Perfectly Messy Page 3

  A strong flash of hot pink joins the group. She’s hunched over a bit as she reaches for Lucy’s hand. “And I’m Grandma. Call me Dots.”

  “I love that name,” Lucy says.

  “Me too. It’s not mine though, my given name is Irene. But ever since I was a baby my brother called me Dots. It stuck. As far as I’m concerned, they named me wrong.” Grandma reaches out, bopping Lucy’s nose. “You’re right, Justin. She is cute.”

  Lucy laughs then as Grandma pulls her into a hug. A real laugh and I know we’re solid. Even in front of three hundred strangers. Then suddenly a smoker’s cough interrupts her gorgeous laughter. That scallop-demanding bald man in a pinstriped suit steps forward, right into our family circle. Paul immediately follows, which means this guy is important. When Paul steps up, it’s Dad’s cue to browse his memorized list of names and associated issues. Recognition quickly sparks in his eyes. Here we go.

  “Carl,” Dad reaches out to shake that plump sweaty hand, “it’s wonderful to see you.” Dad’s gaze flickers toward the family, his eyes lingering over me. What? Am I supposed to know this dude? “This is our wonderful donor, Carl, the entertainment executive who’s supporting my public television stance. He’s been a great contributor to my campaign.”

  “We’re in it together, right, Jeff? No need for formal introductions.” Carl shakes everyone’s hand, except for Lucy’s. It takes incredible control not to wipe the sweat from his palms on my jeans. Lucy takes a small step back, taking the hint that she’s invisible to him. I pull her forward again, there’s no way I’m letting Carl get away with that.

  “Justin,” Carl pops a bacon-wrapped scallop into his mouth. Where did that come from? He reaches into his pocket for another one. Nasty. “I’m thrilled to meet you. I’ve read so much, feel like I already know you. Maybe we could have a chat soon? Remember that email I had your dad pass along to you last spring?”

  My trained grin takes over as I panic, racking my brain for clues.

  “You turn eighteen in a few months, correct?”

  “I do. December.” I buy myself time with my answer. Eighteen. Why does he care about my eighteen birthday?

  Wait. There’s no way. I eye Dad, who nods just slightly.

  Is he kidding me?

  This is that same maniac who wants me on his college-aged bachelor reality show? Dad can’t be serious. Hell. No.

  “Have you given my proposal any thought?”

  Absolutely I have and it’s not happening, but Paul’s bulging eyes caution me. Cushion that truth. So I pull out a plush political answer. “I have. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you yet. I’ve been finishing up a season with my business and have been involved in the campaign and school.”

  Carl claps me on the back. “Right, school. Keep those grades sharp. I’m counting on you getting that GPA just right so you can make the top of the list.”

  “I’ll do that.” I toss my dad a look. Really? You’re taking money from this guy? This is the side of politics I hate.

  “And who’s this?”

  Carl’s eyes have landed on Lucy, only because she’s at my side. He rudely directs his question towards me, as if she can’t speak.

  “Lucy,” she says, stepping forward, answering him with confidence I admire. Carl laughs and glances at Dad, surprised at her forwardness, acting like she was out of play. Umm, it’s called having integrity and courage. I love her for it and totally want to rip his head off for turning this conversation into a caste system.

  Dad steps in, recognizing my glare. “Lucy is Justin’s special friend.”

  Special friend? What? My jaw drops, but Tonya glares at me. That damn sister look. I close my mouth, seething. They know I adore Lucy. They know she’s my girlfriend. What the hell is this “special friend” crap?

  “Oh? Just a friend. Good.” Carl steps back and pats my shoulder. “Wonderful food. Let me know about the show when you can, Mr. Marshall.”

  No way. Never going to happen after that absurd display of character.

  “We will.” Dad answers for us both. “Enjoy the rest of the dinner, Carl.” We all wait as he leaves, smiling stupid smiles at one another.

