“Everything. The pizza. The place. Your tight little ass on full display for me, and not having to worry someone’ll come in and catch us. I could get used to this,” he says.
I nod, smiling. It’s only been a day, but I have gotten used to it. Too used to it. It feels as if I’m putting on blinders, though, ignoring something huge and troubling, just because it’s easier to do than face it.
“But . . .” he says, reading my mind. “It’s your dad, right?”
He’s right. I haven’t spoken to my father since that day. He’s called my cell a thousand times, but I’ve ignored him. I haven’t even gone to the house to see my mom, because dealing with all of it just brings back too much pain.
I’ve been living in this dream world with Dax, pretending that fucked up part of my life doesn’t exist. The truth is, I miss my mom like crazy, and hell, I even miss my dad. I used to call them every week when I was in Boston, just to check in. Now, she’s moving away and I haven’t been there for her the way I need to be. I nod.
“I wanted to cut him off. But I don’t think I can.”
He rubs an absent circle on my knee with the pad of his thumb. “I should probably tell you. I went to see them today.”
I stare at him, aghast, heart pounding. “Wait, what? Why?”
“I knew you said you weren’t ready, but your mom is leaving for Florida in a week. I wanted to tell them you were okay. And I wanted to talk to your dad.”
“Ohhhkay,” I ask, thoroughly confused. “They didn’t chase you out with pitchforks?”
“No. They were nice. We had tea. And a chat.”
I blink again and again to make sure I’m not dreaming. This is definitely Twilight Zone stuff. I can just see my parents and Dax, gathered around the kitchen table, sipping tea from her special dainty china, chatting.
Actually, no, I can’t see that.
“It went good,” he says, nodding. “We talked about the old times. Like in English class, when I set his Shakespeare collection on fire with my cigarette. Your dad offered up that flowered sofa in the living room for our place. No one bought it at the yard sale.”
“Okay. Awesome,” I say, still not believing what I’m hearing. My dad and Dax, just shooting the shit? My dad giving him a couch as what . . . a peace offering? “So, are they okay?”
He nods. “They miss you, and even with the divorce and all that mess, they don’t hate each other so much as you might expect, Katie. So I invited them to the house this weekend. We’re having a barbeque,” he explains.
“Oh,” I murmur. I’m still having a hard time processing this information. I jolt upright. “Wait. What?”
“You know. Burgers and dogs. Your mom’s bringing her potato salad.”
There’s another thing I really can’t picture. My mom is all scones and pretty tea sets. She won’t hang out in the Harding backyard, where they have an old Studebaker on blocks and I’m pretty sure Vincent’s growing weed. Suddenly I’m a bundle of nerves. “Is his girlfriend going to be there?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, he’s not that stupid, for god’s sake. But it won’t be just us. My friends. My cousins. I invited all of them.”
That doesn’t do much to calm my mood. “But . . . why? I mean, we have so much going on right now. A party is just another thing to worry about. And you and I . . . ”
He runs a hand along my bare back, smoothing the tension there and sending fireworks exploding up and down my spine. “It’ll be good,” he assures me. “I’m gonna announce the new Harding Automotive Works in style. Figure if I do that, we can beg ‘em all for help when we need it. And we’re gonna need it.”
I nod slowly, imagining my parents at the Harding’s home. Talk about sore thumbs. “Oh, my god, Dax. Your family? And mine? Oh, my god. It’ll be a disaster.”
He nods, conceding. “It could be. But there’s a bright side. If it turns into World War Three we can always escape back here,” he says, reaching forward and grabbing me by the waist with his hot hands. I crawl forward, sitting in his lap, straddling him. He lays a kiss on my breast and drawls, “This ain’t so bad, is it?”
No. Hell no. If this is what I get to escape to, then I can’t complain at all.
Chapter 16
By the weekend, things have begun to take shape in the apartment. We’ve managed to clean the entire place and move in all the furniture from Dax’s bedroom at home, plus a bunch of yard sale finds.
The place almost looks like a home.
Saturday morning, I go shopping and show up at his family home with all the fixings for the barbeque. When I pull up into their gravel driveway, I’m surprised to a canopy set up on the side of the house with half a dozen folding tables spread out on the newly mown grass. It looks like someone has actually gone through the effort of weeding the overgrown flowerbeds outside. For a few seconds, I wonder if I’m in the right house.