Father Knows Best Part 4

I gulped back my burgeoning excitement, smoothing my palms against the sides of my shorts as I tried to remain calm. No sense jumping to conclusions just to be smacked down by reality. I mean, I could be hallucinating right here. For all I knew, Dylan and I were still sitting in the car watching Dad and Chloe talk to the man with the bulbous belly.

"Wait. Just wait a sec." I gulped. "Dad, do you mean-?"

"I need to sign the paperwork, my dear daughter, and the car's yours. That's what I'm saying." He grinned. "Congratulations."

My jaw went slack. He'd been pimping me, faking like it was just too pricey and all that! I started jumping and squealing in a highly uncool way considering my boyfriend was witnessing the entire spectacle, but I didn't even care-that's the thing!

I had my dream car!

I threw my arms around my dad and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll wash it every week and get the oil changed every three months, and-cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye-I'll never speed."

Laughing, he lifted me off my feet and spun me around, then set me down. Lowering his chin, he said, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Lila Jane. Just be sure to drive safely always."

"I will, I swear. I love you, Dad."

"Love you, too. Let's go sign those papers, I'll call my insurance guy, then we'll get out of here." He patted his super-flat tummy with smiles all around. "Don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready for a celebratory lunch."

"I'll ditto that," Dylan said.

Chloe and I shared a conspiratorial eye roll.

I was so feelin' the parental warm fuzzies right then big-time, despite the whole pops-hitting-on-my-boyfriend's-mom foul, that our little "chick" moment didn't even oog me out. "Thanks, Dad. I mean it."

He raised one eyebrow and speared me with the chief of police look he'd perfected over his years on the job. "Thank me by being a conscientious teenage driver every single day, claro? An example. That's all the thanks I want or need. Oh, and get a summer job, will you?" He grinned.

Ohhhhh, he meant pay him back now. I get it.

I attempted a cheeky reciprocal grin, but it felt brittle. A brick of worry dropped to the bottom of my gut. "Sure," I said, managing to hide my instantaneous stress spike.

Dilemma.

See, here's the prob. We live in White Peaks freakin' Colorado. It's not like we have a mall there with a bazillion different shops. Where in the heck was I going to find a decent job at this point in the summer? Sure, school had just ended, but-h.e.l.lo!-small town. Guaranteed, all the good jobs had been nabbed long before now, and I'm embarra.s.sed to admit I'd planned on just hanging out for my pre-senior-summer, staring at clouds and sniffing flowers. No such luck, eh?

But I had a killer car. No complaints. Just worries.

I started to rack my brain for employment possibilities. Dylan was teaching gra.s.s-skiing and off-season ski fitness at the resort, like he always did, but I knew jack about that stuff. Meryl still worked at Inner Power, the coolio metaphysical shop downtown. We all know what Caressa had planned. If you want the whole truth, I'm sort of lacking in the job skills department. But, hey, there was always Burger Wonder. I'm sure I knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy who could hook me up there. Snort!

The thought of resorting to the fast food route didn't appeal, but I'd do it if I had no other options. No sense sweating it now, though. I had a car to buy and the longish drive back to White Peaks before I could do anything about the job sitch anyway.

After glancing lovingly back at my car-my car!!-I took Dylan's hand and followed Dad and Chloe into the dealership. Dad had grabbed Chloe's hand, too, I noticed, and she'd moved closer so their shoulders were sort of b.u.mping all intimate-like. Ew. My stomach soured, and the day dimmed a bit.

Just like that.

I struggled to stay positive and not be...well, a self-centered b.i.t.c.h, like Jennifer h.e.l.lsp.a.w.n Hamilton. I wanted to bask in this milestone moment for me, whether or not my dad was doing my boyfriend's mom.

Um, double ew. Strike that last thought, 'kay?

Chapter Four.

I can't believe it. Dylan and I had our first fight. Like, not the normal fun snarkfest in which we often (okay, daily) engage, but a real fight, and it totally sucked.

Here's how it went down: After buying my car, our happy little foursome (whatev) went to lunch at the Paramount Cafe-a rockin' spot on the 16th Street Mall. I admit, I was over the whole "foursome" schtick by then. I wanted to be alone with Dylan-is that so wrong? Anyway, we scored a primo table on the outdoor patio. I people-watched while noshing on burgers and huge mounds of super yummy fries and subtly ignored my dad's attempt to draw me into conversation with Chloe. This isn't to say I acted like a Paris Hiltonesque ent.i.tled snot after just having received the car of my dreams. I didn't. I was polite, just not chatty. I wasn't going to buy into the whole happy family propaganda. I needed my boundaries.