  Grandma throws up her hands, breaking off the show. “What’s next? Or, better, who’s up next?” She eyes Dad, clearly not pleased with his dumb ass move to be so politically correct to a creep. I agree. Dad’s never dropped to a scuz level before. He usually calls it as it is. Grandma reaches out and squeezes Lucy’s arm. “Don’t worry. I was a ‘special friend’ for four years, when Justin’s great grandfather was a senator.”

  Mom clears her throat, continuing the show, deliberately stopping Grandma from getting too real. “It was wonderful to meet you, Lucy.”

  Dad takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting Grandma’s and communicating something in their mother/son language. He smiles, a bit fakely, looking back at Lucy and me. “You’ll have to excuse me, I need to greet the other guests. I hope you have a fun evening.”

  I’m stunned. I mean, I never dragged Jennifer to a political event before, but that was because I didn’t want to bore her. Not because I thought she’d be treated like that.

  “Thank you, Mr. Marshall. You too,” Lucy answers for me. She tugs on my arm, ready to escape. Her arm wraps easily through my own, and I rest my other hand on top of it. I keep it there, praying Carl the Creep sees it and gets his answer.

  “So, how about some Chipotle?”

  “I’m game,” she says.

  Hell, yes. She’s always game and that’s exactly why she’s incredible. This girl can take anything life throws, but I’m going to make sure life doesn’t throw crap at her anymore. It’s not happening, not while I’m around. Lucy deserves all awesomeness, and I’m going to give her that. Even if it’s not politically correct.

  Chapter Three

  Lucy

  The salt from these chips is so addicting. Justin chuckles as I lick my fingers. “Here. Take the last one. I’m full.” Yeah right. The niblets of what’s left of his steak tacos have been picked clean. Taking the chip, I break it in half and hand part back to him.

  “How about this?”

  “Well, now that you’ve ruined the chip, it’d be a shame not to.” We take turns circling our bit around the guacamole, making sure to scrape every remnant of it clean. It’s too precious to waste.

  “You know why you’re impressive?” Justin leans in, and my insides flip flop. Even after a month of dating, I’m a jumble of butterflies every time he moves near me.

  “Why?” I ask, trying to be a little snarky and flirty. It’s a lame attempt, and his laugh proves I failed.

  “Because you eat an entire barbacoa burrito bowl on a date.”

  “Well, there’s no use hiding my appetite from you. You saw me eat long before we dated. And this,” I nod down to the empty paper in the basket below, “is not worth skipping to impress a guy.”

  “Would you not eat to impress a guy?”

  “Not anymore. But once, yeah, I would. Back when I followed the rules.”

  “For the record, guys think it’s cool when girls eat.” Justin holds out his hand for my trash. “And, you never need to follow the social rules with me, you know that, right?” His gaze holds mine for a moment longer. Is he flirting, or talking about what just happened with his parents? I don’t know how to answer, so I hand him my red Chipotle basket like an idiot. I may not need to follow the rules with him, but it’s obviously different with his family.

  The whole situation was so foreign. I never imagined I’d meet them in a banquet hall dressed in lace with all of these random big wigs watching us. Then being tossed to the friendship category by Mr. Marshall the moment some contributor notices me? I must have done something, but I can’t figure out where I made a misstep. Holding myself together was hard, but I thought I did okay. Tonya, Dot, and Mrs. Marshall seemed to get me. But then the moment the world turned to watch, it felt so fabricated—so unlike Justin. It sucks that he has to dive in and out of that envir
onment so often.

  Justin returns from the trash, taking my hand on the way to the car. Normally, he has a stronger grasp so I give his hand a little squeeze. He smiles, but doesn’t say anything as he holds open the door. Maybe I should bring up what happened. Did he even notice how weird it was? Crap, what if that’s normal for him and he thinks everything went well.

  He drives us a few blocks before pulling over into a grocery store parking lot.

  “Are you out of milk? Eggs? Sugar?” I force my British accent, which may as well be Canadian, but I know he loves the absurdity. He cracks a smile. There. Good.

