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“I don’t want to,” I hiss, turning to Jett, who seems to have a much firmer grasp of the seriousness of the situation than Mum does. “I’m… I’m scared.”
“Lexie Steele?” he says, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Scared? Well, this is a first.”
“It’s not really,” I mutter, but Jett’s walking towards the door, stopping only to offer me his arm again.
“Come on, Lady M,” he says. “Your future awaits. Both of them.”
Then he pushes open the living room door, and there they are.
Lochlan and Alan are sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, looking like they’re being careful not to touch each other. I get the impression they haven’t been exchanging small talk — oranykind of talk, really — while they’ve been left alone in here, and they both jump to their feet as we walk in, their faces registering near-identical expressions of shock as they stare at us.
To be fair, I don’t think either of them were expecting Macbeth to walk in; and the realization that the man in the medieval costume is actually Jett Carter doesn’t make the situation anylesssurreal.
For a long moment, they’re so distracted by Jett that they don’t look at me at all. It’s not exactly the reception a girl wants to have from her long-lost father(s), but Jett does tend to have that effect on people — trust me, I should know — so I let it go.
Lochlan recovers first. I recognize him from the news segment and the photo in the papers, so I assume the man next to him must be Alan, who looks less like a geography teacher, and more like the student who always took the piss out of the geography teacher by sitting at the back of the class and flicking chewing gum at him. He just looks the type, somehow.
He doesnotlook like anAlan.
Actually, he’s quite handsome, in a battered leather jacket that he probably thinks gives him a bit of a “bad boy” vibe. I can see what Mum must have seen in him; in both of them, really, because Lochlan’s good-looking too, in his ‘sensible jumper’ kind of way.
I don’t seemyselfin either of them, though. I’m not sure if that’s normal or not; plenty of people don’t look like their parents, so the fact that neither of these men looks like me (Or like I would look if I was male, and pushing 60) doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
Does it?
Mum makes the introductions, and we all sit down, Alan and Lochlan returning to their opposite ends of the sofa, while Jett and I sink into the love seat opposite. This leaves Mum withnowhere to go, so, after a few awkward moments where it seems like she’s just going to remain standing, as if she’s about to conduct an orchestra, she goes and inserts herself between Alan and Lochlan, who do their best to make room for her, but still all end up squashed together like the three little monkeys.
Next to me, I feel Jett’s arm shake with suppressed laughter.
“So!” says Mum brightly, once we’re all settled. “This is nice!”
The fact that this is blatantly anythingbutnice makes Jett start shaking again, but fortunately for him, Mum inadvertently comes to his rescue by bouncing up again almost immediately, obviously desperate to be out of this situation.
You and me both, Mum. You and me both.
“Drinks!” she announces to no one in particular. “I’ll get us all some nice drinks!”
She disappears in the direction of the kitchen, where she’ll have a tough time rustling up anything from my empty cupboards, and the four of us that are left sit looking at each other, none of us knowing what to say next.
I guess there isn’t really a script for these situations, is there?
“So,” drawls Jett, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “You guys both think you’re Lexie’s Pop, then, huh?”
Straight to the point, as always.
Lochlan and Alan exchange glances.
“Well,Icertainly did,” Lochlan begins, earnestly. “When I saw her on TV, I recognized her right away. She looks so much like Samantha, doesn’t she? And Samantha and I… well, it wasn’t a long relationship, really. Just the one time, really…”
He looks embarrassed. I’m not surprised.
“But the timing would be just right,” he goes on. “You’re 33, Lexie, aren’t you?”
He addresses me directly for the first time. I bristle with annoyance. First, he says I look like Mum, then he mentions myage?
Is this what having a dad’s like, then?
“I’m 32 and a half,” I say coolly. “My birthday’s in April.”
