Stuck With You, page 6
‘You decide,’ he says.
‘We’re deciding this now? If so, wait!’ Jake says, suddenly fleeing towards the front of the building. When he returns, he’s wearing the plum-colored jacket (it looks fantastic), and he carries an obnoxiously floral print that screams Dax’s name. ‘I feel like we should stick with your floral essence, considering how you two got together.’
‘I don’t know…’ Hols says.
Jake holds a hand her way. ‘Let us try them on before you reject them, woman.’
She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as Dax shakes off his jacket, trying on the floral one.
‘What if this is too much? I mean, we’re florists, so it makes sense for the flowers to be our color. I don’t know, try them on, I guess, but I’m pretty sure my answer will be n—’
Before she can finish her sentence, Dax has on the jacket. Her face lights up even more than usual around him.
‘You practically said the same words when I picked the wedding dress you loved. The one you bought,’ I remind her proudly. ‘So, suck on that while we model these fly-as-fuck suits.’
Hols laughs to herself but goes straight-faced once we’re all in the jackets. As the three of us act as though we’re walking a runway, one by one, she carefully looks us each over, her gaze lingering on Dax.
‘What do you think, babe? Do I look hot enough to marry?’
‘You did before we got here,’ she reminds him, stepping back to admire him. ‘I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but… I think I love them. This is the look! But only colored jackets; otherwise, it’ll be obnoxious.’
Dax grins. He’s a man who enjoys a floral suit jacket. Weirdo. He glances at Jake and me as he turns to the mirror, pulling his lapels. ‘We look—’
‘Bomb as fuck.’ I finish his sentence. ‘Just like I knew we would. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mom is awaiting my arrival. I’m editing today, and you know how she wants a say in every damn decision. Never again will I do work for family.’
‘Riv,’ Hols moans. ‘You promised you’d set up cameras to film the wedding.’
‘That’s the exception,’ I say, returning to the changing room. I put my original clothes back on but wear the jacket to the counter to pay. I have to break this thing in because wedding receptions equal dance parties, and if I can’t bust a move in it, it won’t work. ‘I’ll see you dorks later,’ I call as I exit the shop.
‘Front door opened,’ echoes from multiple speakers that are a part of the security system at my parents’ place.
I drop my bag onto the bench in the foyer and head straight for the fridge – my usual arrival path. I yank the door open and smile. My two favorite things are always stocked at my parents’ place just for me. Chocolate milk and string cheese. The same snack I had every day after school for twelve years. I’m a creature of habit, I suppose. I grab the milk carton and a handful of cheese sticks, then head to the glass cabinet.
‘River?’ Mom calls on her way down the stairs.
I don’t live with my parents anymore, but I’m at the ass end of a documentary about my once-famous pop star mother, also known as Penny Candy, so I spend far too much time here. Today I’m editing, and she likes to help with that because God forbid I air an image of her that isn’t from her best side. Her left. Seriously, she’s that fucking nuts. I tried to distract her with the online dating thing, but she failed at that. I’ll give her that good news later.
‘I’m in the kitchen,’ I yell, already halfway into a cheese stick while pouring my chocolate milk.
She stops in her tracks as she walks in, a goofy smile on her face as she looks me over. ‘You look handsome! New suit jacket?’
‘Meet my new wedding jacket,’ I say, arms out as I turn for her to see every inch.
‘Wedding jacket?’ Mom asks, her eyes wide. ‘You’re wearing it now? Hollyn is going to kill you. Not only for wearing it ahead of time while drinking chocolate milk, but she said no colors. The flowers are her color, remember?’ Her voice is deadly serious as if she’s worried about me, but the smile on her face says she approves.
‘How could I forget? She beat it into our heads, but I’m not a compliant kind of guy regarding fashion. You know this.’
‘River,’ she says sternly as I pick up my milk cup. ‘Put the milk down.’
‘Nothing’s gonna happen,’ I insist, not putting the milk glass down. ‘Plus, it’s Hols approved. One impromptu fashion show, and the guys and I convinced her to have a change of heart,’ I say, putting the milk carton back into the fridge. ‘Now we’re all wearing colors.’
