You invited who over for dinner?”
“I’ve said it twice already, Bella. Mr. and Mrs. Penbrook and their son, Hunter, are coming over for dinner.” Dad unknots his tie and leaves it dangling around his neck. “We’ve had this Friday night event planned for some time. I couldn’t get out of it just because my daughter once dated their son. Jeff and I are still really good friends.”
“Great. Just great.” I stomp out of the living room and up to my bedroom. I need to find something to wear. What kind of outfit is appropriate for facing your ex after he cheated on you, then duped you on national television? “Hey, Ruthie, do you mind if I accessorize with your brass knuckles tonight?”
I flop next to her on the bed where she watches Wheel of Fortune. “That Vanna has such a cake job.” She turns up the volume as a contestant buys a vowel. “That’s what I want to be when I grow up. Well, either that or a brain surgeon.”
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to Dad about Christina. She walked in from work just as I was about to broach the subject.”
“Bummer. Have you tried texting him?”
I think about this. “You want me to text my father that his fiancée is a lying schemer conducting shady dealings?”
Ruthie rolls her eyes. “Get with the times.”
An hour later my old flame, Hunter Penbrook, asks me to pass the peas. I pick up the bowl, only briefly imagining dumping them over his head.
His smile is devilishly cute. “If you drop those in my lap, I will be forced to cause a scene.” His hand brushes mine as he takes the bowl, and I realize I don’t feel a thing. Nary a flutter nor a tingle.
Why is it when Luke touches me, I instantly quiver like Jell-O?
Ruthie holds the dinner crowd’s attention with her reenactment of her unicycle routine using salad tongs, the pepper grinder, and two stuffed mushrooms. My dad and Hunter’s parents stare in amazement, while Christina studies her nails and Marisol stabs holes in her baked potato.
I take this opportunity to speak to Hunter. “You haven’t called in a while. Are you still keeping tabs on that hotel room?”
“As much as I can. I told you I would let you know if I had anything to report.”
“I like updates, Hunter. Updates.”
“I do not miss your nagging.”
I smile into my napkin and wipe my mouth. “I know. I’m too much girl for you. It’s no wonder we didn’t work.”
“I’ve put in a lot of stalking time for you, so I wouldn’t push it.”
We share a laugh, and I realize once again, I have forgiven him.
When Jesus said to forgive people to infinity, I assumed my ex-boyfriend was the exception. But it’s kind of freeing not to be mad or holding a grudge. Besides, I need his cheating eyes on door number 857.
“You’re a wily guy. Can’t you draw her out of her room?” In a tiny whisper I fill him in on the new Christina development.
“Mercedes?” He chews this over. “I need a last name to get you any information.”
“Christina’s is De Luna. Try that.”
“The woman is a hermit. If she leaves at all, it’s while I’m at school.”
I slice into my steak. “Maybe you could set up a hidden camera.”
“And maybe I could go to jail.”
“You’d do that for me?” I set down my utensils. “I’m touched.”
“Bella, just give it up.”
“How can I?”
“The wedding is June fifteenth. I think your best bet is to simply talk to your dad.”
I nearly choke on my bite. “That’s funny, I thought you had met the guy.” I point toward the end of the table. “Dark-haired fellow. Works 24-7 and forgets I’m alive. He’s the chap sitting across from your father.”
Hunter glances that way just as the two men share a laugh. “It’s good to see my dad happy. I haven’t seen that in a long time.”
“I’m sorry.” I watch Mr. Penbrook high-five my dad as they share a joke. “I know he hasn’t ever recovered from the accountant fiasco.” My dad and Mr. Penbrook had the same bogus financial guru. Dad has slowly bounced back, since he lost cash and not his practice. But Hunter’s father wasn’t so lucky. He wasn’t in the business of nose jobs and inflatable boobs, and ended up losing almost everything.
“It’s okay. Things are turning around. He and my mom actually went on a date together last weekend. For a while I didn’t think they were going to make it.”
