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I serve myself a piece of the quiche, barely avoiding wrinkling my nose at the bits of mushroom and pepper. If Jean sees that I don’t like something she’s prepared, I’ll find those ingredients in everything for the rest of the week.
“I’m going to Tasha’s to work on a sculpture.” Doing my best to ignore Jean’s scowl and exaggerated sigh, I continue, “I submitted my résumé and application to all the places you asked me to. I also applied to a few others that were just looking for seasonal help. A job is a job right now.” Any job to get her off my back would be a gift, plus I could start paying off my loan to Dad.
“It’s only been a week, Lia, give it time.” Dad ate his quiche in a few bites and went back to the paper. “You know this is your home and always will be.”
It’s an effort to not smile around my own breakfast while Jean’s face falls. “I know, Daddy.” I don’t have to see him to know that he is smiling; calling him “Daddy” has never failed to earn me a grin.
“We have company tonight for supper. Will you be home by then?” Jean has the tone of voice that balances on the line between me being uninvited but expected.
“I don’t know. It depends on how far I get on my project. I want to keep my portfolio current in case I can get into the downtown gallery’s next show.” Really, I’m hoping to see Tasha’s dad and don’t want to deny myself the chance. He’s been busy at work since I got home, and I haven’t been able to see if he’s still the stuff erotic dreams are made of.
“I can make myself scarce and grab a sandwich so I don’t interrupt your dinner party,” I offer.
My dad makes sure I know that I have a standing invitation to their dinner gathering. After we finish eating, Dad asks me, “Do you want to take my car, or are you walking over?”
It is a gorgeous day for the season, and the walk is under a mile, so I don’t mind the fresh air. “I can walk, Dad. That way you aren’t down to just one car or stuck here waiting on me. Besides, we can’t have me being lazy, can we?” I say sweetly before quickly getting up and clearing my dishes.
Despite it being my third time over to work in their garage, Tasha continues to stare at me as if I might disappear at any moment. It would be freaky from anyone else, but from Tasha it is almost endearing. It also makes me sad. She and her dad were there for me after we lost my mom; I repaid the favor by escaping town at my first chance and did not look back until I had no other choice.
“I’m not going to vanish, Tasha,” I chide while taking off my jacket. I am warm from working with metal, but I don’t want to chance ruining the fabric with the dirt and oil on the cement floor. Working on the ground between sawhorses is not glamourous work, but it is the best I can do for the moment if I want to finish this sculpture. I miss my more portable welding stick, but these will do the job. Selling my welding tools had gotten me through a quarter of tuition, rent, and my food. While still near the art school, I could use theirs. Living here doesn’t provide that luxury, but I do have the ability to work. I can’t afford to be choosey in what tools I use if I can still get the desired effect.
“I’m glad your dad has this creeper board for playing around with his truck. It’s perfect for letting me slide around.” Teenaged me had spent many a Sunday afternoon sitting on the workbench, watching her dad, Beck, change his oil and do minor repairs. I even masturbated under his truck, almost hoping he would walk into the garage and catch me with my fingers inside my shorts. I wasn’t thinking of legality, only that I was a horny teen and he was hot. He was better looking than most of the men in the heartthrob teen magazines.
Even if he is somehow half as gorgeous now as then, I think I’d still be more grateful for having space away from my step-mom. “Jean was on my case already. I can’t wait until I have a job and can get out of there.” I rush through what it has been like, having an evil step-mom straight out of a Disney story.
“We could make room here; it’ll be like a sleepover. With it being just Dad and me, it’s not like you’d be in the way. Plus, there are like six unused bedrooms. He’s never home anyway, what with work and traveling for work.” Tasha is playing with her phone as she talks, texting as if I can’t see her fingers sliding across the screen. Swype is nowhere near as stealthy as she thinks it is.
“Who is he?” I ask. A boyfriend is the only person she would be texting like that. We have not had secrets between us in years, except for the one about me crushing on her dad when we were little. Even that was not so much of a secret but more of an omission. We were only sixteen years old when Tasha caught me staring at her dad while he played racquetball; I had promised over a bottle of stolen rum in our hideout that I would never sleep with her dad. Fast forward six years, I’m equally proud and dismayed to say I have not gone back on my promise.
