Page 18 of Woke Up Like This
Her ample chest vibrates with giddiness. She waves a hand, like it’s no bother. “Anytime you need to come back, just give me a call. I live close, so I can always swing by,” she offers enthusiastically.
While I pick out all the necessary prom items—drapery, tablecloths, and chair covers—Renner acts like a five-year-old in a toy store, distracted by all kinds of items we don’t need. He even tries to convince me to switch to a Mardi Gras theme because of a wall mount in the shape of a giant playing card that catches his eye.
I would have happily chosen Mardi Gras over Under the Sea a month ago, but it’s too late to go back now. If he took his role as president seriously, he would know that.
We end up with ten jellyfish lanterns, an array of cardboard aquatic animals, a fisher’s net, shells, and streamers. Nori requested balloons both for a photo booth arch, and ones to drop from the ceiling when the prom court is announced, so we get an obscene number of those too.
Our selection process involves various disagreements, like which shade of blue napkins is less tacky—aqua or cyan. He’s also far too keen to rent a cardboard cutout ofJaws.
I wait beside the van, shifting my weight to relieve my feet while Renner loads the back with decor. I catch the flex of his muscly arms straining against his cotton T-shirt, and a single bead of sweat rolls down my temple. It must be the heat.
I tear my eyes away as my phone vibrates in my hand.
It’s Dad.
EIGHT
Odd. Dad never calls me directly. He prefers to go through Mom like I’m a small child.
Against my better judgment, I pick up. “Hello?”
“Charlotte. It’s Dad.” It seems ridiculous that he needs to clarify, but I guess we hardly speak.
“Hi?” I say, hoping he’ll just skip right to the point.
Pregnant pause. Something is up. “Did your mother tell you I called?”
“She did. Sorry I didn’t call you back. I’ve just been really busy with school and stuff.”
“No worries. Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me in the city.” His tone is stilted. Almost robotic, as if he’s reading from a script.
I’m momentarily distracted by Renner attempting to Tetris a clownfish cutout into the van bed. He’s going to scrape the paint if I don’t intervene soon. “Uh, I’m a little busy right now with prom and grad. I don’t think I can make it. Maybe in the summer?” I offer, purely out of guilt. Should I be more excited at the prospect of seeing my father? Probably.
“That’s actually exactly what I was hoping to discuss with you.”
Renner manages to wedge the clownfish in, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans.
“Charlotte?” Dad repeats.
I shake my head, willing myself to focus. “Sorry. I really don’t think I can make it to the city till after school ends.”
“Oh, okay.” He actually sounds disappointed.
Guilt takes hold of my insides, squeezing tighter and tighter, until I remember how heartbroken I was when he basically disappeared from my life. He’s missed almost everything important since, like every holiday, middle school grad, when I received an award for my work on the student senate, and every single Model UN summit except for one. “Can’t you just say what you wanted on the phone?”
“I—I suppose so,” he says, unsure of himself. “Alexandra and I are pregnant.” He says her name with an undeserved air of familiarity, as though she’s part of our family. As though I’ve met her and we’re besties or something.
“Pregnant?” I narrowly manage to avoid choking on my saliva. Dad’s having a baby? With a woman he’s only been dating a couple of months?
“She’s due in November. We’re really excited.”
I’m stunned as he rambles on about Alexandra’s cravings, how they’ll be staying at Alexandra’s family lake house in Fairfax, a quaint, Shakespearean-themed town half an hour from Maplewood, and how he’s going to slow things down at work, maybe even work from the lake house when the baby comes. That last statement catches me off guard. Work has always been Dad’s number-one priority. Never me. Now he’s slowing down? For his future child?
“I was also wondering ... Well, Alexandra and I were wondering if you’d be interested in staying at the lake house for the summer. We have a spare bedroom and the beach is barely a minute away—”
Stay with them at their lake house? For the whole summer? This is completely out of left field. Out of this universe. I could understand if he invited me for a weekend—and even that would be out of character. But an entire summer? Where is this coming from?
Renner flashes me a brief look of concern from where he’s loading things into the trunk. I avoid his eyes, casting my stare at the gravel under my feet.
