handful of sour cream down the sink and scowled at the messy blonde in the mirror. “You’ve got to get a grip,” I told her. “You’re too old to be indulging in
Parent Trap
fantasies.” Anyway, Brittany wasn’t that bad. Looking on the bright side. I’d probably get free haircuts for life.
Except that I was going to remain on the east coast, far from my family. And my future stepmom.
The bathroom door opened and Brittany slipped in. “I thought you might like some help.”
How many women does it take to clean up a sour cream spill?
“That’s okay. I think I can get it,” I said and reached for a paper towel.
She stood there, gnawing her lip and watching me work. “I guess it seems kind of strange to see me with your dad,” she finally said. “With our age difference and all.”
I shrugged. “It’s nothing personal. I’m just used to thinking of him with my mom.”
She nodded. “Most guys my age are so shallow. Your dad, he’s different.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. I’d observed some of my dad’s midlife behavior.
About what? I wondered. Hair? Sports cars? The repo business? I suppose someone could find what my dad does for a living interesting. He can sure make it sound good. He thinks of himself as James Bond, the bank version. That’s probably because he has an alias he uses to call and harass people who tend to forget minor details like paying bills. And he has been known to be involved in sneaking out at night and repossessing cars. As a matter of fact, I think his jag was a bank repo bargain. It was still expensive, though, so Mom never quite got the bargain concept.
“I’d broken up with my boyfriend,” Brittany started explaining. “I was drifting, confused. Your father’s been a real anchor for me.”
Well, anchors aweigh, I thought. I nodded and started to work on the sour cream spill.
“Of course, I know that sounds like I just dated your dad on the rebound. But it wasn’t like that.”
“Ummm,” I said politely, and waited for her to tell me what it was like.
She didn’t. Instead, she switched gears. “So, you’re in advertising.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, I do.” Part of me chided myself over my refusal to properly hold up my end of the conversation. But another part of me insisted I would be disloyal to Mom if I did. I felt like I was in middle school again, in the lunchroom getting pressured to choose whose table to sit at.
Meanwhile, Brittany stood there, half smiling and nodding like a bobblehead Barbie. I supposed she was going to stay here with me until I was completely done. Female bonding in the bathroom. So far the glue wasn’t taking.
Brittany didn’t seem to realize that. She just kept looking at me expectantly. I searched my brain for something polite and noncommittal to say. “You’ve got a pretty full schedule, going to school and working.”
Are you sure you have time for my dad?
“I like to keep busy.” Now she was looking at my hair again. “That’s a great cut,” she told me.
For what I paid for it, it should be, I thought. The sour cream was now a damp, gray blob on my chest. A damp, gray blob with paper-towel lint embedded in it.
I realized the mess wasn’t going to get better, so I gave up and tossed the towel. “I guess we’d better go order.” I wished I had an excuse to order something to go. The thought of lunch with Dad and Brittany was not pleasant. Maybe, if I were lucky, she’d have some hairy clients waiting for her and she’d have to hurry off after we ate.
No such luck. After she’d consumed a fortune in steak, side orders, and dessert, she was ready to hit the mall. We stood and she linked her arm through Dad’s. He offered me his other arm, and we all strolled out of the restaurant.
“Oh, look,” said an old woman as we passed. “What a nice dad, taking his daughters out to lunch.”
Dad’s cheeks suddenly looked sunburned.
I sneaked a peek at Brittany. That should be
Parent Trap
fantasies.” Anyway, Brittany wasn’t that bad. Looking on the bright side. I’d probably get free haircuts for life.
Except that I was going to remain on the east coast, far from my family. And my future stepmom.
The bathroom door opened and Brittany slipped in. “I thought you might like some help.”
How many women does it take to clean up a sour cream spill?
“That’s okay. I think I can get it,” I said and reached for a paper towel.
She stood there, gnawing her lip and watching me work. “I guess it seems kind of strange to see me with your dad,” she finally said. “With our age difference and all.”
I shrugged. “It’s nothing personal. I’m just used to thinking of him with my mom.”
She nodded. “Most guys my age are so shallow. Your dad, he’s different.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. I’d observed some of my dad’s midlife behavior.
About what? I wondered. Hair? Sports cars? The repo business? I suppose someone could find what my dad does for a living interesting. He can sure make it sound good. He thinks of himself as James Bond, the bank version. That’s probably because he has an alias he uses to call and harass people who tend to forget minor details like paying bills. And he has been known to be involved in sneaking out at night and repossessing cars. As a matter of fact, I think his jag was a bank repo bargain. It was still expensive, though, so Mom never quite got the bargain concept.
“I’d broken up with my boyfriend,” Brittany started explaining. “I was drifting, confused. Your father’s been a real anchor for me.”
Well, anchors aweigh, I thought. I nodded and started to work on the sour cream spill.
“Of course, I know that sounds like I just dated your dad on the rebound. But it wasn’t like that.”
“Ummm,” I said politely, and waited for her to tell me what it was like.
She didn’t. Instead, she switched gears. “So, you’re in advertising.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, I do.” Part of me chided myself over my refusal to properly hold up my end of the conversation. But another part of me insisted I would be disloyal to Mom if I did. I felt like I was in middle school again, in the lunchroom getting pressured to choose whose table to sit at.
Meanwhile, Brittany stood there, half smiling and nodding like a bobblehead Barbie. I supposed she was going to stay here with me until I was completely done. Female bonding in the bathroom. So far the glue wasn’t taking.
Brittany didn’t seem to realize that. She just kept looking at me expectantly. I searched my brain for something polite and noncommittal to say. “You’ve got a pretty full schedule, going to school and working.”
Are you sure you have time for my dad?
“I like to keep busy.” Now she was looking at my hair again. “That’s a great cut,” she told me.
For what I paid for it, it should be, I thought. The sour cream was now a damp, gray blob on my chest. A damp, gray blob with paper-towel lint embedded in it.
I realized the mess wasn’t going to get better, so I gave up and tossed the towel. “I guess we’d better go order.” I wished I had an excuse to order something to go. The thought of lunch with Dad and Brittany was not pleasant. Maybe, if I were lucky, she’d have some hairy clients waiting for her and she’d have to hurry off after we ate.
No such luck. After she’d consumed a fortune in steak, side orders, and dessert, she was ready to hit the mall. We stood and she linked her arm through Dad’s. He offered me his other arm, and we all strolled out of the restaurant.
“Oh, look,” said an old woman as we passed. “What a nice dad, taking his daughters out to lunch.”
Dad’s cheeks suddenly looked sunburned.
I sneaked a peek at Brittany. That should be
Similar Books