  “Sorry,” he shakes his head. “Tonight sucked. I put you in a crappy situation—a total freak show. I never expected that. My parents are good people, but unfortunately that didn’t show well tonight. That guy stepping in, with his crazy ideas and huge bank account, ruined everything.”

  I take a moment, letting his words sink in. My muscles loosen and, for the first time tonight, I don’t feel like a horse jammed into a snail’s shell. He gets how off the evening was.

  “Thank God,” I finally let out with a breath.

  “Were you that desperate for my apology?” His green eyes narrow in concern.

  “No, I’m thankful you felt something was weird too. Everything was fine. I mean, I thought it was fine, but then I worried I messed up.”

  “You were great. It’s this complex situation with that Carl guy. He wants something from our family that we won’t give him, but he’s willing to pursue it by pouring money into my dad’s campaign fund until we say no.”

  “What does he want?”

  Justin takes one hand away from mine, rubbing his perfect jaw. His stubble’s already thick, even after this morning’s shave. “It’s really embarrassing,” he finally says.

  I nod, not wanting to push. I have no claim on any information about his life that he doesn’t want to share. “It’s okay. I get wanting to keep embarrassing moments to yourself. Unfortunately, you’ve already witnessed many of my own.”

  He chuckles. “Okay, brace yourself. That bald guy? He wants me to be part of this college bachelor thing, dedicating my next year, as a freshman in college, to a reality show. He’s a producer.”

  My mouth flies open, and I gaze at his waiting expression. Do. Not. Laugh.

  “We’re talking calendars, photo shoots, interviews, Us Weekly.” He bites his lip, giving me his playful grin. “Not to mention the weekly show.”

  Then I burst out laughing. Whoops!

  “I’m sorry,” I gasp between breaths, covering up my mouth. “I’m not laughing.”

  “Yes, you are.” He fakes seriousness.

  “Well, come on? I mean, I get why they’d want you on a magazine cover because,” I tug at his shirt and he moves in closer, “well, you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  His eyes do that smoldering thing that I can’t figure out how to do back.

  “See, sexy, just like that!” I push back playfully. “No wonder your dad pounced on the special friend category. He wants you to be the next big Bachelor,” I tease.

  Justin reaches over, quickly pulling me across to his lap. His eyes grow more intense. “It never occurred to me that my dad took that guy’s proposal seriously. I forgot all about it because, one, I’d never do the show, and two, I have you.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “And from here on, I’m not letting anyone treat you like that. Dad doesn’t want me to do the show. And, more importantly, I don’t want to. I’ll talk with my dad about that special friend comment. What a load of crap.”

  My stomach turns. “But his campaign?”

  Justin shrugs. “Dad’s got other people to fund his campaign. He can still win without that funding.”

  Justin’s humoring me. The way his dad eagerly answered that guy’s questions shows that the cash would certainly help. I lift my eyebrow.

  “It doesn’t matter. You are worth more than his campaign to me.” He brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear.

  Would he really put that at risk for me? My heart skips but my stomach drops. No, that’s not right. That’s too much for him to give me. His dad has worked too hard for this.

  “No, I won’t let you hurt your dad’s campaign.” I trace his chiseled jaw, the stubble prickling my fingertips. “Not after all of everyone’s hard work. It’s only a little more than a month before election. If I have to be a special friend, I can deal with it. He needs to win. Deserves it, really. He’s got great values. I know that politics is a game. You’ve got to play to get ahead.”

  “But I never wanted you to become a pawn.”

  “Well, you’re in it, right?”

  “Yeah.” His gaze shifts down and, for a moment, I glimpse Justin’s only insecurity. He’s tied to his parents’ political life, and, with how much he clearly loves them, that’s non-negotiable.

  My fingers grace his chin. I put pressure under it lightly, until his gorgeous green eyes rise to meet my gaze. I lean in, kissing him gently before pulling away. “Like I said before, I’m game.”