I know how that feels. “I’ll bet you being out of the house and spying on that hotel room gives your parents even more alone time.”
Hunter laughs. “You’re about as smooth as a rattlesnake. But I’ll get back to my Peeping Tom duties this week.”
“Not just anyone would stalk a lady for me, Hunter.” I pat his arm. “And I appreciate it. You’re a good guy.”
His eyes grow serious. “Really?”
“Yeah. And to thank you, I’m going to set you up with this girl I know named Ashley Timmons . . .”
On Saturday, Ruthie and I wake up late to find muffins on the kitchen counter with a note from Dad. The house is empty.
I pour myself a glass of juice. “Dad had to go in to work for a bit, and Christina took Marisol to dance lessons.”
“That kid neeths politeness wessons,” Ruthie says around a full mouth of muffin. “She has no mannerth.”
Says the girl who just spit out two blueberries. “I think we should get ready and pay my dad a visit. We have business to do.”
“Whoa.” Ruthie swallows her giant bite. “I don’t have any business with a plastic surgeon. I don’t want anything plucked, sucked, or tucked.”
“We’re just going to talk. I didn’t get a chance to speak to him last night about that designer saying Christina had a sister.”
“Maybe her sister’s a member of a terrorist network, and Christina’s only trying to protect your family. Or maybe her sister is a communist, and she and Christina have a plan for world domination . . . one plastic surgeon at a time.”
I roll my eyes and take another swig of juice. “And this is why I’m the crime solver and you’re the sidekick.”
After a twenty-minute taxi ride, Ruthie and I climb out of the cab and take the elevator to my dad’s clinic.
Walking into the lobby, I greet the twin receptionists. “Hi, Kim.
Hi, Leslie.” I have never been able to tell them apart, but Dad swears he can. He also swears they speak English, but I think their sole qualification is hotness.
“You go see your dad?” one asks.
The other shakes her bleach blonde head. “He very busy.
Important client.”
I smile at the two standing in front of a water fountain backdrop.
“Good thing I’m his daughter and he always has time for me.” I grab
Ruthie by the hand and lead her down the hall. “Walk quickly. Dad said they both have their black belts, so I don’t want to push my luck.”
Ruthie snorts. “Like I’m afraid of a black belt. Dude, I got street cred.”
“Yeah, Main Street in Truman. I’m sure they’re shaking in their push-up bras.”
I zip us around a corner and power walk down the next hall. At the last door on the right, I rap my hand in a hearty knock. “It’s me, Dad.”
“Bella?” I hear him inside, getting up from his desk. The door opens a crack. “This better be an emergency. I’m with a client.”
“Oh, it’s a crisis all right.”
His frown is not encouraging. “Like the crisis last year when you needed me to choose which shoes I thought looked the best with your skirt?”
“You should be glad I value your opinion.” I try to peek in to see if his client is famous, but he stands in my way.
“Go to the nearest waiting room and hang out there. I’ll get you when I’m through with my patient.”
“Is it anyone I know?” I whisper.
He leans close. “Yes.”
“Gonna tell me who it is?”
“Not on your life.” Dad smiles and pats me on the shoulder. “But she was nominated for an Oscar last year.”
Half an hour later Ruthie and I are back in his office, the surgery-requiring actress long gone. Dad is really crafty at protecting his clients’ identity. I can’t say it’s a quality I respect about him.
“So tell me what brought you all the way to my office.” Dad sits behind his desk and steeples his fingers. “I know it has to be something important or you’d be shopping right now.”
“A girl can only shop so much,” Ruthie says, eyeing the objects on his desk.
“Yes, I know.” Dad grins at my friend. “And my daughter can shop so much, I sometimes think I need a second job.”
Ruthie lifts a big rubber squishy ball. “What do you call this? A weight?”
I share a smile with my dad. “I call it a D cup.”
“Ew.” Ruthie drops it back to its resting place.
“State your business, Bella. I don’t like to work late on Saturdays.”