After lunch, we rode the free Mall Shuttle up to the turnaround near Union Station, then back down to the gigantic Adam's Mark Hotel, because really, how often do I get to come to Denver? I wanted to check out the street mall, the horse-drawn carriages, the street kids and old guys playing chess together right in the middle of everything.

It was fun, but it would have been a million times better if my dad and Chloe weren't there trying so hard to bond with Dylan and me. I mean, dude, bond is the beginning of bondage-need I say more? It felt like they were throwing their relationship in my face. Sigh! On the shuttle, I did my best to ignore them and focus on Dylan, as Caressa had suggested, and it was working at first. But at the Larimer Square stop, a lady lugged her double stroller filled with identical twins onto the bus, and my ever-active (or should that be over-active) imagination kicked into high gear.

Like, what if my dad and Chloe Sebring had a baby sometime down the road? He or she would be my half-sibling and Dylan's half-sibling, too.

Is it just me, or does that seem insurmountably weird?

How could we continue to date if that happened without appearing...creepy? Almost-I hated to say the word, but there it was-incestuous. And, you know, if you worry about this kind of thing long enough, it starts to feel totally real. Almost like you're thinking it into existence.

In any case, by the time I slid behind the wheel of my brand-new car, the whole potential twin siblings thing had me thoroughly freaked out. I was more than ready to be as far away from the parentals as humanly possible.

The first several miles I concentrated on getting used to the car and the controls and the road-just driving. Dylan kept me company by reading to me from the owner's manual. Dude! Ever read one of those suckers? I couldn't believe it, but that fat ol' book is chock-full of valuable information, and some of it isn't even boring. Who'da thunk?

When we hit the highway Dylan put the manual back into the glove compartment, then slid in a CD. He'd thought to bring a few because radio reception can be spotty at places in the mountains-isn't that sweet? Music filled the car, and we settled in for the rest of the drive.

As the highway became more twisty, and vast, pine tree-filled valleys overtook the vista, my tension started to ease. I blew out this big, noisy breath and laid my noggin back against the headrest. "G.o.d, I'm glad that's over."

Dylan peered over at me. "Searching for a car?"

"No. Hanging out with our googly-eyed parents." I scoffed. "I mean, how uncomfortable can you get?"

Dylan didn't say anything. He stared at the side of my face for a minute, then focused his attention out the pa.s.senger window. Silent.

After the current song ended, I reached over and squeezed his leg, which, incidentally, is totally muscular from being on the ski team. Yum. I'm such a dork. Don't tell anyone.

"Are you okay?" I asked, breaking rule-number-one I read in one of the current teen magazines. It said (with authority) you should never ask a guy that question, because it "shuts him down." Well, Dylan was already shut down, so I risked it. What did I have to lose?

At first I thought he hadn't heard me over the music, because he didn't move or react or, most especially, answer. Just as I was about to ask again, he shocked the h.e.l.l out of me by saying, "No. I'm not okay, Lila," in this cold, stony voice that gave me the sneaking suspicion I might've somehow p.i.s.sed him off. He lifted my hand off of his leg and sort of threw it back toward me. Uh, yeah. Suspicion confirmed.

Dylan? Totally p.i.s.sed.

Fear wavered in my vision like gasoline evaporating off of hot pavement, but (be proud, Dad), I kept my focus on the road anyway. Still, my throat dried up and my thoughts raced as I placed the dissed hand back at the "two" position on the wheel. "W-what's wrong?"

"Like you really want to know," Dylan said, derisively.

Dang, he really was upset. My heart pounded out a funeral dirge in my chest. We'd never fought before. Not even close! I didn't know quite how it was supposed to go. "Dylan, I do want to know. Tell me."

Nothing.

"If you don't, I'm going to pull over until you do."

"Fine." He adjusted in his seat wrenching some slack in his seat belt so he could almost face me. "You want me to tell you? Here goes. I'm sick of you constantly acting like my mom isn't good enough for your dad."

I accidentally screeched the brakes going around a curve. Whoa! Where did that bombsh.e.l.l come from? My mouth dropped open and I shot a quick double take in his direction.

"Keep your eyes on the road," he said, all scowly, reaching out to smack off the stereo. "You want to wind up being one of those idiot teenagers in the Denver Post who crashes her car on the first drive off the lot?"

Dead silence ensued.

Now there wasn't even music to break up the tension.

My jaw clamped shut as I white-knuckled the steering wheel and tried to figure out what to say next.

See? If my father weren't dating his mother (no matter what anyone says), we wouldn't be having this argument. We would not. I swallowed thickly, scared to say anything, scared to say nothing. "Dylan, I have never once said Chloe-I mean, your mom-isn't good enough for my dad."

