“Sounds good,” he says and hands a five-dollar bill to the green-aproned employee. The barista punches some buttons on his computerized cash register and says, “That’ll be nine sixty-five.”
“Nine sixty-five,” Buck repeats, a little shocked. The citizens of Victory definitely wouldn’t respond well to paying ten dollars for two cups of coffee. Although, it’s not just coffee…it’s a venti mocha…Buck reminds himself, wondering what a venti mocha is as he pulls another five out of his worn wallet.
Even though Tiffany insists they will have a better chance of spotting celebrities if they sit at one of the tables outside the Starbucks, Buck drags her across the street to sit on the beach, where they drink their enormously large and extraordinarily sweet beverages. An hour later, they are both shaking from the caffeine and the beach is starting to get cold. Buck feels wimpy unrolling his shirtsleeves while the surfers continue to run in and out of the waves. He and Tiffany leave the beach and head back to the car. He decides that they have time for dinner before they need to be at Lizzie’s and thinks twice about asking Tiffany what she wants to eat, knowing that the answer will be some bizarre place she read about some celebrity going in a magazine.
Sure enough, she is certain that sushi is the ticket to star sightings, since Starbucks didn’t really pan out. Raw fish isn’t exactly Buck’s idea of a good dinner, but he obliges, and the two set out in search of sushi. He really can’t keep from enjoying himself on this adventure with Tiffany. Her enthusiasm for finding famous people in Los Angeles is entertaining at worst and infectious at best. Buck finds himself peering into restaurant fronts trying to see someone he recognizes from television or movies, grateful to be thinking about something other than their upcoming appointment with Lizzie.
15
Before I can even compose words to try to bring Courtney back to reality and convince her that Buck Platner is not her soul mate, he is knocking at my apartment door and Courtney is undoing the top button of her blouse and pulling her boobs into place as she crosses to answer it. She gives me an excited smile, which I return with a tortured gag before pulling the door open.
I am positive that the reaction she receives from Buck is not what she had hoped for. Instead of the instant connection I know Courtney had envisioned and expected, she is met with a look of surprised confusion. First Buck swings back to check the number on the outside of the apartment and then he looks directly over Courtney’s head into the apartment, scanning across it until his eyes land on me, cowering by the window.
“Oh, Lizzie, there you are,” he says with relief.
“I’m Courtney Cambridge,” Courtney offers, smiling flirtatiously.
“Buck Platner,” Buck says professionally, extending his right hand to Courtney, but hardly glancing at her, let alone noticing her recently arranged breasts. “Lizzie—er, sorry, Elizabeth, I have the custody papers here,” he says stiffly, holding up a manila envelope.
“Courtney is my legal counsel,” I inform him defiantly.
“It’s so great to see you. You look wonderful,” he says, without acknowledging my words. It’s as though he is reciting a planned speech. A split second later, his brain processes what I have told him and he repeats, “Legal counsel?”
“Yes,” I say coolly, careful to avoid Tiffany’s gaze, which I feel directly on me.
“Oh, um, okay.” He stumbles over the words uncomfortably. “Well, Ms. Cambridge, what we have here is pretty standard. My father actually wrote up Mrs. Tatham’s last will and testament—”
“Oh my God, you have to call me Courtney,” she says, grabbing his biceps and playfully shaking Buck’s large frame.
“Okay, right, Courtney,” he continues looking even more uncomfortable now that Courtney is holding him halfway in an embrace. “Like I said, my father prepared these documents, but I think you’ll find that everything is in order. Oh, this is Tiffany,” he says trying to motion to the blonde girl standing behind him but having trouble because Courtney still has a grasp on him.
“You must work out,” Courtney says sounding like an idiot rather than an attorney, and as I wince, I notice that Buck has the same reaction.
“Um, yes…so if Elizabeth signs all the places that are marked, I think we will be finished with this matter.”
“Courtney has to go over all the papers…every word!” I practically exclaim, hoping to snap Courtney’s brain back into place and jog her memory that she is here to save my life, not to open another chapter of her love life.
