I can’t even find the words to explain how totally repulsed I am by my father. I haven’t seen Mena coming or going in a couple of days, which is probably a good thing. Holding my tongue isn’t something I excel at. But when it comes to my home life, I just bottle it up. I’ll add this stunt with Mena to the pile of crap my parents have pulled the last eighteen years of my life. The stack will soon topple over. I wonder if I’ll be completely crushed by it when it does. Will there be mass casualties? I know more than even my parents think I do. Mena is just the tip of the iceberg. I doubt Mom and Dad know that my grandfather once told me that they had blown our college funds he had set up for us on, well-blow by the time I was five. Sure, my dad is well respected now, but I don’t think his office partner, ole Mr. Taylor would think too highly of who Dad used to be.
Not telling Ben I loved him was all I had thought about for the last few days. I should just say it. I do love him, right? What was I afraid of? Myself. Screwing up. Losing him. Everything.
“So, you’re coming to the party this weekend, right?” I ask Ben, as he walks me to my car after school.
“Well,” he says, kissing my knuckles lightly. “If you’d like me to, although I wasn’t actually invited.”
Oh. Shit. “Of course you were,” I say, playfully smacking his arm.
I’d been in such a stank mood this week, I had completely spaced on inviting Ben or Syd. It had nothing to do with my not wanting Ben there, I completely adore him. I want him anywhere that I am, even if it is at my house…with my parents…and their company…and a whole lot of booze. I grimace at the thought of it all.
“Is there something else?” he asks me nervously.
“Just that…” I love you. “I’m just nervous about my crazy ass parents, and their crazy big cases of wine.” I laugh.
“It’ll be fine, love,” he soothes. He wraps his sturdy arms around me, and everything is right in the world. I could say it now…but I don’t.
After school, I practically jog past Ms. Mary Mack. I don’t even pause to glance to see if she has a dress with silver buttons down the back. (Someday, I’m convinced that she will). I head to what has become my sanctuary at work-Mark’s office. Yeah, I didn’t see that one coming either, but it helps me avoid having to look my dad in the eye. I have actually managed to avoid Dad all week, I’m hoping it’s a long running streak; otherwise, I don’t know how I’m supposed to continue to work here.
Mark isn’t nearly as bad as I had originally thought. He actually keeps to himself a lot, and rarely sends me to run his stupid errands any more. He doesn’t give me a whole lot of work to do, and frankly, I no longer find him half bad.
I finished the stacks of filing, and have moved on to making copies of Comparative Income Statements. (I only know they are called this because it’s in bold print at the top of each page, otherwise, they could have just as easily been an encrypted cipher.) I’m busy fighting with installing a new toner cartridge into the copy machine, when Mark clears his throat.
“Are you going to be around at your parent’s party this weekend?” he asks, indifferently.
“Yeah, should be a hoot,” I say, dryly.
He laughs softly, but doesn’t look away. He just stares at me, like he has more to say. Ok, now he’s kind of skeeving me out. I refuse to be the first to back down and look away.
“What?” I finally ask.
He shakes his head, and snaps out of his daze. “Oh, I have a meeting out of the office in about ten minutes. I was waiting on a contract to be faxed over, but it hasn’t made it yet.”
“Okay,” I say. “Is that a problem?”
He holds up his wrist and rolls his watch around so that he can read it. “Well, yeah. I need to sign them and fax them back tonight. Would it be too much to ask for you wait for them, and then drop them by my house later on?”
I stare back at him.
“What?” he asks. Now it’s my turn, I guess.
“Nothing. Sure. Where do you live?”
He scribbles his address on the back of one of his business cards and then rushes out of the office.
I decide not to stress about what may or may not be going on in Mark’s grey matter, I’ve got my own problems. Like why the hell can’t I tell my beautiful, thoughtful boyfriend that I love him? Why is my dad such a repulsive freak? God, I’m exhausted. I lean back in Mark’s comfortable office chair, prop my legs up on his printer stand and fall asleep.
“Hey, are you waiting on this fax?” she says. My eyes pop open at the sound of paper fluttering past me, and I blink furiously not fully believing what my eyes are telling me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I fume at Mena Lombardo.
She takes a step forward, not intimidated by my tone, “I work here.” She smirks. I fully expected that Dad had hired princess-pleather, but Mena is equally as skanky, plus she’s pure evil.
“Work? Doing what exactly?” I can’t help it, I snort.
“Your dad hired me. So I’ll be doing whatever-he-wants.” She clips each of the last few words in a suggestive way that tells me she doesn’t give a shit if I know what is going on or not.
Her choice of words causes me to double over in a fit of uncomfortable, hysterical laughter.
“You must be kidding me.” I squeal through my laugh-induced tears. This is just too fucking funny. Real solid Dad, hire the chick you’re having an affair with. This situation will have an awesome ending, I’m sure of it.
“Whatever, freak,” Mena says. She spins in her obnoxiously high-heels, and storms out the door. I want to go grab her by her stupid blonde extensions, and slam her stupid face into the stupid filing cabinet.
