Page 23 of Trusting Blake
“Well, that’s why I changed my hair,” I say with a half-hearted laugh, twirling pink strands around my index finger. I thrust my shopping bags toward Dad. “And look! Lots of new sunglasses to hide behind!”
“Mila!” Dad’s nostrils are flaring now thanks to my clear lack of care for the severity of the situation. It’s not that I don’t understand – I do, perfectly – it’s just that I reallydon’tcare. I’m so over all of this. “It’s not safe! They’ll hound you out there. You’ll be followed and harassed.”
I shake my head slowly. “You’re the celebrity, Dad. Not me,” I remind him. And maybe it’s because I can feel Ruben’s infuriated gaze on me, but my steely calm erupts into bitter anger. “I’m not putting mylife on pause just becauseyoumonumentally messed up.”
Mom glances at Dad impassively. “Well, I can’t say she’s wrong there, Everett,” she says icily.
Dad recoils and his shamefaced expression gives me a pang of regret. So maybe that was a little harsh, but itisthe truth. And, apparently, an uncomfortable truth at that, because Dad turns and walks away, disappearing upstairs. Ruben tuts at me and follows after him, like Everett Harding’s own faithful disciple.
“What a day.” Mom wearily runs her hands over her face. “I’m just glad you’re safe, Mila.”
“I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”
“We were worried. But Sheri had a feeling you were out with a friend and that you’d eventually show up.”
“Oh,” I say in a high-pitched tone, turning my back on Mom and facing Sheri instead. I smirk at her. Sheri didn’t have a “feeling” – she has access to the security cameras and probably watched Blake haul me up onto the wall this morning with her very own eyes.
Sheri refrains from smiling. “Just a hunch,” she says, her tone neutral.
“I’m taking a shower.” Mom sighs, scraping her hair back and twisting it into a low ponytail before heading upstairs, her steps sluggish.
Sheri and I watch her until she’s out of sight, then we exchange a look. Sheri is the first to crack, rushing over to me with a beaming smile.
“Oh, honey, you havenoidea how much they’ve all been flipping out today,” she tells me in a hushed voice. “Be glad you missed all that commotion. It was like being in a soap opera.”
Though I’m not sure I really want to know, I can’t help myself. “What happened?”
Sheri looks at me for a moment, seemingly debating whether she should involve me in this mayhem, then clearly makes up her mind. “Well, it was all very civil at first with your parents, but then suddenly the whole damn house was shaking from their yelling. It sounded like your mom had a few choice words she needed to get off her chest, but I can’t say that your dad took it lying down. Popeye got so fed up he retreated to the shed.” She shakes her head with a smile that’s somewhere between sadness and frustration. “Anyway, I guess it’s good that they got things aired.” Then, changing the subject, she can’t help but examine my hair, running her fingers through its soft texture before stepping back to tell me, “I love this look on you.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, then because I’m bursting to share my news: “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course!”
I reach out for Sheri’s wrists and pull her close to me again, checking over her shoulder that my parents are definitely gone, then I meet her curious gaze. “Blake asked me to be his girlfriend.” I twinkle my eyes at her. “I said yes. Obviously.”
“Oh, Mila, Mila, Mila,” Sheri gasps. “If only you weren’t already in trouble, you definitely would be now.”
10
I don’t know how we manage to sit down for breakfast together.
Well, we’re not exactly gathered around the kitchen table, but still, we’re all in the same room and no one is yelling. That has to count for something.
I’m chewing my cereal as quietly as possible, careful not to disturb the awkward silence, while Mom pokes her knife into her poached eggs opposite me, a zoned-out look on her face. Sheri is frying bacon while Ruben leans against the counter next to her, unimpressed by the chipped Dumbo the Elephant mug he’s chugging his instant coffee out of. Dad, on the other hand, has his hands pressed to the window frame and is totally still as he looks out over the ranch. And Popeye? Popeye stares at Dad, his rage bubbling just beneath the surface as he sucks on an endless number of Jolly Ranchers – his chosen method of stress-relief.
“Are you going to look at me?”
I stop mid-crunch. Sheri clatters the tongs against the frying pan. We all turn to Popeye, who has spoken for the first time this morning – everyone, that is, except the one person he has directed the question at.
Dad bows his head at the window, and I see his shoulders drop. Quietly, he says, “What, Dad?”
Popeye smacks his hand hard against the cabinet. “Look at me, son!”
I’m on pause, fearful that I’ll choke on my breakfast if I don’t breathe soon, but I’m wide-eyed and taken aback by Popeye’s outburst. I know he and Dad talked the morning after Dad and Ruben arrived, but they have been dancing around each other since then. I’m not sure what they spoke about, but Dad is definitely still walking on eggshells.
The bacon sizzles unattended on the stove behind Sheri. Ruben’s eyes are closed as he rubs at his temples. Mom glances rapidly between Dad and Popeye, a look of concern on her face.
Dad, after the longest pause in history, turns around. He locks eyes with Popeye and through stiff lips he says again, “What,Dad?”