“Yes!” Courtney jumps in, and I feel a split second of hope. “Let’s give them a look over dinner. Do you like sushi?” Courtney asks, grabbing Buck’s lower arm and turning his body toward the still-open front door.
“Oh, um, we actually ate already,” Buck says politely.
“Then let’s go get a drink. I’m parched,” Courtney says, unphased by the attempted rejection.
Before Buck can formulate another response, she is dragging him down the hall and I am left alone in my apartment. I stare out the door for a few seconds before realizing that I am not alone…it’s even worse…I’m with Tiffany. I realize that she is also staring down the hall looking as abandoned and shocked as I feel. I take a breath and then another…they’ll be back soon. They just went for drinks. How long can drinks take? A voice in the back of my mind is reminding me that Courtney could turn running out for milk into a four-hour excursion, but I quickly quiet the voice. I have to be positive; I have to believe that they will be back soon and that Courtney will have come through for me.
An hour…they’ll be back in an hour. Oh God! the voice in my head screams. What am I going to do with this kid for an hour?!? I take another breath.
“So, hi,” I say to Tiffany, breaking the trance that held her staring out the door. I cross the room and gently close it.
“Hi,” Tiffany says uncomfortably, taking a sideways step a little further into the apartment.
She’s dressed in the same jeans and pink top she was wearing earlier in the day. Her straight blonde hair is now pulled into a messy looped ponytail and she is wearing a fresh coat of sparkly pink lip gloss. She looks a lot like her mother did when we were in high school, with her petite frame and button nose—like a young Meg Ryan. Charla was always the most popular girl in our class, and I was her best friend—that was my claim to fame. It was Charla who was captain of the cheer squad and gave me a place on it, and Charla who got invited to school dances and made one of her date’s friends take me. Until the day that Charla got pregnant, she had never made a false move. Everything she did was perfect and everything I did was second best. In spite of this, there was never any jealousy between us because Charla didn’t have a competitive bone in her body. She never made me feel inferior and was always my biggest fan. I wonder if Tiffany is like this, too, and I feel a wave of sadness for the friendship I let go of and the friend who is now gone for good.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” I say, and I genuinely mean it.
“Thanks,” she says in a tone that I have trouble reading.
“I’m sure they’ll be back soon and have all this squared away,” I say trying to sound reassuring. I mean honestly, I’m sure Tiffany wants to be here as little as I want her here. She has a life in Victory—she probably has a best friend and a boyfriend…and her grandparents. Why would she want to live with a perfect stranger? “Would you like a glass of wine?” I offer, suddenly realizing that I am in desperate need of a large helping of the Charles Shaw “two-buck-Chuck” chardonnay chilling in my fridge.
“I’m fifteen,” she says, with a look that implies she thinks I am the dumbest person in the world.
I feel like the dumbest person in the world. “Right, sorry,” I say, wondering if it would be rude of me to still have a glass. “Can I get you anything at all?” I ask, silently hoping that she asks for water, since besides the cheap wine that is all I have.
“I’m fine,” she answers.
Relieved, I offer her a seat on the pristine s
ofa, which she accepts with a shrug. I perch on the cushion next to her and we sit in awkward silence for what feels like an hour but is more like fifteen minutes. There are a few awkward exchanges between us, but things remain unbearably uncomfortable as the minutes tick by. At last I hear a car out front and I spring with uncontrollable joy from the couch toward the window.
“They’re back!” I exclaim gleefully before looking down at the street, where there is no sign of Courtney’s black Range Rover.
Instead, I see Dan’s blue Audi parallel parking in the spot left vacant by Courtney. Absolute terror washes over me. Dan’s here. Dan is here. DAN IS HERE and Tiffany is here. This is an enormous, gigantic problem, since Dan was never, ever supposed to know about the “Tiffany situation,” or really about Tiffany’s existence at all. I stand for a split second, paralyzed in fear, before Tiffany’s hopefully confirming “They’re back?” breaks my trance.
“You have to hide!” I shout with desperation.
“What?” she asks, confused.
“You have to hide, quickly,” I say, standing and opening the perfectly organized closet in the apartment’s entrance.
