Nikki
I’m just finishingup one of my short stories when Mom and Dad come into my room unannounced. It’s not an abnormal thing for Mom to do, but I’m surprised to see Dad with her. He should be off at the bar drinking away his paycheck or blowing it on another game of poker that he’s “dead sure” is going to change things for the family. I close my laptop as they come in.
“Still working on becoming the next Ernest Hemmingway, eh?” my dad asks, showing his teeth. I can see he’s already a couple beers deep and pray that Mom will be the one driving tonight.
“More like Agatha Christie preferably,” I reply.
“Got a better chance of winning the lottery while being struck by lightning,” he says, drumming his dirty fingers across my desk.
“Gee, thanks, Dad.”
“Just being realistic, darling,” he says in that tone that he always uses when he thinks he’s imparting some vital father-daughter knowledge to me. But to be honest, I really don’t want to hear anything he has to say right now.
Writing is a passion of mine—my only passion. It’s a dream I’ve had since I was a little girl, to grow up and be a professional author. It was my way of escaping when things got too rough or too dark in my life. I would grab a pen or pencil and a notebook, or a laptop later once I was able to get my hands on a used one, and write a story that had something to do with what I was going through.
I had hoped my parents would encourage me to pursue my passion, but my mom, who has worked as a receptionist at a hotel for as long as I can remember, just sort of shrugged and smiled whenever I brought it up. And my dad…well, my dad loves telling me how unrealistic of a career path it is. This coming from a man who loves telling his family how he would have been a professional hockey player if he hadn’t hurt his ankle back in high school and that’s the only reason he’s a car mechanic now.
“Well, thanks for the reality check, Dad,” I say. “You and Mom going out?”
“Yes, we’re going to get some tacos,” my mom replies. “Are you seeing Reed tonight?”
I nod. “I think so.”
My mom frowns and pokes me in the arm. “You better not look that miserable when he gets here! He’ll think you don’t like him or something! Put a smile on. That boy is a catch!”
My mom winks, causing my stomach to turn. But I force a smile just to make her happy. She smiles back, pats me on the shoulder, and she and my dad leave my room and head out to the car.
To be honest, I’m pretty sure at this point my mom likes my boyfriend, Reed, more than I do. But it has nothing to do with Reed himself. It has to do with the fact that Reed’s family is completely loaded, and mine is not. But that’s not a reason to be with a guy, is it? I mean, if she had her way, I’d be engaged to Reed tomorrow and his stay-at-home wife by the end of the year.
But the truth is, I’ve been less and less enthralled by my relationship with Reed as of late. I don’t know how to really put my finger on it, but it seems as though he just doesn’t like me anymore. I mean, he does all the boyfriend things it seems like he thinks he’s supposed to do; he pays for meals, opens my car door for me, and even buys me the occasional present. But when he says “nice” things to me, I get the genuine feeling that he just doesn’t really mean it. It’s like he’s just saying them to say them – like it’s expected of him.
He was much nicer when we first met, when he came into the coffee shop where I work and ordered a shot of espresso and a biscotti and asked me for my number. But after we became official, things just changed. He almost treats our relationship like more of a chore or a responsibility than something he actually enjoys now, and I’m not really even sure why I’m still going out with him.
Actually, that’s not true if I’m being completely honest with myself. One of the reasons I’m still with Reed is because of Grant.
Who is Grant? Grant is Reed’s father.
Even now, just thinking about Grant and how he makes me feel, I have to close my eyes and lean back in my chair. Just picturing his handsome face, his salt and pepper stubble framing his high-set cheekbones and strong, unyielding eyes, I feel butterflies swimming around in my stomach.
If Reed seems like he’s meeting an obligation by giving me a compliment, Grant seems like the complete opposite. Everything he says to me, which hasn’t even been a lot yet, seems so true. So genuine.
I remember the first time I met him after Reed and I came back from some dumb club he wanted to go to where his friends were all hanging out. He brought me to his dad’s house in Malibu because he thought he wouldn’t be home, but he was. He was in the kitchen pouring himself a whiskey on the rocks. He took one look at me and said, “Well, don’t you just class up the whole house?”
My heart just about stopped right there. It was just then that I felt myself falling for him – falling for my boyfriend’s father—
My phone vibrates obnoxiously beside me like a splash of water to my face, snatching me from my daydream. I snatch it up and see a text from Reed.
Outside.
Short and to the point. Just like he always is. I honestly don’t even want to go out with him tonight, but I quickly grab my purse, slip on my flats, and head out front, where he’s waiting in his Audi.
“You look nice,” he says as I get in, his eyes still on his phone. He has it angled away from me, but I can see by the reflection in the window that he’s watching a girl’s TikTok video. A very spicy TikTok video.
“Oh, thanks,” I reply.
Reed sets his phone aside and pulls off, heading in the direction of his off-campus apartment. Reed is a sophomore at USC and plays for their lacrosse team, which I pretend to be interested in, but I think he can tell that I’m just not. We’ve been dating for almost two months now and haven’t “sealed the deal,” and I sometimes wonder if that’s why he’s not as nice as he was at the beginning of our relationship.
But if he thinks being short and acting like he doesn’t even care about me is going to get me to make him my first, he’s sorely mistaken. That’s only going to happen with someone I truly care about, and the more I’m with Reed, the more I feel like that’s really just not him.
We pull up to his apartment and park. Reed sends a text then glances over at me. He looks me up and down like he always does, which makes me feel like a piece of meat. “I like those shoes.”
I shrug. “You said that last time I wore them.”