Hiya Readers
AT LAST! You finally get a chance to get to know Billie’s dad, who drops a bomb in this chapter. Lemme know what you think…
xoxo Dana
Chapter Four
My father’s response was prompt and open-ended. He simply said we could get together when I was feeling better. We settled on tea the following afternoon.
That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? The thought of being here is nerve-wracking. But here I am.
A couple blocks from campus, the house on Cherry Street is quaint. One of those adorable cottages from the ’70s with a white picket fence, golden-yellow siding, and an extra-large rocking chair on the front porch. Three steps lead up to the porch from the main walkway. An intricate design is carved into the dark wood front door.
I’ve double-checked the address a million times, but honestly, I’m impressed I made it to the front yard this time. Two and a half blocks closer than the previous evening.
I force my feet closer, along the walkway, up the stairs, and pause at the front door. Deep breaths. Swallow down the bile pushing up my throat. Breathe—seriously, breathe—and press the doorbell.
He opens the door immediately, wide enough for me to step inside. “I’m glad you’re able to join me.” He casts as small smile in my direction as I stumble over the threshold. “Come this way.”
Inside, the cottage has dark wainscoting and intricate wallpapers that contrast with the dark wood. He leads the way past the foyer. We pass a library on the left, a small living room with a hearth on the right, and pause in the middle to point out the half bath. Stairs lead to the second floor, plus a small door to the kitchen, and to the right of the bathroom, an arched doorway leads into a large dining room with a table and six chairs. The furniture is all antique, crafted from cherry-stained wood, and has delicate leaf designs in the legs and support beams.
In my faded Motley Crüe tee, battered jeans, and bright-blue Converse, I do not fit in.
“Have a seat, Mina.” Dad gestures to the nearest chair. “I put together a few sandwiches. I hope that’s alright.” In the dim light, the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He straightens his polka-dot bow-tie and flattens his dress shirt, his hands quivering nervously.
I sit down on one of the green and cream striped dining chairs.
He heads to the adjoining kitchen and returns with a plate of bite-sized sandwiches and a few cookies. An ornate Japanese teapot sits on a trivet at the center of the table. “Help yourself.” He places the tray between our chairs and joins me, clasping his hands in his lap.
Uncertain, I pop one in my mouth. Cool and slimy. Cucumber sandwiches.
“How do you like Bradford so far? Are your classes going well?” He nibbles on a cookie. “They’re maple cinnamon, by the way.”
I force a smile. His topic of choice will always be mathematics. “Calculus is going well. Mr. Hodges is direct and explains the principles well. He focuses mostly on equations, though, but it is an introductory class. I’m actually tutoring another student.”
He nods, seeming to relax. “You’re doing well then?”
“I’ve gotten high marks on every exam.”
“And you’re tutoring. A student in your class?” He finishes his cookie and pours some tea into two cups.
“Yes.” I accept the cup and saucer he pushes toward me. “It helps me stay focused.”
His bow-tie jostles as he nods, and his wire-framed glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. “What about your other classes?”
“I’m mostly taking gen ed. First-Year Seminar of course, Western Civ, American Lit.” The tea is too hot to drink. “I joined the Honors Program. I’ll have that seminar class with Dr. Lewis in the spring.”
My father smiles. “Henry is a fantastic teacher and a great friend. We’ve gone fishing together, you know.”
I lift my teacup to my mouth and blow before taking a small sip. The steam fogs up my glasses.
I can’t imagine him with a rod in hand.
“How was your holiday?” He picks up a cucumber sandwich and takes a bite. “How’s your sister? And your, um, mother?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“Good.” He pauses to take another sip of tea.
And I fill the silence. “Imogene asks about you sometimes.”
“Oh, does she?” He tries to sound nonchalant, but his voice quivers. “Does she still dance?”
Mo quit ballet when she started cheerleading as a freshman last year. “Not anymore, but she’s still doing gymnastics.”
“She’s a brilliant dancer.”
“I guess.” I eat another sandwich, straining to remember.
