Page 34 of Friendshipped
I turn on the engine and back out of our driveway.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m dying to hear all about your date.”
Lexi takes another sip, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s stalling.
Lexi pivots toward me in her seat and spears me with a look. “Okay, Dad. Here’s the bullet point synopsis of my date with Hank.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah. You basically hung out at your window spying on us as soon as he stepped out of his car at the beginning of the evening. As if that wasn’t awkward. Then, coincidentally you had to—what? Trim rose bushes at ten o’clock at night? Why were you out on the porch with those giant loppers in your hand when he dropped me off?”
A smirk grows across my face. Now I wish I had a cup of coffee to hide behind.
“I’m diligent about yardwork. You know that,” I defend.
Lexi playfully smacks my arm. She’s not mad in the least. “You looked like the love child of Edward Scissorhands and Robert De Niro.”
She gives a small shudder, but she’s still smiling.
“Well, your date looked like a muscle-bound Oompa Loompa,” I tell her. “How much spray tan do you think he used? It reminds me of the summer you talked me into slathering myself in the lotion that would allegedly give us tans while we sprayed our hair with the other stuff that was supposed to give us highlights. We looked like human carrots for the entire month of June.”
Lexi sputter coughs a little coffee out and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I was young and dumb,” she says in her own defense.
“Young, dumb and very orange,” I add. “So back to Hanka Loompa.”
“No. You can’t give guys I date nicknames,” she says with her stern mom eyes.
“Let’s make a deal,” I say. “If the guy gets a second date, I won’t nickname him. But, if he’s out after round one, he’s fair game.”
She looks up through her lashes, lips poised at the plastic lid of her to-go cup.
“Okay,” she says. “Deal.”
I turn onto the freeway and ask, “So, is Hanka Loompa up for round two?”
I’m surprising myself with the way I’m rolling with this. I guess denial is my friend for now.
“He is not,” she says. “At all.”
“Did he hurt you?” I ask, suddenly shifting from playful best friend to I’ll kill him, but he’ll be tortured to within an inch of his life first.
“No, Trev. He didn’t hurt me,” she says with a shake of her head like I’m the most absurd person she ever met. “I’d have called you if there were anything shady. And the police. And my dad.”
“Good,” I say. “I’m on standby for that anytime—forever.”
The wordforeverlingers between us in the middle of the console as if it’s alive. I meant it, but can I really promise her my lifelong devotion? I’ve always thought of Lexi as my forever, one way or another. Now I don’t know what we’ll be even six months from now.
“Okay,” she says, breaking the tension. “So, yes. He did remind me of that time I dunked my Ken doll in tomato soup to try to make him tanner.”
“You did have an obsession with tanning.”
“When you have two shades of skin—pink and white—tanning feels so exotic and elusive. I couldn’t help myself. I had to try.”
“Poor Ken. He never was the same.”
“Yeah,” Lexi says. “Anyway, do you want to hear about Hank or not?”
