Reaction - Lesley Choyce [17]
I don’t get it. If we’re suddenly so poor, why won’t she cash the checks Dad keeps leaving for her? He’s a big stockbroker. He’s got tons of money. He doesn’t mind giving it to us. He wants to.
Mom’s trying to embarrass him. That’s what she’s doing. She knows it’s going to look bad for him to be wining and dining his clients at the best restaurants in town when his own kids can’t even “afford” take-out pizza anymore.
I’m sure I sound mad and childish and spoiled—and I probably am—but I can’t help it. When this whole thing started, I tried to be supportive. I choked down the frozen pizza. I didn’t complain when Mom canceled our trip to Italy. I looked after my little brother Elliot. I even attempted to be sympathetic.
I mean, I’m not totally blind. I can see Dad isn’t the easiest guy to be married to. He’s away on business too much. He’s involved in too many organizations. He’s got too many friends, clients, acquaintances, whatever—and they all want to go golfing with him. I can understand how that would get to Mom.
I figured she just needed a break. After a couple of weeks—and maybe jewelry and a romantic dinner somewhere— she’d remember the good things about Dad, and then we could all just go back to being a family again. That’s what I thought.
At least until this morning, when I found out Mom went and sold our house. Now, on top of everything, she’s making us move into some gross little condo, miles from all our friends and our schools and—oh, yeah, what a coincidence—our father.
I can’t be sympathetic anymore. This is her midlife crisis. We shouldn’t all have to suffer from it.
I’m not going to be like that.
I open my eyes and smile at Colin. “I’m fine,” I say. “My contacts were just bothering me.”
There’s no way Colin believes that, but by this point, he’s probably had enough of my honesty. He kisses me on the forehead and then starts manhandling me toward the cafeteria. I laugh as if it’s all fun and games, but I’m not sure how long I can keep up the act. The thought of having to do my Miss Congeniality thing for the entire lunch-eating population of Citadel High exhausts me.
My phone rings just as we get to the burger lineup. Ms. Meade glares at me and says, “Cell phones. Outside.” Normally, I think that rule’s totally unfair, but today it strikes me as proof that God just might exist after all. I mumble “Sorry” and slip out the side door onto the parking lot. I can see Colin is torn between keeping an eye on me and placing his order, but he follows me out anyway.
“Hey,” I say into the phone.
“Hello, Princess.”
“Dad!” I smile for real. I can’t remember the last time I did that. “Where are you?”
“Guess.”
I don’t have to. Colin has already spotted him and is dogging it across the parking lot toward the biggest, shiniest old convertible I’ve ever seen. It’s turquoise and white and has these giant Batmobile fins on the back. Dad’s leaning up against it. He’s got his tie loosened and his jacket slung over one shoulder as if he’s auditioning for Mad Men.
I have to laugh. “Where did you get that thing?”
“Thing?! I’ll have you know this vehicle once belonged to Elvis Presley.”
“Dad.”
“Seriously! And Elvis always had a gorgeous redhead in the passenger seat. So hurry up, darlin’. The King’s waiting.”
By this time, a kid I recognize from my English class has wandered over to check out the car too. Dad gives us the guided tour—the whitewall tires, the original upholstery, the engine, even the ashtrays. I don’t know anything about cars, but I can see it’s impressing the hell out of the two boys.
Dad basks in the glory for a while, then tosses Colin the keys. “Okay, big guy, let’s blow this pop stand.”
Colin looks at the keys, looks back at Dad, then yelps like a cowboy. He jumps into the driver’s seat.
The other kid starts walking away, but Dad goes, “Whoa. Stop. You too. Get in.”
The kid kind of laughs and says, “No. Thanks. That’s okay.” He