He clears his throat, drawing my attention. “And you? What have you been doing?”
Something tells me wasting away on Jimmy’s bed while he studies and Xander screams at his video game isn’t an appropriate answer. “I’m majoring in Mathematics, Dad.”
“Yes, and you’re tutoring.” He’s fishing for more.
I shove in another cookie.
“Do you really need the money, Mina? You don’t have to work if you need money.” He hesitates. “I’m sure I could scrounge up something for you. It wouldn’t be any trouble.”
I swallow quickly to protest. “I’m already doing it, and I’d hate to bail on the guy just because I don’t need the money anymore. Besides, today was the last day of classes. All that’s left is finals.” I gulp down the rest of my tea now that it’s cool. “Really, you don’t need to do anything.”
He turns to his own teacup. “I am willing to offer my services if you ever need assistance, Mina.”
I reach for the pot.
“Are you thinking of taking on any other students?” He’s staring at his cup.
“I’m sure I’ll figure something out next semester.” The golden liquid trickles into my cup, and I determine to change the subject. “What are your plans for winter break?” The pot slides silently onto the trivet.
He glances at me before taking another drink. “Oh, I never do anything of consequence for the holidays.”
I nod.
“What about you, Mina? When are you returning to Springfield?”
I frown. “Actually, I still haven’t booked my flight.”
For a moment, my father meets my gaze. “Are you not intending to return? Surely your mother wants you home for Christmas.”
I barely hold back a snort. “I’m not sure Mom cares either way.”
A frown spreads across his drawn features, and then, his hazel eyes look away. “If it’s not too presumptuous, perhaps you might consider staying here for the holidays. I would enjoy your company.”
I cast my gaze downward. What can I say to that?
This is exactly the moment I waited for, what I dreamed of the second he left.
But that was a long time ago now, and I no longer have the same fantasies. I’m no longer a little girl.
How to let him down easily?
“I’m sure you’d rather spend the time with your mother and Imogene, though.”
When I meet his gaze, all excuses disappear. “Let me think about it.”
“Of course. You don’t need to make a decision now.” He sounds uncertain but hopeful. A small smile tugs at his lips.
I look away.
In the dark, the path back to Lincoln Hall eludes me. The streetlights cast strange shadows along the sidewalk, but my feet follow the roads toward Bradford without difficulty.
I cross Olive and pass more houses.
In the dark, the walk is bearable. My breath billows out as a cloud of fog. In the cold, everything is numb.
I reach Finchley. On the opposite side is campus.
No cars are on the road. No night classes on a Friday night. There are no resident parking lots nearby. I step onto the road, and my pocket vibrates.
I pull out my phone, pausing at the edge of the sidewalk. Imogene. The only person who calls.
“How’s it going, Mo?”
“Billie.” Her voice is exasperated. “Please tell me you’ve booked your flight to Springfield. Seriously.”
I frown. The conversation is still fresh. “Actually, something happened.”
“What?” She’s immediately alarmed. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Calm down.”
“You can’t say that and not expect me to assume something terrible happened. What’s going on, Billie? You promise you’re okay?”
I laugh. That’s not a promise I can make. “I was talking to Dad. He wants me to stay here for Christmas.” My voice shakes, and my body trembles as I cross the street. “I don’t know what to do.”
For a moment, Imogene doesn’t speak, then her words come in a hesitant voice. “What do you mean? This is what you’ve always wanted.”
I take the sidewalk along Finchley, then follow the curve toward the dorms. “It is, isn’t it?”
The excitement is apparent in her voice. “You have to do it, Billie. This is the perfect opportunity. You have to take advantage of it. I’ll let Mom know you’re staying. I mean, trust me, we wish you’d come home for Christmas, but I’m happy for you, Billie.”
My grip on the phone tightens. How can I say no to that? To her? She’s always believes in me, even when I don’t believe in myself.
“Right.”
The dorms loom above, and I turn to Lincoln Hall.