She gasps excitedly, her hands in front of her chest like her prayers have been answered. ‘I no longer have to wear black like I’m headed to a funeral?’
‘You’re welcome,’ I confirm.
‘Oh, Riv! I’ve got a closet full of colorful gowns. Come upstairs and help me pick.’
I shake my head. ‘That sounds like a Dad job.’
She’s the reason this documentary is taking me so long to finish. There’s always something else she’s planned for me when I’m here, not to mention I’ve got to make money, so I’m still shooting commercials and music videos while working on this in the background.
Mom rolls her eyes, following me into the foyer, where I grab my bag and head to the family room to work.
‘Come on, Riv. When you were little, you loved helping me choose my dresses. Even at five, I knew you had style. Please help. You can veto just like you used to until you think Hollyn would approve.’
‘At five, that was fun. Now your sense of fashion is way dated. What if I veto everything?’
‘Then we’ll pack it up, you’ll take a day off editing, and we will head to Nordstrom.’
Mom’s a personality. Five foot two, barely a hundred pounds, currently has a chunk of purple in her shoulder-length blonde curly hair and doesn’t look a day over thirty-five thanks to Botox. She’s overly involved in our lives and says what she wants, even when it makes the rest of us cringe.
Reluctantly – because I know she won’t drop it until I say yes – I agree to help with the dress thing, and three cheese sticks later, I’m sitting on her bed, my laptop still downstairs and my phone next to me, so I don’t miss anything. When she finally walks out of her closet, she nearly blinds me. I lift a hand over my eyes to block the glare.
‘Vee-tow.’ I exaggerate each syllable as the neon pink shines back at me so brightly I momentarily fear a pink glow is now just a part of my vision.
‘Riv!’ she says with a stomp of her foot. ‘You have to actually look.’
‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘Not when the color burns my retinas. How about we make you one rule?’
She groans exactly like Hollyn does when frustrated. ‘What?’
‘No neon. It’s no longer the 1900s, and despite what you think, you’re not twenty-two anymore. You can’t go upstaging the bride with obnoxious revealing dresses worn on music videos of your past.’
‘I only wore this once, during a show… that may or may not have been recorded.’ She says that last part quietly, as though the dress affected my hearing and not my vision.
‘I don’t care where you wore it. Veto.’
She marches back into her closet, yanking something from the far back before displaying it to me over her arm. ‘What about this one? It’s never graced anyone’s TV screen.’
‘That’s the same dress,’ I say, the electric blue version of what she’s wearing now assaulting my vision.
‘This one is blue. We could wear blue! It’ll be so adorable. You’re walking me down the aisle; it’s perfect. I’ll even do blue highlights to match. Want me to make you an appointment with my hair girl?’
‘I never want you to do that.’ I shake my head repeatedly. ‘Mom, this isn’t prom. You’re not my date. You’re not going as Penny Candy. You’re the mother of the bride. Find that dress. I’m sure it has more fabric, less spandex and won’t destroy anyone’s vision. These are just – no – double vetoes. Try again. Thank you, next.’ I wave her back to the closet as I scroll through my emails, mostly junk, then peel open another string cheese.
‘You’re not going to be able to poop for a week if you eat an entire bag of cheese,’ Mom warns as she closes herself into her closet once again.
‘You worrying about my poop stopped the day I graduated from diapers. Boundaries, Mom. Jesus.’
Yes, she treats me like I’m her ‘miracle baby’. Mostly because I am. The story I’ve heard a gazillion times and that Hollyn hates goes like this.
When Mom was sixteen weeks pregnant with me, her doctor couldn’t find a heartbeat after hearing one every visit before. They booked her a second ultrasound at the hospital for the next day to be double sure. That night, she was feeling bubbly little motions from within. At first, she thought it was the tacos she and Dad had for dinner. But eventually, she realized the doctor may have been correct, and her worst fear was happening: she was having a miscarriage. Dad claims she was distraught, lying in bed for hours, rubbing her swollen belly. He says he spent the night trying to calm her, hoping maybe the doctor had been wrong the day before, but nothing helped.
