Page 8 of Drive Me Wilde

He chuckles and it ends with a dry cough. "You all grew up in this house."

"Exactly," I say. "No slumber party at your house."

"Why the hell not? Rio likes her Pops. Let her have a few friends over."

"First, let me remind you, you have no idea of the noise, giggles and havoc a group of preteen girls can cause. And second, there's way too much sex paraphernalia, booze and other shit laying around your place."

Dad's heavy scoff comes through the phone. "You exaggerate just like your mom."

"Oh really? I was in your kitchen the day before yesterday, looking for a bottle opener, and I found a bright purple vibrator."

Dad paused. "Huh, is that where that got to? Guess that makes sense. Jen and I were making out in the kitchen. Bent her right over the granite island?—"

"No, stop, please stop before I jump into that giant hole we dug to wait for the earth to swallow me up, so I never have to think about my old man having sex."

Another cough-laced laugh follows. This time it takes him a second to recuperate. The man isn't quite seventy, but he sounds as if he's lived a thousand years, and that's probably about right. Like dogs, my dad managed to stick seven human years into every single year of his life.

"Rio can't have a slumber party anyway. She has homework."

"Homework?" He says the word like it's dirty. "It's fucking summer. And you never did a page of homework in your life."

"I barely graduated. She's doing extra-credit summer projects to bring up some of the crappy grades she earned this year. It builds character, and hopefully, next year she won't fuck up so much after she spends this summer working on these projects."

"Boy oh boy, he's been a parent for three years, and he's a goddamn expert. I've been a parent for thirty-three years—at least I think Zander was my first—" he adds in quickly.

My turn to laugh. "You actually think the crap you've been doing for the last thirty-three years is parenting?"

"Ah, fuck off. And I'll let you tell your kid that instead of a slamming slumber party at Pops', she'll be writing an essay on—on whatever the hell it is they're learning these days. Talk to you later." He hangs up and the phone rings again. It's Rio.

I answer on one ring. "No slumber party. You've got a science paper to write."

"Dad," she says in that pleading tone that I find irritating and adorable.

"Daughter," I say dryly.

"Daad." She adds in an extra vowel to draw the whiney tone out.

"Daughter," I repeat.

She grunts and I can hear her foot stomp. "I hate it when you do that. It's Bella's last weekend before she gets big, ugly braces, and her life and kissing future as we know it ends. Olivia and I are going to buy her a big bag of sour gummi worms so she can enjoy her last night without train tracks in her mouth."

"You can still buy her candy. You just can't have a slumber party."

"You suck."

"I consider that a compliment. I'm on my way home. See you soon."

"Yay, bring out the marching band and parade."

"Love you," I say.

"If you loved me, I'd be getting my sleeping bag ready for a slumber party. Love ya back," she says dejectedly and hangs up.

I scroll through some of the texts on my phone. There's one from Weston Nash. Weston and I were best friends in high school. He's an officer in the army and stationed in Germany. West always swore he'd get far away from Rockhurst, and youcan't get much farther than Germany. I open the photo he sent with the caption "glory days."

It takes me a second to find my breath. It's not the quick trip back to high school nostalgia that's stolen it. It's the face smiling up from the phone screen. Indiana is Weston's twin sister. She was dating Zach Dixon, the third leg in our friend triangle. Back then, I wondered if I was hanging out with Weston and Zach just to be near Indi. It became clear after Indi left for college that it was exactly why I clung so tightly to them as buddies. A best friend was the last thing I needed in my chaotic, fucked-up childhood, but I attached myself to Weston and Zach, and when Indi was around, I hovered in the background, like an angry shadow, like in the photo, not wanting to be around her and at the same time aching to be near her. She hated me with the "intensity of a thousand blazing suns." Her exact words and words that cut my soul in two like no knife could have ever done. I dated plenty of girls back then, but I only ever wanted Indiana Nash.

My phone rings again. It's Rio.

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