“Um, Mo, I need to go. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Okay.” She’s so happy for me she’s not irritated that I end the conversation early.
Upstairs, I barge into Jimmy’s room, disgruntled and clutching my phone to my chest. The door pushes open to a poorly lit room before banging against a chair oddly situated behind the doorway.
Inside, Jimmy is working on his laptop in a t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms at the desk. He glances over with a smile.
On the far side, Xander reclines on his bed in a pair of Rupee-encrusted boxers, wireless headphones on, a bowl of popcorn tucked between his arm and torso, his enormous gaming laptop in front of him. His giggling is interrupted by my entrance. He nearly screams. “Close the door, jeez!”
God forbid someone see him in his underwear.
But closer inspection reveals he’s watching Gilmore Girls. When I shut the door, he happily returns to his show, shoving a fistful of popcorn in his mouth.
“You look like you’ve had a day.” Jimmy rolls his chair closer to get a better look at me.
I collapse on his bed, dropping my phone to grab his pillow so I can smother myself. “You know—”
“I can’t understand you through a mass of feathers, Billie.”
I groan and push the pillow past my mouth. “You know how I still haven’t bought my plane tickets?”
“Right.”
“Well, apparently, I’m not going to.”
“What?”
I shove the pillow away and sit up on my elbows. “My dad asked me to stay with him for the holidays.”
Jimmy’s eyebrows rise dangerously close to his hairline. “And you agreed?”
I collapse again and stare at the popcorn ceiling. “Not technically.”
“But?”
My eyes close. “But I’m going to.”
For a moment, Jimmy doesn’t say anything. He probably doesn’t believe me. “Why?”
“Because Imogene—she called, and we talked about it…”
“And you don’t want to disappoint her.”
It’s true. I don’t have to say anything to confirm it. Jimmy understands me better than anyone.
“Are you sure you’re ready? Winter break is three and a half weeks long, Billie. That’s a long time to spend with a man you haven’t talked to in as many years.”
“I don’t know.” I blink a couple times, trying to focus. “I have no reason to celebrate Christmas with him. He left. He walked out on me. I don’t want to see him. That’s exactly why I’ve avoided him for so long. We were never supposed to talk in the first place.”
But Jimmy spins in the swivel chair. “You’re being melodramatic again. If you don’t want to do it, tell him so.”
I frown. “I can’t. You have to help me.”
He stops to raise a bushy eyebrow. “How am I supposed to do that? Just tell him you don’t want to. Your sister will get over it.”
“No. Help me break the ice.”
His other eyebrow shoots up.
“Again, how?”
“My last final’s Thursday, but I don’t have to go over there till Friday night, and your flight isn’t till the next morning. Have dinner with us.”
“That kind of screws up our plans…” He glances in Xander’s direction. “But it wouldn’t be too difficult to rearrange stuff.”
I sit up and catch his eyes. “I would appreciate you forever.”
He laughs. “You don’t already? I’m insulted.”
I quirk a smile. “Seriously, thank you.”
But Jimmy shakes his head. “Don’t go thanking me yet. You know, it’d look a lot like you want to introduce your boyfriend to your father, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I brush away his words. “Your heart belongs to Cynthia Allen, and it’s not the first time you’ve met him. It’s not a date.”
“But that’s not what it looks like.” He leans back in the chair and grabs the pencil off his desk. “Can you imagine the fit your mom would have? Or if my parents heard?”
Mr. and Mrs. Powell always hoped we’d wind up together. Then I’d actually be their daughter instead of the weird neighbor girl they pseudo-adopted after my parents divorced.
“Okay, then what do you propose?”
When I look back, Jimmy’s smiling. “Very simple solution. We do dinner at your dad’s, get to know each other again, break the ice for you—and to prevent any awkward assumptions, we bring Xander.”
The last three words rush out of his mouth faster than the IBM Roadrunner.
Gritting my teeth, I glance over at Xander, who’s too busy dropping popcorn kernels on his lean chest to notice the turn in conversation. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” I keep my eyes trained on the half-naked imbecile across the room.