At her ultrasound the next day, she got what she still says was the best news of her life. Lo and behold, I’d risen from the dead and kicked around like I was fighting my way out early. It wasn’t the tacos she was feeling. It was me. For some reason, the doctor wasn’t getting a good look the day before and mistakenly put her through the torment of thinking her baby had died.
Because of all this, Hollyn decided decades ago I was the favorite child. Mom isn’t exactly quiet about that, either. If someone were to ask if she had a fave kid, my name would leave her lips without hesitation. It can be embarrassing as fuck. I’m nearly thirty; cut the cord already, right? I don’t dare say that out loud, though. It’d crush her. Her clinginess may stem from believing she’d lost me before birth and Hollyn leaving for college and rarely contacting Mom and Dad for nearly a decade. Mom was afraid to lose another kid, so she now hovers.
She’s even got a tracker in my phone to ensure I don’t go missing. I know it’s there, so I like to check in at random places she won’t approve of because why not? It’s a fun little party trick. ‘My phone will ring in thirty seconds, and it will be my mother; bet ya twenty bucks.’ Every time it happens, and each time she greets me flatly with, ‘River, you’re not really at Chubbies, are you?’ It’s the easiest twenty bucks I could make.
Chubbies is the dirtiest strip club in town. Their parking lot is the place to go if you’re looking to die accidentally by unintentionally getting in the middle of a gang war. I’ve never really been there, mostly because I’d rather not die, but also because when the outside of a building looks like an STD, you don’t chance going in.
Despite me messing with the woman constantly, Mom and I are close. We spend a lot of time together because of the documentary, and I’ve discovered she’s not as insane as child me once thought. She is batty, don’t get me wrong, but I’m very much like her. She’s got a lot going on in her head, and hyperactivity is her middle name. Hollyn and I each inherited it in different ways. Hols struggles at night with insomnia, and I have that; plus, I get distracted easily by things like bagel shops, food trucks, women, shiny objects, and puppies (amongst other things). Because of that, my projects often don’t move as quickly as I’d like.
I run a company called Wilde River Films. I went to art college, which is fantastic if you know what you want to use it for, but at the time, I didn’t. When I enrolled, all I knew was that I didn’t want to work nine to five for some asshole whose comfort was more important than mine.
The Penny Candy documentary I’ve been working on is my back-burner job. I’ve got VH1 interested, but my timeline has been open since Mom isn’t precisely the singing sensation she once was. In the eighties, she was a mall performer. Once she was discovered and hit it big, she powered through the early nineties touring the world until my dad finally convinced her to settle down and reproduce. Settling wasn’t always in her cards, but she finally calmed down for most of mine and Hols’ childhood. She’s been in the slow lane for a long time and now wants to jump back onto the freeway. That’s what we’re attempting with this documentary, and she’s taking for-ever to record an entire album to release simultaneously.
My dad is a workaholic who spends a lot of time with other women. Patients, as he’s an obstetrician/gynecologist, not Hugh Hefner. Mom hates being alone, so when he’s gone, I end up helping her with things. Things that are not the documentary. Filming TikToks, helping her with her social media, cleaning the pool, fixing the laptop she broke, reorganizing closets, hanging photos, picking dresses – it’s always something.
She again walks out of her closet, this time in something black-and-white striped with only one shoulder strap.
‘Veto,’ I say instantly.
‘You barely looked!’
I lift my head, glancing her over, my honest thoughts probably all over my face. ‘Are you about to referee a fancy schmancy soccer game?’
‘No.’
‘Are you becoming a zebra?’
She laughs. ‘Nooo.’
‘Prison fashion show organizer?’
A sigh leaves her lips. She’s tired of this game.
‘Then, once again, veto. Onto the next.’
As she reluctantly disappears inside her closet, my phone buzzes next to me with a text.
You busy tonight?