Before she can ask another question or put up a fight, I am cramming her into the tiny space between my J. Crew pea coat and jean jacket. I close the folding door a centimeter from her nose just as Dan knocks on the door.
I feel like I might throw up as I open it and put on a surprised smile for my fiancé.
“Surprise!” he says with a smile as I throw the door open.
“Dan! What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to sound happy, not horrified.
“A guy can’t surprise his fiancé?”
“Of course you can,” I say trying to figure out what to do. As far as I can tell, there are two options. Number one: get rid of Dan by sending him away. Number two: get rid of Dan by leaving with him. Okay, so really there is only one option—get rid of Dan—just two options to accomplish this by.
“Sweetheart, could you go pick up some mint chip? I am desperate for ice cream,” I say with the sweetest smile I can muster.
“You want me to go pick up ice cream? What, are you pregnant?” he says with an uncomfortable laugh.
Oh God! This is backfiring.
“No, are you kidding? Definitely not, I’m just starving for ice cream. Could you go?”
“Lemme sit down for a few minutes. Then we can go get some together. I could go for some Rocky Road.”
Okay, we’re going to default into Option Number Two. No problem at all. We’ll sit for a minute and then we’ll go. Yes, I will be leaving a fifteen-year-old girl locked in my closet, but I’ll send her a note once she’s safely home in Victory explaining the whole thing and I’m sure she’ll understand. Dan kisses me gently (blandly) on the lips as he crosses through the living room to the couch. I stand frozen in fear as he passes in front of the closet, but Tiffany seems to be staying silent. Maybe I’ll send the explanatory note with some flowers or a basket of muffins.
We sit down on the couch and Dan picks up the remote control from the coffee table. He leans back and puts his feet up, but before he can press the power button, I’m on my feet again.
“Come on, let’s go get ice cream before we start watching TV,” I implore as I take the remote out of his hand and lay it back on the coffee table perfectly centered on my Vanity Fair coffee table book.
Dan groans a little but starts to lift himself off the couch. “All right, you win,” he says with a sweet smile.
Relieved, I return his smile and take his hand as we head toward the door. My hand is on the knob and I feel like I’m home free when Dan pulls my other hand back.
Motioning at the closet where Tiffany still stands, he says, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
I fill with panic. He knows Tiffany is in the closet! “What?” I ask, realizing only after the word is out that it escaped about an octave higher than it should have.
“Elizabeth, you’re always cold and you want to eat ice cream without a jacket on?” he says smiling fondly at me.
A jacket…he thinks I’m forgetting my jacket. Of course he doesn’t suspect I have a teenager locked up in there.
“Actually, I’m warm tonight. I’ve been hot all day. That’s why I want to eat ice cream,” I explain, feeling confident that this explanation will get us out of the apartment.
He shrugs and then opens the apartment door, holding it for me. I feel the cold air rush into the room immediately and wish I could get a jacket out, but I have no choice. I have to tough it out. I am over the doorjamb and he is about to follow when I hear voices coming down the hall. Really only one voice—Courtney’s—going on and on about who knows what. I feel like a deer in headlights or a bear in a trap. My only hope is that some miracle will happen and Courtney will completely cover for me. My prayer is not answered. As soon as Courtney sees Dan she exclaims, “Daniel McCafferty! Big news, huh? Congratulations.”
Dan assumes she is talking about our engagement and graciously accepts her congratulations. I am feeling a glimmer of hope that we might get away.
“We’re going to get ice cream. Be back soon,” I say to a confused-looking Courtney and an even more confused-looking Buck. I start down the hallway when Buck asks, “Where’s Tiffany?”
I spin on a dime, but can’t move another muscle. I look at Dan in horror.
“You named your ring?” Dan asks, thoroughly amused.
“Oh, ha-ha, yes.” I pick up the ball and run with it. “Tiffany is right here, where she always is,” I say, holding up my left hand for everyone to see. “Let’s go.”
Nobody seems to have heard me. Instead of Dan following me down the hall, he stands right there in the doorway while Courtney says, “So, you’re gonna be a proud papa,” to Dan and then turns to me and says, “Everything in these papers is in perfect order.” She smiles, looking pleased with herself for a split second before seeing the horror on my face and the terror on Dan’s.
