Heat Wave(112)

I hug my dad next whose embrace is surprisingly strong.

“Sweetie,” he says to me, whispering in my ear. “I need you to call me tomorrow. On my cell. There’s something I have to talk to you about.”

I pull away slightly and stare into my father’s eyes. He’s alert for once, not drunk, and his expression is stark. He just gives a little knowing nod and then slaps me on the back.

I spend the cab ride back to the apartment wondering what the hell he wants to talk to me about. I get along better with my father than my mother, especially after coming back, but he still treats me like someone he’s not supposed to be seen with.

“How was dinner?” Claire asks as I step inside the door. Our apartment —well, her apartment—is really tiny and my bedroom isn’t much bigger than a closet, but it’s a million times more preferable than living on my own right now. For one, I couldn’t afford it, and I obviously wouldn’t move back home with my parents. And for two, after spending so much time with Kate as a roommate, I think I’d be lonely without someone there to talk to every night.

I groan loudly and throw my clutch on the couch beside her and shuffle over to the kitchen to bring a bottle of wine out of the fridge. A bonus of working at the wine store, endless bottles all the time.

“That bad, huh?” she asks, munching on a bag of salt and vinegar chips. I take my glass of wine and sit next to her, putting my feet up on the coffee table.

“Well it was more my mother than Arch, obviously,” I tell her.

“But I can tell it’s not really working out,” she says.

I shrug and she goes on. “Hey, it’s okay if it doesn’t. The point is that you’re trying. I never thought that Arch would be the one for you, but he seems like an okay guy. He buys really expensive bottles of wine, so there’s that.”

“But he’s a lawyer who went to Harvard,” I remind her. “And I’m pretty sure the only reason he said yes to me was because he found out my mother was deputy mayor. I think he thinks she can get him a new job or something like that.”

“Maybe. But don’t sell yourself short.”

“I’m not selling myself at all, Claire,” I say with a laugh. “I mean look at me. This was our sixth date and I’m here. He had a cab drop me off. Alone. The dude doesn’t even want to get laid.”

She mulls that over, chewing thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s gay.”

“Way to set me up with a gay man, Claire Bear.” I elbow her in the stomach.

She nearly spits out her chip. “Hey, how am I supposed to know? He agreed, didn’t he? Anyway, my whole point was to get you distracted and it worked. Besides, you’re a turbo-babe, you’ll have men lining up around the block once you put yourself out there, and this is the first step.”

“Turbo-babe?” I repeat, rolling my eyes. “Please. And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re also a turbo-babe, yet here you are still single.”

She gives me a haughty look, that on her baby face looks totally adorable. “I’m not denying my babeness, but I am picky and that’s okay. Maybe I’ll have better luck if I move to Hawaii.”

I know she’s joking but even the mention of the word Hawaii still burns deep inside.

“I don’t know,” I muse, trying to get over the feeling, “if you’re picky, you’re not going to have a lot of luck where most men don’t wear shoes.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Seriously?”

I shrug. By the end of it, I wasn’t wearing shoes around the compound either. In fact, I miss that, the feel of the spongey grass beneath my feet, the sun-warmed dirt and grains of sand.

She clears her throat. “So, how was your mom?” her tone is softer now. “On a scale of awkwardness.”

“A seven,” I tell her, taking an even larger gulp of my wine. “It was only awkward when Arch realized how fucked up we were. Other than that, I was able to ignore her.”

“And her touches of motherly love?”

That’s code for insults and passive aggression.

“Oh that was at an eight,” I tell her. “She brought up Juliet and the whole dinner went sideways.”

“Man,” she says, crumpling up the rest of the chip bag, “I honestly don’t know how you deal with all that.”

“Well you know,” I tell her. “A lot of tears and early morning jogs through the city, dodging muggers.”

She adjusts herself on the couch to face me, folding her leg under her. She pauses her Better Call Saul marathon on Netflix. “You know I never told you this, but I’m proud of you.”