Page 36 of Wild Hit
I shake my head, wishing he could understand how unbelievable he is. “You’re kidding, right? If it wasn’t for your current existential crisis I’d still be stuck in one of my own.”
His steps stop. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Covering my mouth and ducking my face so that my hair hides it from view like a curtain, I say, “Brunch at the golf club with Dad and his ilk.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, so you figuratively did it again—coming to the rescue,” I explain.
Miguel chuckles a little. “Glad that my suffering wasn’t for nothing.”
“So what happened?”
“I’m regretting my choices in life,” he announces somberly. Before I freak out that he’s meaning something like he regrets being a single dad, he adds, “Maybe I should’ve put Marty in a public school instead of a bougie, snobby place ran by judgy adults.”
My shoulders sag in relief.
Guess the noxious fumes of expensive perfume, sweat, and colorful little beverages all around me were starting to make me forget that not everyone in my life is like these people.
Miguel’s records and talent could’ve got to his head, yet here he is, once again trying to be a better dad today than he was yesterday.
I toss a side glance at my own progenitor, who is in the middle of laughing at something Henry has said. Knowing them,it’s at the expense of the poor or something evil like that. What a contrast.
“Then, if I can’t be your fake girlfriend, should I pretend to be your sister or your cousin?”
I can practically hear the grimace in his face as he says, “Who would possibly believe that Americana Barbie and Ricky Martin Ken are blood relatives?”
That makes me bark a laugh that attracts a lot of unwanted attention. I turn around, facing a table full of hors d'oeuvre displayed between fresh flower arrangements and real pearls.
“Fair point,” I concede, clearing my throat. “Does that mean that Marty won’t be able to go to the tea party then?”
“Er, no. Remember when I said there’s a way but with a catch?”
I blink, heat traveling up my neck the second I feel silly. “Right. What was that?”
“Well… When the principal was giving me a whole speech about how the purpose of the event is to strengthen family bonds, and how a father’s girlfriend may not stay around long enough to become important in the child’s life, I may have…” Here he makes a pause long enough that I have to prod him.
“Yes?”
Miguel coughs a little. “I may have said that we’re committed enough.”
“Don’t tell me we have to fake marry now.” A snort escapes from my throat.
“No, no.” Another pause. “A fake engagement, though.”
My jaw drops.
I guess the wide open mouth can be interpreted in many different ways because one of the servers asks me, “Caviar with crème fraîche hors d'oeuvre?” And he offers me a whole plate full of it.
“Er, no, thank you,” I answer.
“Right,” Miguel says into my ear. “It’d be wild. Too big of a lie. Maybe I can talk with Rose and ask her to pretend to be my sister? We do look like cousins or something.”
“No!” I exclaim, now turning away from the server and, for lack of a better alternative, I hide behind a tall potted palm. “That wasn’t for you—I was turning down gross food.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