Instead, I just sit there for a moment. Trying to wrap my brain around what just happened. For the love of God, what is my dad thinking? I’m completely at a loss. And shaking. I grab the fax and my purse and bolt for the door before I can run into my dad.
This time, I won’t be back.
Chapter Nineteen
Ben
“Feel like catching a game this weekend, Ben?” my dad asks me.
Mom is watching me scoop vegetables on to my plate so intently that I’m waiting for her to take the casserole dish from me and do it herself. Maybe she can tuck my napkin into my shirt while she is at it. Control freak.
“Sure. Saturday is good, Sunday I’m going to Quinn’s,” I say.
“Oh, ok,” Dad says. He nods, but doesn’t look up from his okra.
“Why?” My mom scowls. And here we go.
“Her parents are having a retirement party, and I was invited,” I say.
“Retiring? Already? How old are they?” my dad asks, he sounds envious.
“It’s not for her parents, they’re hosting it for one of her father’s partners,” I tell them. My dad is nodding. He may not remember having this conversation tomorrow, he isn’t that great with details, but he always tries to appear interested.
“Well, that’s nice. What does her father do?” he asks.
My mom clucks her tongue in disgust. She’s clearly annoyed at his curiosity in anything that remotely has to do with Quinn.
“He’s a CPA,” I say with a smile. Mom looks pissed.
“What about her mother?” Dad asks.
“She stays at home. Quinn still has a younger brother at home, and he stays really busy.” I explain.
“Quinn seems like a sweet girl. How long have you two been going steady now?” my dad asks.
I smile at his old fashioned reference. “She’s great, Dad. And it’s been a couple of months.”
My mom pushes her still full plate away from her, and snorts in annoyance.
“Well, sounds like I nice family. Have a good time,” Dad says.
“Speaking of nice families, did Benny tell you that Caroline will be staying with us for a few days?”
“Mom, don’t start. We were talking about Quinn, not Caroline.”
She turns to my dad. “Do you know that girl is from California?” The way
she whispers California makes it sound like a dirty word.
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” I ask.
My mom shakes her head in disgust. “We talked about this the other day, Benny. I just don’t think you need to be getting so serious about someone. You’re still in high school.”
“And?”
“And, you’ll be going off to college soon, and lord knows what she will be doing-”
“Mom–” I warn.
“You aren’t going to end up with this girl, Benny. It just isn’t realistic, is all.” She tosses her napkin onto the table.
If she’s trying to piss me off, it’s working.
“You and Dad got married right out of high school,” I say, intentionally trying to stir the pot.
“That’s different.” Her expression is nothing short of pure terror.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who said anything about marriage?” My dad perks up, finally present in the conversation.
“No one, Dad. No one is talking about marriage. We’re talking about a pool party. That’s it. So back off, Mom.”
Later that night, I’m in my room fuming over my mother’s assumptions that Quinn can’t possibly be good enough for me while I clean my camera lenses. I hold the 28mm up to the light to make sure I have wiped all of the dust and fingerprints away before stashing it back in my camera bag and grabbing the 50mm.
“Benny?” mom appears in the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I say. I put the lenses back into the bag and zip it closed.
“Are you still messing around with that photography? I thought you were over that little hobby. Between playing your guitar, and this-” she motions to the camera bag on my desk “and that silly girlfriend of yours, I don’t know how you’re going to get into college.”
I sit there silent. I know I should speak up, but it isn’t going to change her mind.
“By the way, what does Quinn think of Caroline coming to town?” Mom says with a smug smile. I tense up.
Shit. Quinn has been so distant this week; I never found the right time to tell her Caroline was even coming. She doesn’t strike me as the jealous type, she didn’t get upset over finding the photo of Caroline but still, I can’t be sure. Mom knows she has caught me off guard, and backs out of the room grinning. I grab my iPhone from the nightstand, deciding now is as good a time as any.
Chapter Twenty
Quinn
“Hello?” I answer the phone without looking at the caller id, which probably wasn’t smart. I shouldn’t have even answered, I’m still so freaking livid I can hardly see straight. It’s likely that whoever is on the other end of this call, is about to feel my wrath.
“Hey baby,” Ben says.
I feel my mood instantly soften and my posture relax at the sound of his voice.
“How has your night been?” he asks.
Unbelievable. Shitty. Shocking.
“Fine,” I say. I can’t even admit to myself what is happening, how am I supposed to tell someone else? “How about you?”
“It’s been good. I miss you. I wish we could’ve gotten together tonight. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
“Me neither,” I say. I mean it. He’s all I want right now. More than anything I just want him to hold me like he did the other night in the kitchen. To be swept out of this life for a minute, to be in the safe confines of his arms. “So, you sound like something is up, is everything all right?” Please let it be, I can’t take any more drama.
“I have something to tell you. It’s not a big deal, and it’s out of my hands, so I hope you don’t get pissed,” he says. Awesome build up, tonight of all nights.
“Shoot,” I say through gritted teeth. I can tell already that I’m not going to like this.
“You know my ex, Caroline?” he begins.
Oh, how could I forget? The one your mother drags out pictures of every time you leave the room? How she loves to tell me how she expected you to marry Caroline? How Caroline already calls your mom, “Mom”? The sweet looking, perfect Southern girl she has probably been dreaming about adding as a daughter-in-law since the day you were born? No, I don’t believe I have heard of her.