“You are pregnant!” Dan spits out.
“Oh my God, you’re pregnant!” Courtney exclaims at the same time a disappointed sounding Buck says, “You’re pregnant?”
“No! No! I’m not pregnant,” I confirm.
“I don’t get it,” Dan questions. His confused eyes dart from me to Courtney.
I stare down at my shoes. I have no idea how I am going to get out of this. There is no escape.
“I thought Dan was here to meet Tiffany?” Courtney says, and she slowly seems to be realizing that nobody is on the same page right now.
“You thought I was here to meet the ring that I bought for her?” Dan says, his confusion turning into annoyance.
“Where is Tiffany?” Buck Platner asks again. God, I hate him.
Dan looks at Buck like he’s an idiot. “Who are you?” he asks, and I can see anger starting to build up inside him.
I have seen Dan lose his temper only once before, but when he is pushed too far his temper is totally catastrophic.
“She’s in the closet,” I mumble, still staring at my shoes. I notice a scuff on the right toe that hadn’t been there earlier and for a second my mind wanders to thinking about how I might have gotten it.
“What?!?” Buck and Courtney exclaim at the same time.
They rush into the apartment and Courtney pulls open the closet door to reveal poor Tiffany still standing there.
“Hi,” she says dryly.
“Who the hell is this?” Dan asks, angrier still.
“This is Tiffany,” I offer meekly.
“Elizabeth. What the fuck is going on?” he asks, and I wince because I have never heard him curse before.
I have no choice. I am trapped, stuck in a corner between a large, sharp rock and a cold, dark, hard place. I quickly explain to Dan who Tiffany and Buck are and why they are at my apartment.
“So you’re her guardian?” Dan asks, glancing briefly at Tiffany before turning his fiery gaze back to me.
“Courtney is going to take care of it,”
I almost whisper.
“Elizabeth, there’s nothing to take care of. Everything’s done. When you sign these papers you will have custody,” Courtney says, cautiously motioning to the envelope Buck Platner holds under his arm.
“When did you find out about this?” Dan asks me sternly.
I tell him the truth and wince before he even has a chance to reply.
“You knew about Tiffany when we had our talk about moving in together and not having children and you didn’t mention it?”
From the corner of my eye I can see Courtney, Buck, and Tiffany staring at me in shock. I can’t bear to look straight at Dan because I know his look is far, far worse than shock.
“I was taking care of it,” I say pleadingly.
“I don’t know what you were doing,” he says in disgust. “I can’t deal with this…with any of this,” he says, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. “I’m outta here.”
He starts to walk down the hall and I run after him, tears starting to sting my cheeks.
“I”ll take care of it,” I tell him trying to sound reassuring but sounding desperate instead.
“I don’t really care what you do,” he spits out angrily, without even turning around.
“Wait!” I beg.
“No, you don’t get it. The engagement is off. We are off. I’m outta here for good.”
“Dan!” I call after him. His words haven’t hit me yet. I hear Courtney gasp sharply behind me, but it still doesn’t register. He’s angry. He doesn’t want children and he thinks I’m going to have this teenager—but I’m not. Courtney is going to take care of this, and the plan can get back on track.
Suddenly Dan turns around and relief fills my heart. I start to run to him, but he puts his hand up. “Mail the ring back,” he says coldly.
“What?” I ask, looking down at my hand. When I look up again he is gone—for good.
16
Tiffany stands in the hallway of Lizzie’s building with Buck on her left and Lizzie’s friend, Courtney, on her right. The scenario playing out a few feet in front of her is one she normally would have been enthralled to witness—a breakup, and a particularly nasty one at that. Unfortunately, she isn’t able to relish the entertainment of this lovers’ quarrel the way she normally would. Normally, Tiffany was the kind of teenager who would linger in a restaurant booth eavesdropping on a couple arguing, or “lose” something in her backpack or locker so she could hear a couple breaking up in the hall after school, but this breakup was horrifying. She couldn’t even look directly at them—this breakup was because of her.
Not Quite A mom Page 8