“His name is Chris.” I practically can hear her rolling her eyes at me. “And it’s been four months,” Tasha says before I can ask how long they have been dating. “He’s not exactly someone my dad would approve of. I mean, he has a job and stuff, and he’s really good to me, but he’s just not our families’ sort of person. You know what I mean?”
The cement is cold beneath my fingers as I pull myself out from under the workspace to look at Tasha. “Wrong side of the tracks?” I question.
She nods, giving me a small smile. “He’s a mechanic.” She brings over her phone and shows me a picture. He’s tall and good looking, long hair pulled back in a ponytail. There’s a carefree smirk that isn’t quite a smile which reminds me of the artists at my school who spent a bit too much time with hallucinogens as inspiration.
“Chris is cute,” I tell her. He isn’t my type, but I can definitely see the appeal. His blue eyes are piercing, and they shine with amusement at whatever Tasha was saying before taking his photograph. It’s clear to see that he loves her.
“Maybe we can go out sometime so you can meet him.” Oh, joy, being a third wheel sounds like so much fun… “You know, Lia, there are still some of the guys from high school around town who are worthy of your attention.” Unsure that any of the boys could measure up to the standards set by my long-term crush, I make a non-committal sound while she rambles. It was an adequate response, and Tasha resumes gushing about Chris. “I know that four months is still too early to talk about forever and all, but he was hinting at getting me a promise ring for my birthday. Just something small, but he wants to show my dad that we’re committed when they meet. He’ll have Sundays off starting next month, so I’m going to plan to have him over for a family dinner then. You should come too; you can be the moderator if Dad yells.”
I am about to open my mouth and tell her I need to meet this Chris-who-wants-to-buy-her-a-promise-ring like yesterday and make sure he’s the right guy for her when we hear the crunch of tires on gravel at the far end of their driveway. As a car door closes and the sound of footfalls brings the driver nearer, my heart stops beating. It kicks to a start a moment later as my mouth goes dry.
Beck Huntsworth has gone from being a hot dad I’d like to fuck to full-blown silver fox. His formal business attire completes the image. His hair was always light blond, but now it is thick and blonde like silvery moonlight. Memories flood me of the sculpture I once made of him for a college project on building a clay figure without a model to reference. From the cut of his jaw to his long, muscular legs, he oozes sex appeal like a modern David. My fingers itch to run along the hint of stubble, and I clench my thighs together to avoid arching my back and offering myself up to him.
“You’re home early, Dad.” Tasha sounds dismayed at having to share me
.
“There are my favorite girls! Welcome home, Lia.” Beck nudges my leg with one of his feet in greeting, and I try not to stare up at him from the creeper board. “I need to get packed, and I have lots of meetings tomorrow. Did you get my note, Tasha?” When she does not look up from her phone, Beck clears his throat in anticipation of a response.
“Yeah, Dad. I transferred laundry, checked our pantry, and updated the grocery list for the delivery guys.” It must be nice to be as rich as they are. I mean, my family is beyond comfortable, but Tasha and her dad have the money to vacation anywhere they want, have a housekeeper, and get their groceries delivered for the rare times they aren’t just getting takeout. Their housekeeper doubled as a nanny growing up, so she has always been more like a daytime grandma than a maid, even to me when I came to visit.
“What’s it like being back?” Beck asks me.
Back? My brain blanks out everything except images of what it would be like to be on my back under him. I try to give his question more thought than an immediate, cliché response. He knows me, or knew me, better than that. When my mom was in hospice care, Beck was the one who gave me sanctuary from all the nurse visits and company coming to say their farewells. He was the one who looked the other way when Tasha and I raided his liquor cabinet, as long as we did it in moderation, didn’t get drunk, and weren’t driving.
“It’s hard after living on my own. I didn’t think I’d be back here for more than a visit. I miss having my own space and schedule.” Sitting up on the board, it slides into his leg, and I find myself leaning on Beck to find my balance. “Sorry.” I’m not really sorry, not when grabbing onto him lets me know that he still smells every bit as good as I remember.
