Pause. I knew he was taken aback at my ferocity.
“Yes. And a skid and a bit of a punk.”
“Well so was I,” I reasoned.
“It’s too bad we didn’t go to high school together,” he said. “We would have made a good couple.”
I swear, I was this close to hanging up the phone. Or throwing it against the wall.
But Dex continued, smoothly, “Listen, if this date is important to you, Perry, then by all means go on it. Come up on Monday. We’ll figure something out.”
The weight behind his voice made me reconsider whether the date was worth it or not. What if it was more important for the show for me to be there earlier? What if an opportunity came along? I could always go out with Brock when I got back.
“It’s nice to see you have a social life for once,” he added.
And that comment made all the difference.
“Monday it is,” I growled into the phone.
CHAPTER THREE
When the night rolled around, I still hadn’t had a chance to talk to Ada about my boy woes. The night before, she had come home after I had fallen asleep, something she had been doing more and more often now that she was dating Layton, and was off to class in the morning.
I couldn’t even catch her after school because she went straight to a friend’s house and then jettisoned home before we all went out for our dad’s birthday dinner.
My dad is a fellow Scorpio like myself, bringing up the end of the spectrum, which still leaves him full of scorpion sting but with none of the passion. At least, none of the passion that I understand. I’m pretty sure the only thing my father feels passionate about is convincing his wavering theology students of the “truth.” That and really good Chianti.
Naturally, his birthday dinner was held at a really old, authentic Italian restaurant just outside Portland, a place he and his brother Al had been coming to since they were young boys. It was no Olive Garden, I can tell you that much.
I half-expected that Ada would have brought Layton with her, but I guess when you were in the tenth grade, bringing your boyfriend to your dad’s birthday bash wasn’t something you took lightly.
It was for the best. I know nothing would ruin my dad’s birthday more than having his teenage daughter’s older boyfriend there but from the glances I stole of Ada on the drive over there, I could tell she was a million miles away and already pining for him, her bright blue eyes swimming in the early darkness. I felt pity for her and her young love for exactly three seconds before reality slammed into me and I realized I was no better than she was.
With family being such an important factor to Italians like my father, I knew that my Uncle Al was going to be there, as well as my nephews Matt and Tony. I hadn’t seen those three since the whole lighthouse incident in late summer and I had been itching to see them ever since. It felt like years ago when I had first met Dex in that fateful tower, when my life had twisted around on itself and changed its course.
What I didn’t expect was that Uncle Al had brought a special guest with him to the dinner party.
“Her name is Marda,” my mom told Ada and me as we got out of the car and walked towards the restaurant. Mom looked elegant as always and not the slightest bit cold in her lacey caplet that barely covered her toned arms.
I struggled to keep up in my heels, not used to dressing up for any occasion, plus I was dealing with overused leg muscles.
“Al has a girlfriend!?” I cried out. I was happy for him, of course, Al seemed like such a lonely bachelor since his ex-wife left him, but it was still surprising. He didn’t go out much, except to play the occasional poker game, so I wouldn’t even know where he could meet any women. It’s not like he’d be at the grocery store, pushing his cart around with the bananas facing a certain way (I had read this is what some singles in grocery stores did. A certain type of fruit in one direction meant you were single. I think melons and bananas were probably all you needed).
My mom gave me a funny look, probably because of the very unladylike way I was walking. “Yes, Marda is his new girlfriend. You should ask him how they met; it’s mostly your fault.”
My fault? I hadn’t played matchmaker since my high school days and that was only because I was the fat, helpful girl who had attractive friends, but before I could ponder that any further, we entered the restaurant to cheers and applause from the waiters and kitchen staff (no one does birthdays like an Italian restaurant) and the sight of Al, Matt, Tony, and a petite blonde woman (Marda, I’m guessing) standing around a Chianti-strewn table.
And then my eardrums were blown out. Drunken exaltations (noting at least one bottle of wine was empty), hugs, cries, slaps on the back and loud hellos were exchanged among the Palominos at deafening levels.
I gave Matt and Tony one big hug at once, happier to see them than I originally thought. There was something about those twins, their goofy demeanor with an underlying wholesomeness, that made me miss the person I was when I last saw them. Everything seemed so simple then.
I pulled back and peered at them. They looked different somehow. Cleaned up (I’d say fresh-faced if Matt didn’t appear to be suffering from some bad acne) and maybe the slightest bit older.
“You guys are starting to look like men,” I said, and grabbed both their biceps for show. There still wasn’t much there.
“So are you!” Tony exclaimed with a smile that made him look momentarily younger. He then grabbed my arm, which was now bare after the hostess took our coats away.
I looked down at it and blushed. I know I had lost some weight but it had only been two weeks since I started the sessions, and though my arms were stronger, they certainly didn’t look much different. It would be a long time before I looked like Sheryl Crow.
“Thanks, I think,” I said to them just as Uncle Al came over and picked me up in a bear hug.
“Perry!” Al exclaimed joyously, his voice muffled into my shoulder.
“Hi Uncle Al!”
He put me down and gave me the once over. A wash of concern came across his wrinkled brow.
“You’re looking beautiful, you’re as tiny as ever,” he said, but I didn’t quite believe him.
“But?” I prodded him.
“But nothing.” He smiled and put his arm out for Marda, who came slinking under it with a shy expression.
“Perry, meet Marda,” he said, squeezing Marda’s slight shoulders. She was a very lovely, sweet-looking lady with small, sparkplug eyes and a long porcelain face, roughly my uncle’s age (late forties). A good match for Al, who wasn’t quite as robust and hard-faced as my father.