He sighs, taking the pen, pushing the signed document into an envelope. “The suspension terminates on the twentieth, though this is a permanent strike against you that will be counted if you repeat the offense. Assuming you don’t just get yourself kil ed next time.” He eyes me. “I’m sure you know—but I’l say it regardless—that I’d prefer you not to drive at al .”
I hear the implication that there wil be a next time, and I hear the implication that there wil be a next time, and that I, like my mother, should be safeguarded against the combination of alcohol and vehicles. I subdue the resentment threatening to strangle me. “If I choose to drink, I won’t drive. I’ve learned my lesson.”
His expression is rigid, discontented with my admission that I don’t intend to give up drinking, thankful that at least I’m agreeing to sidestep driving if I do. Puffing out a sigh, he says, “I guess if that’s al the reassurance I’l get, I have to accept it.” He stares for a moment, and just when I’m about to turn and leave, he asks, “So who’s the girl?” Answers skip unspoken across my tongue. The girl upstairs now? The girl I was just kissing like a boy who hasn’t screwed so many hot girls in the past five years that there’s no hope of remembering the vast majority of them?
“What girl?”
His sardonic expression is a replica of mine, or vice versa. “The girl who drives the ten year old Honda parked in the driveway several nights a week for the past month or so.” Dad has never been good at playing along.
“Dori.”
His eyebrows jump. “The Habitat girl? The Berkeley girl?”
How the hell does he remember these details? It’s as remarkable as it is grating. “Yes, but she didn’t—hasn’t started at Berkeley yet.”
“Oh?”
There’s that predictable disdain in his tone, and I can’t resist quashing it. He assumes everyone associated with me is dissolute and aimless, his prime (and favorite) example being John. “Her sister had an accident right before she was supposed to start. Closed head injury. Dori postponed col ege to be around for her family.”
“That’s… accommodating of her,” he says. I’m too familiar with his condescension to pretend I don’t hear it.
His assumption of her possible motives for the deferral is infuriating.
“No, Dad, that’s selfless and devoted. Traits the Alexander gene apparently lacks.”
He looks like I’ve just gut-punched him, which is less gratifying than I’d thought it would be. Shuffling papers on his desk, he switches gears. “I assume you’l be purchasing another car shortly. If you’l let me know an approximate price range, I’l pul funds from your investments so they’l be available.”
“Sure. We done?”
Straightening and stacking, he says, “Yes. I suppose so.”
Running a hand through my hair, I wish I could reel back the implication that he’s unsupportive. John is studying finance against his wil . Dori is being forced to lie to her parents just to see me. Celebs with exploitive parents are a dime a dozen. He could be so much worse. Maybe that isn’t the best parental commendation, but maybe it is. Shit.
Shit.
“So, thanks for handling everything.”
Visibly stunned, his hands stil as he looks at me. “You’re welcome.”
I nod, he nods, and I leave before I examine this new consciousness any more closely.
*** *** ***
Dori
Reid’s mother just left the room after a conversation that awakened, for a moment, my aspiration to study social work. I’ve spent the past several months emotional y detached from the volunteer work I continue to do, as though an impenetrable wal stands between me and the joy I once felt when I believed that what I did mattered.
“Am I intruding?” she said from the doorway.
I stood, conscious of the banter regarding lust and the suspended make-out session I’d just had with her son.
“No.” I felt myself blushing. “This is your home, after al .” She smiled. “I try not to encroach on Reid’s part of it. In al honesty, though, I noticed him leaving and I wanted to talk to you, if that’s al right.”
“Of course,” I said, annoyed with my monosyl abic vocabulary, apprehensive about what Reid’s mother could possibly want with me.
When she perched on the sofa where Reid had been minutes prior, I sat back down, mul ing over my parents’
judgment of him and wondering if I was about to be measured by his mother in the same prejudicial way.
“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable—Dori, wasn’t it?” I nodded, holding my breath. “Reid hasn’t brought anyone home in so long.” This couldn’t be true, based on his wel -known exploits, but mentioning that would do neither of us any good, aside from the fact that I’d rather not contemplate it at al . “You said you and he are—friends?” I nodded again, my gaze darting away and then back. I tried to keep the eye contact steady, knowing that avoiding her eyes would just make me look guiltier. “Yes.” We’d not declared ourselves to be anything else or anything more.
Reckless, my conscience muttered, that’s what we are together. The blush returned with a vengeance.
“Reid needs a friend who cares about him. When he had that accident last summer, it just seemed as though—” her hands twisted in her lap “—he didn’t care about his own welfare. He’s drinking less, going out less since you started coming around, and I just… wanted you to know you’re welcome here. I’d do anything to make sure he doesn’t repeat my mistakes.” Her voice fel to a whisper. “There’s no hope for me, I know… but I can’t bear the thought that there’d come a point where there’s no hope for him.”