
“No. Uh-uh.”
“What? This is a date,” he replies.
“It’s a pretend date. That doesn’t count.”
He rolls his eyes. “In my parents’ eyes, we’re dating. I will be holding all doors for you tonight and you’ll have to accept that. Otherwise, I’ll get in trouble with Mom. That’s not something I’m willing to risk tonight or any night so, after you,” he says, motioning for me to get inside.
“God, you’re a pain in the ass,” I say, sliding into the car.
“If that means you let me open and close doors, then I’ll agree, Lizzy.”
I scowl at his misuse of my name. He pushes all my buttons.
“Should we listen to music?” he asks after starting the car.
I shrug and fidget with my purse.
“How about we listen to something of yours for a change?”
“It’s okay. Just play your driving mix.”
“I’m getting sick of my driving mix. Aren’t you?”
I shake my head. He glances over at me and his eyes soften. It’s as if he can read my thoughts.
“It’s going to be fine, I promise you.”
I nod my head.
“Liz? Really. I’ll do all the talking.”
“I’m fine,” I lie admonishingly.
He holds out his phone. “See if you can find something you like.”
Glancing over at it, my first thought is to take it and see how many pictures of girls are on there. I remind myself this is all an act tonight. He’s playing a part. It means nothing. I wave him off. “Just pick one you like.”
Placing the phone in the cup holder, he then presses a button on his wheel and says, “Play Gnash. ‘I Hate You, I Love You.’”
My cheeks flush, remembering the last time I heard this song. “Really?” I question.
“What? You don’t like it?” he asks playfully.
“Are you trying to remind me of the last time I acted like an idiot so it doesn’t happen again? Or perhaps it’s a reminder to not drink. At all.”
“I’m simply playing a song that makes me smile.”
“Mm-hmm.” I fold my arms and face the window.
He reaches across the seat and pulls on my arm, taking my hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I think we should practice so it seems natural. I’d hold the hand of a girl I’m dating.”
I bet he would. I’d protest if his hand didn’t feel so damn good in mine. There’s something about it that calms me.
Forty minutes later, we pull up in front of his house. Not his apartment. His house.
“Holy shit. Is this yours?”
“Yeah. You like it? I can’t use the garage yet because I still have half my stuff in boxes.” I jump out of the car to take in the view. It’s within walking distance of the beach.
“You’re supposed to let me open the door.”
Staring off in the distance at the ocean, I notice it’s colder here than in the city. I wrap my arms around myself.
“Let’s get you inside.”
I pause. “What do I say to them? What’s the story? What did you tell them about me? Do I need to lie about anything?”
“First of all, they aren’t here yet. They’re sightseeing. I told them I’d text when we got in.”
We walk to his front door and he turns with his key in the lock. “Secondly, I told them mostly the truth. We started driving together from work to save gas money and ride in the carpool lane. I told them you work in accounting and that somehow, you fell madly in love with me.”
He opens the door and flips on the light.
“You said what?” I ask with my hands on the frame to steady myself.
He laughs. “I didn’t say that last part. I’m joking. What I did say is that we’ve been dating for around a month. I told them I’m crazy about you and you’re not too sure about me.”
“I don’t believe you!” I say, stepping inside.
“It’s true,” he says, closing the door behind us.
“Which part?” I ask.
“All of it.”
Pausing, I consider what he means by that.
“Welcome to Finnigan’s Fabulous Flat.”
I take in the bachelor pad before me.
“Would you like a tour? I suppose the girl I’m dating should know her way around my house.”
“Sure, why not.”
He walks over to an entryway table and clicks a remote. A light floods the hall. It’s coming from the other room. I gasp as I round the corner, beholding a nine-foot Christmas tree complete with white lights and red ornaments.
“Oh Finn!” I sigh.
He smiles brightly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Do you like it?”
I nod. I can’t pull my eyes away from it. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Turning my head to regard him, I notice he’s staring at me intently.
I push a strand of hair behind my ear and stroll past him into the hall. He steps in front of me and leads me past an office with French doors and a kitchen complete with an island bar and stainless steel appliances. The floors are all hardwood and it’s immaculate.
“Are you a neat freak?” I ask when I notice nothing seems to be out of place.
“Maybe a little.”
“No wonder you couldn’t wait to get out of my messy apartment.”
“Who said I couldn’t wait to leave?” he asks.
I shrug as I cup my hands out the back window to see if he has a yard.
“No really. What did you mean by that?”
“I didn’t mean anything. Just forget it. Is that the end of the tour?”
“No. There’s more this way.”