Oh, how to proceed? How do you tell your dad that his future wife is up to something? That you don’t think he truly knows the real Christina? “Um . . . well . . . I have been having some weird moments with Christina the last few times I’ve been here.”
Dad’s leather chair squeaks as he lounges back. “Honey, you know she’s been stressed with the wedding plans, her job, not to mention retooling my career with this TV show. The Brazil deal is a risk, and we’re both staying pretty keyed up.”
“A few weeks ago we were trying on dresses. And she told me she was going to call some clients and sent me to get a coffee. I came back early and saw her not on the phone. But talking to . . . some woman.”
Dad’s face is as bland as oatmeal. “Are you kidding me with this?”
“They were arguing. The woman had obviously come to meet her and talk. And Christina kept telling her that she wouldn’t back out, that she would go through with their plan. Dad, I know it sounds crazy, but I just have this feeling.”
“You’re a teenager. It’s called hormones.”
“You got that right.” Ruthie harrumphs. “Last week they took over my face in a zit attack.”
“Okay, so yesterday I’m back at the same dress shop.” Where I was again violated by chicken feathers and Enrique’s assault on fashion. “And the designer asked me about Christina’s sister. And he didn’t mean Marisol. He said her blonde sister Mercedes had picked up a dress.”
Dad leans an elbow on the shiny black desk and rubs the bridge of his nose. “You’re giving me a stress headache. And stress headaches lead to crow’s feet.”
Oh, quit being such a girl! “Would you please listen to me?”
His hand drops with a slap to the desk. “I am. And I don’t like what I’m hearing.”
“Then can you explain any of this?”
“Bella, what is there to explain? I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m sure it’s all a big misunderstanding. We all know about that overactive, suspicious imagination of yours.”
Beside me Ruthie bites her lip to cover a smile. That traitor.
“How do you explain her sister?”
“I’m sure Enrique was mistaken.” Impatience flows with Dad’s every word. “Marisol is her only sister, her only family. When Marisol was only a baby, Christina—”
“Yes, brought her from Brazil all by herself.” On the back of a donkey. Or swimming the ocean with only a piece of driftwood. Or holding on to the wings of a swarm of migrating butterflies. “And do you really think it’s in your best interest that your own attorney wasn’t involved in your prenup?”
“That’s none of your business.” Dad stands up. “Actually none of this is. I believe you need to get back home. Now.”
I jump to my feet and step toward the desk. “Dad, I know something’s wrong here, and you’re too blinded by Latin love to see it.”
“Do you need me to call you a cab?”
A clock ticks on his desk as we fall into silence. Staring each other down like two enemies about to draw pistols. Instead of a father. And his daughter.
“I know this adjustment has been hard on you.” The angles of Dad’s face soften. “But you need to accept it once and for all that your mother is married and has moved on. And I’m going to be married. Your mom and I will never be together.”
“Is that what you think this is about? Some juvenile wish for my parents to be together? I love my life in Truman.” My words are pointed arrows, and I let them fire. “I can’t imagine going back to how things were. I have two parents there who love me and are involved in my life.”
“That’s enough, Bella.”
“Jake calls me from the road. Just to talk to me. My stepdad calls me more than my own father. And Mom makes me breakfast and goes to my school events. We have family game night and go to church together. And you think I want what we used to have?” I shake my head as a tear drips to my cheek. “I could never settle for second-rate parenting again. I have a real family now, and I deserve that. I deserve people who love me on a full-time basis.”
He swallows and blinks. “You know I love you.”
“On your terms.” Now my nose is dripping. I’m totally snot-crying. “And you know what, Dad? It’s not good enough anymore.
I’ve been trying to get your attention for years. And I’m sick of it.
I happen to be a great daughter. And I’ve changed this year, and you haven’t even noticed. You know why? Because you never even knew me in the first place.” I sniff and pick up my purse. “Let’s go, Ruthie.”
“Isabella, you stop right there.”
But I keep walking. I’m done with this conversation. And done with trying to win my father’s love.