“Maybe, but I won’t come otherwise. You’ll have to break the ice on your own.”
It’s a fair point, though. They were supposed to drive to Burlington that afternoon. This would set back both their plans. What would Xander do while we have dinner with my father?
Jimmy tosses his pencil up. “See?” He tries to swipe it from the air, but it clatters to the linoleum floor. He laughs it off before leaning down to retrieve it. “I’m being helpful.”
“I’m not sure I’d consider this helpful.” My gaze shifts between his fumbling fingers and Xander’s laughing face. “And I’m definitely not sure I want to spend dinner with you, my dad, and Xander.”
“It’s a good thing I’ve already made the decision then.”
I roll my eyes. “With you acting this cocky, I worry you’re spending too much time with dickface over there.”
Jimmy laughs, his pale freckles crinkling with his cheeks, and scoots the chair closer. “Come on, Billie, relax, will you? You stay this stressed and you’ll fail your finals.” He nods his head toward the television. “Wanna drag Xander away from his girly show and watch a movie?”
“Aren’t you going out tonight? It’s Friday. Shouldn’t you be at some frat party getting trashed?”
One particular party springs to mind.
But Jimmy dismounts the chair. “I’ll have you know, I don’t drink at those parties.” He crosses the room and powers up the PlayStation and flat-screen.
“Right.” I head over to Xander’s bed. “It’s your job to make sure this moron comes back alive.” He doesn’t notice me until I snatch the headphones off his head and hold them captive.
Xander turns to me, fuming. “What the fuck are you doing, Dixon? He’s about to push Jess in the lake.”
“I so don’t care.” I nod toward the TV, but he glares. “We’re watching a movie. If I don’t have a choice, neither do you.”
From behind me, Jimmy calls out, “Okay, guys, Jaws or Big Trouble in Little China?”
Xander’s narrow eyes don’t leave mine as we say, “Big Trouble,” at the same time.
Grumbling, Xander pauses his show and closes his laptop. “Why’re we watching a movie? And why don’t I have a choice?”
I shrug and turn back toward Jimmy, who selects our choice with the controller. “Pillows?”
“Yes, please,” Jimmy says. “Billie’s having a paranoid moment and needs to relax.”
I roll my eyes as I cross the room to toss a couple pillows from Jimmy’s bed to the floor. “Not paranoid.”
“And why do I care?” But Xander moves his laptop and grabs his own pillows for our nest. Irritated, he chucks one at Jimmy’s head before joining us.
“You don’t,” I say, “but that doesn’t stop him from trying.”
Jimmy fixes his glasses. “Play nice, you two.”
On the flat-screen, the movie starts with a short introduction with Victor Wong, and Jimmy sits, dragging me down beside him. Xander grudgingly sits on my other side.
“Cozy.” Jimmy sends both of us a grin.
Xander rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
“No.” I shake my head.
Jimmy pouts. “You guys are jerks.”
“Shut up.” Xander reaches his arm around me and snatches the TV remote from the floor behind Jimmy. His arm brushes my back on the recoil, and I shiver at the contact. “Either we watch this movie or I go back to my show.” He turns up the volume.
I snort. “Yes, you should definitely go back to Gilmore Girls. I need to take pictures so I can show Val who you really are.”
He nudges me in the ribs and sends me his patented Xander Theroux smirk. “Trust me, she’s far more aware of who I really am than you are.”
I pull a face. “That’s disgusting.”
On my other side, Jimmy gags. “Seriously, I already know too much about your sex life.”
Kurt Russell’s narration begins, and I look at the door. “This is a waste of time. I need to write that essay for American Lit.”
Jimmy turns to me with narrow eyes. “Everyone else on campus is out getting trashed before finals, and you’re going to complain about a relaxing movie night? That essay isn’t due till Thursday.”
“It’s ten pages,” I say.
“And I’ll bet you’re already half done.”
“Seriously, guys?” Xander grumbles. “Shut up.”
