wasn’t sure I could take one more rejection and decided to come clean. I picked up my cell phone with the intention of calling Reece and explaining my OCD when my sister’s Crest-commercial smile and number popped up on the screen.
My sister never calls. S he’s seven years younger than I am, lives thirty minutes away in Carolina Beach with her boyfriend, and works in retail. We see each other on holidays. That’s about it. We share nothing in common except for our parents.
“Hey, B!” she squealed. I could feel her effervescence explode through the phone.
“Hi, Nicki,” I replied.
“I know this is last minute, but do you think you could come to Mom and Dad’s for dinner tonight? Seven?”
This was typical Nicki. Because she assumed I had no life—since I had no man— she could invite me to events and family functions at the last minute like it was no big deal.
“ Talk about short notice,” I said, a little peeved.
“I know. Did you have plans?”
She knew I didn’t have plans. But I made some up.
“Well, it is a Saturday night. I wasn’t sure if I was gonna get together with this guy I’m sort of seeing,” I lied.
“You’re seeing someone? That’s awesome!”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. It is pretty awesome.”
“Well, bring him along,” she offered.
“Nicki, I’m not bringing a guy I’m sort of seeing to our parents’ house. Are you insane? Dad I’m not worried about. But Mom?”
Nicki huffed. “You’re always too hard on Mom, Bailey. She’s not that bad.”
“Whatever. Why am I coming to dinner?”
Nicki giggled. “It’s a surprise,” she sang.
“Super.”
“So you’ll be there?” she asked.
“You know I will.”
I pulled up to my parents’ house at 6:40. I noticed Nicki’s car and assumed she’d already told our mother about the guy I’m sort of seeing. I wish I’d said nothing to her about it, especially since it wasn’t true. We shared a kiss—a damn good kiss—but that didn’t mean a relationship would follow.
I walked to the front door then changed my mind. I made my way around the side of the house and to the end of the sloping back yard. I had a feeling he’d be there.
“Daddy!” I yelled down to him. He turned around and waved.
“ Puddin’ Pop!” he called from the edge of the lake.
Don’t ask, okay? My father thinks I’ m still four years old. I’ve given up trying to convince him I’m thirty-one. And truthfully, a part of me likes the name, mostly because he doesn’t have a special one for Nicki.
I smiled and gingerly descended the sandy hill .
“Is it me, or is that hill getting steeper?” I said when I was safely by Dad’s side.
He gave me a side hug. I noticed his slightly rotund belly had gotten a bit bigger. Still the same soft gray eyes and gray-speckled hair, though.
“Erosion,” he said. “The whole world’s going to pot.”
“Why don’t you just build some steps or something?” I asked, looking out on the lake.
“Too busy fishing,” he replied. He sank into his chair and pulled his pole from its holder.
“Hasn’t Mom yelled at you already for still being down here?” I asked.
“Eh. A few times,” he replied.
I chuckled and moseyed over to Dad’s cooler where he had seven fishing lures lined up in a row. Smallest to largest. Every color of the rainbow, in that order: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. I could never tell the difference between blue and indigo.
I love Dad’s fishing lures. He’s got a bazillion, and I would play with them all the time when I was younger. I liked the way they felt in my hands—that pliable squishy rubber material—and I loved their shapes and colors. I also appreciated the way Dad organized his lures in his tackle box, especially when I discovered that I liked organizing my little treasures and knickknacks the same way.
We’re kindred spirits, my Dad and I, and I think that’s why Mom had Nicki. My parents were only planning to have one
My sister never calls. S he’s seven years younger than I am, lives thirty minutes away in Carolina Beach with her boyfriend, and works in retail. We see each other on holidays. That’s about it. We share nothing in common except for our parents.
“Hey, B!” she squealed. I could feel her effervescence explode through the phone.
“Hi, Nicki,” I replied.
“I know this is last minute, but do you think you could come to Mom and Dad’s for dinner tonight? Seven?”
This was typical Nicki. Because she assumed I had no life—since I had no man— she could invite me to events and family functions at the last minute like it was no big deal.
“ Talk about short notice,” I said, a little peeved.
“I know. Did you have plans?”
She knew I didn’t have plans. But I made some up.
“Well, it is a Saturday night. I wasn’t sure if I was gonna get together with this guy I’m sort of seeing,” I lied.
“You’re seeing someone? That’s awesome!”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. It is pretty awesome.”
“Well, bring him along,” she offered.
“Nicki, I’m not bringing a guy I’m sort of seeing to our parents’ house. Are you insane? Dad I’m not worried about. But Mom?”
Nicki huffed. “You’re always too hard on Mom, Bailey. She’s not that bad.”
“Whatever. Why am I coming to dinner?”
Nicki giggled. “It’s a surprise,” she sang.
“Super.”
“So you’ll be there?” she asked.
“You know I will.”
I pulled up to my parents’ house at 6:40. I noticed Nicki’s car and assumed she’d already told our mother about the guy I’m sort of seeing. I wish I’d said nothing to her about it, especially since it wasn’t true. We shared a kiss—a damn good kiss—but that didn’t mean a relationship would follow.
I walked to the front door then changed my mind. I made my way around the side of the house and to the end of the sloping back yard. I had a feeling he’d be there.
“Daddy!” I yelled down to him. He turned around and waved.
“ Puddin’ Pop!” he called from the edge of the lake.
Don’t ask, okay? My father thinks I’ m still four years old. I’ve given up trying to convince him I’m thirty-one. And truthfully, a part of me likes the name, mostly because he doesn’t have a special one for Nicki.
I smiled and gingerly descended the sandy hill .
“Is it me, or is that hill getting steeper?” I said when I was safely by Dad’s side.
He gave me a side hug. I noticed his slightly rotund belly had gotten a bit bigger. Still the same soft gray eyes and gray-speckled hair, though.
“Erosion,” he said. “The whole world’s going to pot.”
“Why don’t you just build some steps or something?” I asked, looking out on the lake.
“Too busy fishing,” he replied. He sank into his chair and pulled his pole from its holder.
“Hasn’t Mom yelled at you already for still being down here?” I asked.
“Eh. A few times,” he replied.
I chuckled and moseyed over to Dad’s cooler where he had seven fishing lures lined up in a row. Smallest to largest. Every color of the rainbow, in that order: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. I could never tell the difference between blue and indigo.
I love Dad’s fishing lures. He’s got a bazillion, and I would play with them all the time when I was younger. I liked the way they felt in my hands—that pliable squishy rubber material—and I loved their shapes and colors. I also appreciated the way Dad organized his lures in his tackle box, especially when I discovered that I liked organizing my little treasures and knickknacks the same way.
We’re kindred spirits, my Dad and I, and I think that’s why Mom had Nicki. My parents were only planning to have one
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