He leads me down a few steps into the family room. He has good taste. The room is inviting and comfortable, with gray couches and a chair. He even has paintings on the wall. They’re original and abstract. I like them, but I don’t know a thing about art. The TV is the biggest I’ve ever seen.
“Why so big? Some people might say you’re making up for inadequacies.” My mouth drops. I can’t believe I said it out loud.
“I can assure you there is nothing about me, Lizzy, that is the slightest bit inadequate.”
“Go big or go home?” I ask uncomfortably.
He smirks. “When I watch football, I want to feel like I’m really there.”
He points to a powder room off to the side before
we make our way upstairs.
He flips on a light to a room with a bed and dresser. There are suitcases on the side and a pair of dress slacks on the bed. “This is where my parents are staying.”
He flips off that light, takes a few steps and flips on another. “Shared upstairs bathroom.”
I nod. A few more steps down the hall and I start to feel nervous. This has to be his bedroom. I don’t know why, but I wrap my arms around myself.
“This is my room.” He flips a switch. There’s a king-size bed on the back wall. The room is painted beige and his bed has a dark brown comforter. There’s a chest of drawers in the corner, another TV to the right and a small sofa. It’s a big room.
I scan from left to right, taking everything in. He watches me.
“It’s huge,” I say, staring up at the ornate light fixture and fan on the cathedral ceiling.
He laughs. “I could say something extremely inappropriate, but I’ll stick with, I’m glad you like it. Kel must be rubbing off on me.”
“Ugh. I hope not.”
“He’s a good guy,” he responds with a shrug.
“You think so?” I ask, curious.
“Just between us, he told me he had a crush on Emerson in high school. They were set up on a blind date and it didn’t go very well, but Kel said he had nothing but respect for her. He said she was really smart and kind to everyone. He went on and on about what a great person she was.”
“You’re kidding? I wouldn’t know he even liked her from the way he talks to her.”
Finn scratches the side of his head. “He might not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but he definitely portrays himself a lot darker outside than he is inside. Sometimes people paint themselves the shade they think they deserve and you have to dig deep to see their true color.”
A ping comes from his pocket. “Oops, I’d better tell them we’re here.”
He starts to text his parents and I stare at him, considering his words. If he were a color, he’d be blue. Smart, kind, calming blue. I never believed in auras until I met him. He’s got more energy around him than anyone I’ve ever known and a way of seeing the world that makes me want to be near him. Maybe even crawl into his pocket and live there. Ugh, what’s wrong with me?
I realize I’m staring a bit too long and turn away before he notices. His closet door is open so I step toward it. It’s filled with suits. I run my fingers along the fabric of one. It smells like him. It’s intoxicating.
He stuffs the phone back into his pocket. “I might have a problem,” he says, motioning to his closet.
“You think?” I respond with a giggle. There are a couple of pictures on his chest of drawers. I lean in to get a better look. I recognize his brother in one of them. “Is there anything else I should know about you? Besides the fact that you’re a suit junky?”
He glances at the pictures and his face drops. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand before he sits on the edge of his bed. “Not really, but do me a favor. Don’t bring up my brother.”
His face is etched with concern. “Why?” I ask.
“It’s just a sore subject. I’ll explain later.”
I nod my head.
He stands and holds out his hand to me. “Shall we go back downstairs? They’re only a few minutes away.”
I place my hand in his, taking a deep breath.
Right after Finn pours me a glass of wine that I promise to sip slowly, the front door opens.
“Hello? Finn? We’re back.”
As we stand, he whispers, “You’ll be fine. I promise.”
We round the corner and there they are. His father is tall like Finn, but more heavyset, with white hair and a jolly face. His mother has red hair and kind eyes. The resemblance between her and Finn is striking. Surprisingly, I relax a bit when I see them.
“This must be Liz!” His mother reaches out and pulls me into a hug. It’s nice.
“Liz’s throat is a bit scratchy. I’m afraid she might have caught my cold. I told her I thought she’d better lay off the talking tonight.”
I glance over at Finn and he winks at me.
“Oh dear, I hope you’re not getting sick.” His mom feels my forehead with her hand. She reminds me of my mom and I don’t want to lie all night about being sick on top of the other lies we have to tell.
“Actually, Finn, I’m feeling a bit better. It might have just been allergies.”
“Perfect!” she replies. “I can’t wait to hear everything there is to know about you! We’re going to talk all night long.”
My smile suddenly fades. He shrugs his shoulders behind her and covers his mouth to avoid laughing. What did I just do?
Finn takes us to an Italian restaurant. It’s his parents’ first trip to California and he’s anxious to show them all his best discoveries since he moved.