He snorted. "You don't have to say it."

So he was clairvoyant now? "For G.o.d's sake, what are you talking about?"

"d.a.m.nit!" he said. "The four of us spend one measly day together, a day where your dad helps you buy a pretty pricey car and treats all of us to lunch, and all you can do is watch them with thinly veiled disgust-if you acknowledge them at all-act ungrateful, and whine about wanting to be away from them-"

"But-"

"-and why? Because your dad happens to be dating my mom." He knocked on his temple with one knuckle, which I caught in my peripheral vision. "I know I'm a dumb jock and everything, but it's pretty clear why you don't want to be around them-"

"But-"

"-because you don't think my mom, who happens to be awesome, by the way, is worthy of your perfect dad."

"No, that's not-"

"-And that sucks, Lila. It really does. For someone who claims to care about me, you sure have a funny way of showing it."

To say I was stunned did a disservice to the complete reeling, screeching brain mode his outburst had thrust me into. Chloe? Not good enough for my dad? That wasn't even in the same ballpark as the issue.

I concentrated on breathing deeply until I could manage to speak without squeaking or crying or yaking. Still, my stomach trembled beneath my T-shirt, and the pulse pounded so hard in the side of my neck, the sound was actually distracting in my ears. "How long have you been feeling this way?" I managed after another tense silence.

"I don't know. Awhile," he said, through clenched teeth.

Awhile?! "Why didn't you say something?"

He snorted again. "Because I hoped you'd get over it, that's why. Besides, I knew you wouldn't listen to me."

Stunned again.

Had our relationship gone so sour, so quickly, that Dylan thought he couldn't even communicate with me? Was I really such a total sucka.s.s girlfriend? My leg started quaking so badly, I had a hard time keeping my foot steady on the accelerator. "I h-have to...pull over."

"Why?"

"Because! Because you just laid all this on me and I want to talk about it. I can't keep my focus on driving when you're so p.i.s.sed off."

He flicked a hand. "There's a pull-out just up there."

I spied it, engaged my right turn blinker, and steered carefully into the gravel area. When I'd turned off the car-thankfully-I released a long, slow breath, then rested my forehead in my fingers for a moment before leaning my head back against the headrest.

I crossed my arms.

He crossed his arms.

I freaked.

He fumed.

We both sat there in awkward silence for several minutes staring straight forward at the rock face.

I don't know what was going through Dylan's mind, but all I could think of was that nasty B-word, breakup. Meryl would probably tell me that it's two words. Is it two words? It feels like one, and a bad one. BREAKUP. BREAKUP. BREAKUP.

BREAKUPBREAKUPBREAKUPBREAKUPBREAKUP.

The more the word echoed in my mind, the faster my breaths came. Shallow, like I'd just run from a rabid dog. Shallow, like Dylan thought I was. My eyes stung.

"Are we going to sit here all day?" he asked, sounding nothing at all like the boyfriend I knew and...loved. Not that I'd ever said the L-word to him. But I did. Love him, I mean. I was pretty sure anyway.

And that's what did it.

I simply couldn't let the B-word happen before I ever made it to the L-word, so I thought I'd better get on with the T-word: talking. No matter how frightened I felt, we needed to talk this misunderstanding out.

I unhooked my seat belt and turned in the seat to face him, tucking one ankle under the opposite knee. "Dylan, look at me." He didn't. I watched the muscle in his jaw bunch as he clenched his teeth. "Please," I said, somehow managing to keep the pleading tone from coming through, miracle of miracles.

He turned my way, but every bit of his expression radiated fury. Even worse, disappointment.

My chin verged on a quiver, and we all knew what happened after that. Another thing that article in the teen magazine said was, don't cry when you're arguing with a guy, because he'll think you're being manipulative or just plain annoying.

I swallowed hard, deciding to take that one to heart.

It also said to apologize if you were in the wrong. I wasn't sure if I was in the wrong or not, but I hated seeing my boyfriend's face so dark and remote when he usually looked at me with such joy and amus.e.m.e.nt. We were, like, the fun couple. I wanted to get back to that place.

"I'm sorry, Dyl," I said, surprisingly with minimal wimpiness. "Truly. This isn't about me thinking your mom isn't good enough for my dad. Not at all. Not ever."

"Sure it isn't."

"Come on. I swear."

Skeptical silence.

I expelled my frustration in a burst of air. "Look, if I'm lying, I'll wear my beloved"-I said in a facetious tone-"double-knit Dacron polyester Junior Narc uniform pants to school every day for the first week of senior year. With tops that don't match. And the Rocky boots."