Mai Tai'd Up

“What?” I asked, looking around wildly and spying my father heading inside with a devilish grin. “I mean, of course you can stay with me, Mother.”

She sighed dramatically. “I do hope you have enough hot water for my bath. This house always seemed to have the tiniest water heater in the free world. Though since you used paper plates, that should save on some hot water.”

“There’s plenty of hot water, Mother. It’s practically scalding.” I sighed and leaned against Lucas, who tucked me into his side.

Something that my mother’s eyes didn’t miss for a second. Narrowing them, she looked up at Lucas. “My, you are tall, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, and I giggled into his armpit.

She gave him one more appraising glance, then called to my father, “Thomas, if you’re leaving me here, you’re doing it after you’ve brought in my bags. I’m not hauling them up that long driveway myself.”

“Yes, Marjorie. I said I’d get your bags. Pipe down.”

“One dance, and he thinks he can take that tone with me again,” she said, but not without some amusement.

As she headed into the house I slumped further into Lucas’ side, the day’s excitement beginning to wear into exhaustion.

“Rain check on the dance?” Lucas asked.

“Oh, were you going to ask me to dance?” I said, tilting my head and giving him my best coy look.

“Just like your peep show, I guess we’ll never know,” he replied, catching me by the hand and spinning me out, just to spin me right back in.

I laughed. “Hey, what’s with the slick moves?”

“Every ring-a-ding kid has his moves,” he said in his best Sinatra.

And I realized that I’d been in almost constant contact with him all day—whether a shoulder rub, a hip check, or a spin move designed to wrap me in his arms. Those ring-a-ding moves? They worked. I stared into his eyes, wondering if enough time had passed to move forward, and frankly not caring if they had.

Then I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned to see Lou and Marge, hands held and eyes dreamy.

“You two leaving?” Lucas asked the beaming couple, pulling me in front of him. I could feel him behind me, warm and solid and strong.

“Marge here told me about a bar in town that plays nothing but Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. I have to check that out,” Lou told him. Then he looked at me. “Princess, you kicked ass here. I’m so proud of you.”

“Aw, thanks, Lou. Is this the part where I say I couldn’t have done it without you?”

“Yes.”

“Lou, I couldn’t have done it without you,” I said, meaning every word.

“Oh, go on.” He blushed.

We said good night to them and the last few stragglers who were leaving, then turned back to each other.

“So,” Lucas said.

“So.” I didn’t want him to leave just yet.

Silence.

“Want some help cleaning up?”

“I’d love it! You’re in charge of bringing in the beans.”

We headed to the table, and as we turned around to bring the first load of leftovers into the house, my parents scrambled away from the window so we wouldn’t catch them peeping. Subtle.

An hour later, everything had been cleaned up and there wasn’t any trace of a party. Lucas had helped scrub up the few dishes, and then we made the last round of dog checks. They were all a bit amped up from the commotion today, but once the lights were off they started to quiet down for the night.

We were in the kitchen with my parents as Lucas took the last load of trash out. “You’re almost out of trash bags, Chlo.”

“I think there’s another one in the pantry.”

“Nope, we used that one last week when Sammy Davis Jr. got into the jelly beans.” He told my father, “I’m a vet, and even I was grossed out by what was coming out of that dog.” And with that announcement, he sailed out the door.

“He certainly seems very familiar around here,” my mother remarked, stacking leftover napkins into perfect towers.

“He’s a good friend,” I said, feeling something pinch at me at the word friend.

“And nothing more?” she asked.

My father shushed her. “Marjorie, it’s none of our business.”

“I think I have every right to ask these questions. I’m her mother,” she said, her posture, even on a bar stool, as perfect as always.

I remembered walking through our house, around and around, with a book on my head. People think that kind of thing only happened in old movies, but it happened in my dining room. “Poise, Chloe. You must have poise and grace. You can always tell a lady by her posture.”

“Besides, if she told me anything, I wouldn’t have to ask these questions,” she finished, giving me a pointed look.

“And why do you think that is, Mother? Why do you think I don’t tell you anything?” I asked, slouching on my own stool. Her eyebrow went up, but I didn’t.

Point: Chloe.

“I’m sure I don’t know. Unless there’s some reason you don’t want to share things with me? Maybe not so sure of your choices anymore, dear?”

“You have got to be kidding me. Are you really sitting there with the balls to say that—”

“Oh, yes, of course, it was St. Bart’s where the Tuppermans spent their winter, not Saint Lucia. How right you are,” she cut in.