Hmm. A text from a random unknown number. Interesting.
Depends on who this is.
I stare at the phone, watching the bubble of someone typing pop up.
Only your fav bartender who could use an unromantic distraction and possibly some advice from a guy. Can you bring one with you? ;)
Jade. Can I bring a guy with me? Ha-ha. I laugh to myself, typing a response. I can’t believe she kept my number and is finally using it.
‘What are you grinning at?’ Mom asks as my fingers tap the keyboard on my phone frantically.
No way am I telling my mother who I’m talking to. She’ll have advice, and I don’t need advice right now. If Jade needs a distraction, I’m happy to oblige.
I do know a guy. Perhaps I’ll bring him in for a drink. ;)
‘River! Is that her?’
‘Who’s her?’ I ask, my eyes on my phone.
‘Marissa! The woman I set you up with. Did things go well?’
I almost forgot about Marissa. I haven’t thought much about her since she stood me up. Time to tell Mom she’s fired from my dating life.
‘I would stick with being a singer, Ma, because matchmaking isn’t your gift. Marissa never showed.’
‘She didn’t show?’ she snaps, then she focuses on one thing and shoots me a glare. ‘Do not call me, Ma, Riv. We’re not the Ingalls family. I can’t believe she didn’t show. I’m going to email the woman right now,’ she says, marching to her laptop.
‘No you’re not,’ I say, stopping her in her tracks. ‘You’re officially fired from my dating life. Now back to showing me every ugly dress you’ve ever owned.’
‘Fired? That’s ridiculous. And my dresses are gorgeous, you’ve just lost your taste…’
I ignore her words as a new text from Jade buzzes through.
Don’t come in. I’m not working tonight.
Meet me at Red Robin on 185th at seven.
I have a two-for-one coupon!
She wants to meet at the Red Robin in NW? That’s a drive. And she has a coupon? Why does that make me laugh? Oh, right, because I can be cheap as fuck at times. It’s a running joke amongst my group of friends. I can respect the frugal, I suppose. Plus, the place has the best bottomless fries ever. How could I possibly say no?
OK. At seven, I will unromance you like you’ve never been unromanced.
Yikes. I stare at the text. Did that seem flirty? It doesn’t matter, I can’t take it back, not to mention we sent winky faces earlier. Can we just not help it? Was Brooks right? Ugh. She specifically said un-romantic, so I best be the best un-romantic man alive. Don’t overthink it, River. You two are friends, and friends hang out. Though I don’t usually have this ‘I can’t wait’ feeling when I hang out with Dax. Huh. I might need to figure that out.
8
JADE
‘You’re going to dinner with a man who is not your fiancé?’ Dad asks, confusion on his face but a hint of interest in his tone.
‘He’s just a friend,’ I say, stirring the pot of macaroni and cheese he doesn’t want to make himself because my mom ‘always made it better’. His words. He won’t say her name, just ‘your mom’ as if trying to distance himself.
I come over once a week to spend time with him, and tonight, he requested I stay for dinner. But I already made plans with River, so instead, I’m making mac and cheese like Mom used to.
‘Any word from the man who’s lost his tongue?’ he asks.
I snap my head his way. ‘How do you know about that?’
He only smirks for a moment. ‘Your little sister likes to gossip.’
Damn it, Laney.
‘Tell me, what does Conner think of you going to dinner with another man?’
It’s been a week since Conner left, and we’ve hardly spoken. He claims he’s busy, so our conversations are, ‘Hey, I’m still alive; call you later,’ and then later, he sends emojis I don’t understand.
‘He’s got no opinion either way because only people capable of having an actual conversation get to tell me their thoughts. He’s sending me strings of emojis, so his point of view is null.’
Dad laughs. ‘What do you send back?’
I grab my phone from the counter and scroll to mine and Conner’s text thread, which usually I wouldn’t even consider showing my father, but in this case, there’s nothing to see but a bunch of tiny cartoons that mean absolutely nothing and he’s talking voluntarily so I’m not about to interrupt that.
