She glares at me so I leave to find Dad.
Aunt Anita is making salad in the kitchen. Nikki leans against the counter next to her, molesting the tomatoes and droning on about how much she loved working in New York City and how it’s the greatest place ever. Judging from my aunt’s expression, she cares more about the well-being of the tomatoes.
Her face perks up when she sees me. “He’s outside. You have a good first day?”
“Yeah.” Did I? I have nothing to compare it to.
Just like Nikki’s standing around watching my aunt make salad, my dad’s standing around watching my uncle grill dinner. I’m astounded by the helpfulness of my family.
My stomach rumbles as I step out onto the patio and eye the plate of burgers and chicken. “You wanted me?”
Dad’s not the type to hem and haw. You don’t climb the corporate ladder, he claims, by being wishy-washy. “I don’t like that you got a job without asking me today.”
I gape at him. “Sorry. I didn’t ask because I didn’t think you’d care.”
“You’re on vacation. You don’t need to work some menial job. It’s beneath you.”
So that’s the issue. My dad’s pride is on the line. “It’s not vacation. I graduated high school last month. I don’t get vacation anymore.”
“Claire—”
“Look, I want this. It’s good life experience.” He can’t argue with that, seeing as that’s part of his BS story about why I’m taking a year off school.
Still, I’m biting my tongue to hold in what I’m actually thinking, which is that he’s no model of fiscal responsibility. Despite our supposed financial crisis, he’s paying to keep Nikki around because—let’s face it—while she might once have flirted with him for free when we were rich, he’s not so great a catch anymore. He’s also paying to have the new condo’s kitchen renovated before we move in, which is why it was deemed a good idea to go to New Hampshire during the construction.
Dad claims he has a plan, that within a year he’ll have restored my college fund. I’m not holding my breath. Sure he used to work for an investment firm, but his recent actions don’t convince me that he has a clue how to manage his personal finances. As far as I’m concerned, once you have to sell off the house and the boat, you don’t drop money unnecessarily on things like kitchen remodels.
Oh, and you definitely don’t criticize someone for being responsible and getting a job.
As if sensing my imminent explosion, Uncle George interjects. “I think Claire’s doing a good thing. It’s very responsible.”
Yup, that’s me. Responsible to the core. I’ll get a job when no one else in my family can be bothered. I’ll even dump my boyfriend to make my parents happy.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t being responsible. Maybe that was being delusional. Me, wishfully thinking that if I could remove all my mom’s stress, she’d get better. But the thought counts, doesn’t it?
My dad’s lips are pressed thin. He swishes the Scotch around in his cocktail glass as my uncle cheerily changes the topic of conversation to baseball. Meanwhile, I haul my responsible butt inside and sneak a beer from the fridge. Responsibility ought to have its perks because delusional thinking sure didn’t.
Chapter Five
I have muscles in my legs and back that I never knew about until I started standing on my feet for hours at a time. It would be fascinating if it weren’t so painful.
Technically, Milk and Honey closed five minutes ago. Beth is already in back, emptying her till. I’m waiting on the last customer so I can run home, shower, cram food in my face and pretend I’m awake enough to go to some party at the University of New Hampshire with my cousins. I’m not sure why I agreed to go when I knew I’d be tired, but hanging around the house in the evening isn’t fun, either.
I scan my customer’s remaining items: tofu, low fat cottage cheese, organic granola and a pack of light cigarettes. Seriously?
“Eighteen thirty-three,” I say to her, suppressing a yawn.
She’s too busy yapping on her cell phone to hear me. I push the bag toward her and repeat myself. She doesn’t even look at me; she’s checking out the breath-mint display.
“Eighteen thirty-three,” I say louder.
She turns finally and seems shocked. “Oh, are we done? How much?”
Is it wrong to hope I crushed her cigarettes?
I don’t get home until after seven-thirty, and then I don’t crawl out of the shower until April and my cousin Hannah pound on the bathroom door.
“I need to do my hair!”
“Makeup!”
“Claire!” That’s April, who excels at turning my name into a three-syllable word.
I clomp downstairs, my hair dripping down my back, and stick the plate of leftovers my aunt saved me in the microwave. My uncle’s washing dishes and my cousin Lisa’s drying them. She’s the only one not freaking out about the party, probably because she’s the only one truly invited.
“Whose party are we going to anyway?” I ask, digging in. Lisa’s going into her sophomore year at UNH, so it must be one of her friends.
“My best friend—Mike.”
“Only her best friend.” Uncle George smirks and shuts off the tap.
Lisa shakes her head, like she’s heard this a million times. “That’s right, Dad.”
“We’ll see about that.” He winks at me and walks out onto the deck.
“He doesn’t have breasts, Dad. We check out girls together.”
I’m not sure whether Uncle George hears her and ignores her, or if he’s too far away. I snort into my lasagna. You learn something new about your family every day.
“Doesn’t get it, or doesn’t want to get it?” I ask.
Lisa shrugs. “Not sure actually. He’s been saying that about me and Mike since before I came out.” She seems more amused than hurt as she puts the towel away.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I ask how the beach was.
“Wonderful. I got to listen to April run her mouth off about fat people in bathing suits.”
I don’t know what to say to that, either, so I continue eating in silence and Lisa soon leaves to change her clothes.
Half an hour later, we’re ready to go. April and Hannah are decked out to show the maximum skin and the shiniest lips. They could be clones in their tight tank tops and extra short shorts. Lisa wears a baggy T-shirt and jeans, no makeup. I’m stuck somewhere in the middle.
“Are Mike’s friends cute?” Hannah asks.
Lisa’s driving, and she turns onto the highway. “Some of them, I guess. Calm yourself, grasshopper. You’re lucky I’m taking you. Don’t go embarrassing me by drooling all over my friends.”
“Come on, Lis.” Hannah bangs her head against the headrest in exaggerated frustration. “These are college guys. Just because you don’t like them, doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t have fun.”
I lean forward. “You know, you will be meeting a lot of college guys when you start at BU next month.”
“Yeah, but they’ll be freshman. Lisa’s friends are sophomores.” She squeezes my hand. “You’re single, right? We need to get you a guy for the summer. You need some fun.”
I smile and sink back into the seat.