“Uh huh,” I mumble, tightening my jaw.
“She’s coming out to look at some schools.”
“Cozy.”
“And she’s staying with us.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I say. I can feel my blood start to boil again.
“I know it’s not cool, I’m sorry. My mom invited her.”
“Of course she did.”
“And you know my mom, there was really no way I could talk her out of it. It’s really not a big deal though.”
“Not.a.big.deal?” I repeat, clipping each word in anger. Let me clear the air here. Normally, I’m the least jealous person you will ever meet. I don’t keep tabs on people, and I sure as shit don’t want them to keep tabs on me. But for some reason, and maybe it’s just after meeting my dad’s new office-fuck that happens to be our twenty-one-year-old next door neighbor, I’m just not having it.
“Baby, you have no reason to be upset. There is nothing between me and Linney.”
The thought of this apple pie bitch that is everything I will never be gets to stay the night with Ben, when I can’t really gets under my skin in a major way.
Linney?
“Screw you,” I spit.
“What?” He sounds stunned.
“You heard me,” I yell.
“Quinn, baby, please don’t read more into this than there is. It’s not my fault.”
“Of course it’s not your fault, it’s your mothers. She hates me, and she’s bound and determined to split us up. And do you know what else? You’re a fucking coward, Benjamin Shaw! You could stand up to your mom, but you don’t because you’re a selfish coward! It’s fine to let me down, but you sure as hell don’t want to upset your precious mother! So you have fun with Caroline.”
I hang up the phone before he has a chance to defend himself.
Yelling at Ben didn’t make me feel any better, but I couldn’t help it. The words just flew out before I could filter them. Ben may be a total Boy Scout compared to everyone else I’ve ever been involved with, but at this moment-he’s just like every guy who has ever hurt me.
****************
Mark yells for me to come in when I knock on the door. His condo looks like IKEA threw up in it; somehow, this doesn’t surprise me. My phone vibrates in my hand, it’s Ben. I shut it off without answering and toss it into my purse.
“Hey, you made it.” Mark calls from the kitchen.
“Yep,” I say.
He twists a bottle of Woodchuck on his forearm to open the metal screw top. Frat boy.
“I’d offer you one, but…”
“Right.” I nod. “So, anyway, here’s your fax.”
I hand him the four pieces of paper that have been severely mangled in my Mena-generated anger.
“Been through the wringer a little bit, eh?” Mark laughs. He sits down at the kitchen table to read the contract. “Sit down.” He motions to me.
I don’t really know why I need to, I brought him the papers, this should be it, but regardless, I sit. Where else do I have to be, anyway? Home? Can I even legitimately call it that?
As I watch him look over the documents intently, it occurs to me that he actually looks kind of hot doing it. Even though his hair is still damp from, I’m assuming, just getting out of the shower, and he’s wearing a faded heather gray t-shirt and plaid shorts-he’s more attractive right now than I’ve seen him in the office. He doesn’t look so stuffy, but he still looks important. After signing the pages, he crosses the room to his desk that houses a fax machine. He watches me, rather than the pages that are slowly filtered through the machine, each of them silently drifting to the floor. He doesn’t bother to catch them before they hit the carpet. My skin begins to prickle more with each fallen sheet.
“So, is everything okay with you?�
�� he takes a long pull of his beer.
“I guess so, why?” I wish I had some snappy retort like I typically would; but sadly, the last few days have left me fresh out of snark.
“I don’t know. You just seem a little uptight tonight. Not really yourself. Is something bothering you?”
I drop my shoulders, trying not to live up to the accusation of “uptight.”
“Do you think I would tell you even if there was?” I ask.
“Fair enough.” Mark nods.
There is a long moment of silence. I can hear the clock on top of the mantel ticking. I feel like each passing tick is telling me in no uncertain terms to leave– but I ignore it. I don’t want to go.
“I quit working for my dad today.”
“Really? Why?” His eyebrows dart up. He looks nervous.
“I don’t like numbers.”
He chuckles, and then starts toward me. I should feel tense about that, but I really don’t.
“What do you like?” he asks.
I feel my pulse skyrocket at his words.
One second he was across the room, tending to a fax and now, suddenly, he’s right behind me, brushing the hair off of the back of my neck and pressing his lips to my skin. They are hot and hungry. I can smell the beer on his breath and the soapy scent on his skin. I should protest, but still, I don’t.
Tick.Tick.Tick.
“What are you doing?” I choke out, as if I don’t already know.
“I’m trying to make you feel good,” he murmurs in my ear. His breath ruffles my hair and sends a chill down my back. I feel vulnerable. I’m used to being in charge in situations like this. Actually, I’m used to being in charge in pretty much all situations, come to think of it. But that’s the problem, I’m not thinking. If I was using my brain, I would get up and leave-after kicking him in the junk. But I don’t. Instead, I’m still sitting here, thinking yes, please.
“I should go,” I finally say. But I make no attempt to actually move.
Tick.
I’m so damn weak, and it does feel good.
Grounding Quinn Page 7