They’re both kind and very loving toward him. It doesn’t surprise me that he turned out to be the man he is under their influence. Being around them reminds me that I need to call my mom. I haven’t spoken to her in two days. That’s a long time for us. She’s really the only person that gets me.
Finn opens the car door for me and his father does the same for his mother. I play the role and allow it. Finn usually smiles a lot, but even more so tonight. Still, there’s nothing different about him. He’s the same guy around his parents as he is every other day. If only I could be so real.
The restaurant is classy; way nicer than what I’m used to. Finn made a reservation so we’re immediately taken to a booth. His mother and I slide in first. When Finn sits, he stretches his leg so that part of it is resting against mine. Even though he’s sitting next to me, having his leg in the position it’s in requires effort. It creates an immediate sense of longing in me. Having him want to touch me this way, in a way that is private, just between us, is weirdly one of the most romantic things I’ve ever experienced. His leg touching mine makes me feel… wanted. Why would he do that? His parents can’t see. It makes no sense.
Finn and his father discuss wine while his mother and I decide on an appetizer. The restaurant serves family-style platters so we order a few dishes to share. The waiter arrives with a bottle and pours.
Mr. Walsh raises his glass. “Merry Christmas.”
We clink glasses and drink.
“So, Liz, Finnigan tells us you’re in accounting. What does that entail?”
“Mom, I’m sure Liz wants to just relax tonight and not—”
I interrupt. I got myself into this mess. “I love my job. I’m happy to talk about it. Basically, my division handles research and development expenditures. You wouldn’t think that a company would need a division just for something like that, but Seamore Productions has multiple television programs, movies, and record labels running simultaneously. They keep us very busy.”
“Fascinating. David reminds me all the time that I’m bad with numbers. I can’t balance the checkbook to save my life,” Mrs. Walsh says.
I note David must be his father’s name.
I smile.
“She’s amazing at her job. Just the other night at our Christmas party, her boss bragged about her to his boss. They were very impressed with her work.”
“Really! Good for you,” Mr. Walsh says, setting down his wine glass. “Like I always tell Finn, follow your passion and the money will follow. You won’t ever be truly successful in a job you hate.”
Finn nods and takes another sip of wine.
There’s an awkward moment of silence. I feel like I need to make conversation. What’s happening to me? It must be my nervous shuffle. I need to be careful not to blabber. I search for something to talk about and my eyes fall on Finn’s mother’s neckline. She’s wearing a silver angel. “That’s a lovely necklace, Mrs. Walsh.”
“Thank you, but please call me Shilah.”
“Shilah? That’s lovely. Is it Irish?” I ask.
“Oh yes. I’m one hundred percent. David is a melting pot. He’s got some Irish in him, but mostly Dutch
and Polish. Now Finnigan, he looks just like my father. His brother Keegan was all Walsh if you ask me.”
Tension fills the air with the mention of Finn’s brother.
“He gave me the necklace. I wear it all the time. Ever since…”
I swallow hard glancing over to Finn.
“Dad, how’s work been? You ready to retire yet?”
“Not yet,” Mr. Walsh quickly responds. “I think I still have a few more years in me. It helps to not ride the truck as often anymore.”
“The truck?” I question.
“Dad’s a fireman. It’s going on thirty years now, right?”
“Yep. It’s been a long run. Almost time to hang up the hat.”
Finn’s mother is still quiet. She’s twirling her necklace in her hand. I feel a lump in my throat. “Would you excuse me? I’m going to run to the ladies room.”
“Of course.”
Finn and his father both stand and slide out. I feel like I should give them a moment alone.
After I pee and check my makeup, I find it difficult to return to the table. Pacing for a few minutes, I force myself to walk out the door. Finn approaches.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about the necklace. I wouldn’t have said a word if I knew—”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was getting worried you bailed on me.”
“I’d never do that to you. Well, not here anyway.”
He smiles, holding his arm out to me. “Shall we?”
I nod, sliding my arm into his.
As soon as we arrive, I sense the air has changed. We eat and discuss how young Finn had a huge obsession with soccer balls and drawing. His leg resumes its position against mine. It’s definitely purposeful and I assume it’s because he knows I’m a wreck.
“Have you seen the picture above Finn’s bed?” Shilah asks.
I nod.
“Of course you have. How silly of me.”
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. She thinks we’re sleeping together. Oh boy.
“Anyway, did he tell you he painted that?”
My head spins to regard him. “You made that?” I ask. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’ll never hear him brag about himself. He’s not one to toot his own horn. Ever,” his father adds. “We didn’t know he was valedictorian of his senior class until awards night.”
Confessions of a Carpool Captive Page 10