  ***

  Oops, too much. Water floods my newly potted chrysanthemums. A pool of mud forms, threatening to drown the plants. Mom’s green thumb is clearly not genetic. I take off her engagement ring she gave me this summer, carefully placing it in my pocket before I plunge in after the ugly orange flowers. Surprisingly, the coolness of the mud is more soothing than any fancy lotion Marissa used during our manicure nights. I squish the mud between my fingers, enjoying the mini spa-treatment.

  “Lucy?” Mom walks over, scratching her cheek and leaving a smudge. “As much as I understand the draw to examine dirt, we need five more pots planted and loaded in the trailer for my fall exhibit this afternoon.” She hands me her gardening rag, always tied to the back end of her garden tool-belt. I’m pretty sure it’s the only belt she owns.

  “Right, got it,” I say, rubbing the mud off my hands before draining the extra water from the soil.

  She hands me another scoop of potting soil. “To replace what was lost.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mom sits down on the steps of the deck. “So, what were Justin’s parents like?”

  “Nice,” I say as I debate how much to share with her. I’m not really in the mood for advice.

  She takes out a mini hoe from her belt and uses the end to scrape the dirt from under her nails. “Well, that’s pretty boring,” she says with a grin that’s tilted up in the corner, so much like Eric’s when he’s playing Batman. With that smile, I know it’s safe to share. She’s not in over-drive Mom mode. She’s just curious.

  “No, they aren’t boring. Just different than you and Dad.”

  “Well, I’d certainly hope they are different. I’d hate to be a cookie-cutter mold.”

  I roll my eyes. She knows she strives to be the non-generic parent. I study her, wondering if she’ll expand. I dare not say anything until she does. I’m more careful with my words now, still trying to be more considerate than my instincts guide. Old habits have been hard to break. Just because we have a relationship now, doesn’t make it easy. We still fight, but when we’re not in the heat of it, I try to remember she’s a person too.

  “Truthfully,” she continues, “dealing with the differences of your significant other’s family is part of the process. Your Grandma Jane and I didn’t initially see eye-to-eye. You know that.”

  I laugh; Grandma Jane has always been a well-ironed business woman with a heart of gold. Dad introduced her to Mom during their hippie phase. I can’t imagine how horrible that introduction went. At least my introduction was more like a non-introduction. I mean, yeah, we shook hands, but it didn’t feel that real at all.

  “So, how are they different from us?” Mom pats the step next to her.

  “Well,” I slide up on the step, knee to knee with her. Smart, Mom. It’s much easier to spill when you don’t have to look each other in the eye. She hands me the garden hoe, my turn to pick beneath my nails. “I don’t really know. We met at
this political fundraiser event … For a moment, everything felt fine. His grandma is really cute, his mom tried to put me at ease, and his sister even gave me a hug. But the moment I met his dad and some big exec dragged himself into the conversation, the tone shifted. Suddenly, it wasn’t about meeting the family. It was some weird political exchange.”

  “Were you uncomfortable?”

  I thought about it. “No, not really. Justin never left my side and included me as much as he could.”

  “Did his family introduce you to others?”

  My stomach dropped. “Kind of. I was introduced as Justin’s ‘special friend.’”

  Mom shifts in her spot and sucks in one of her therapeutic breaths. Uh oh, here comes the Mom advice, whether I want it or not. I find myself taking in a similar breath, just less noisy.

  “It’s hard for parents to acknowledge their kids’ relationships as serious,” Mom begins, “but here’s the thing. They are. They shape them and whether or not they agree with the relationship, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It’s important to them. I made that mistake with you and Zach.” I cringe, remembering how Zach cheated on me with my best friend Marissa. Mom pats my knee before she continues. “Yeah, he was a jerk. But if I would have acknowledged that you liked him, I may have been able to be there more when everything…”

  “Went to hell?” I offer.

  “Exactly.”

  I nod as Mom continues. “But don’t interpret that ‘special friend’ moment as them not acknowledging or liking you. With trying to slide into the governor’s seat, they have to be extra careful in everything they say. Who knows what’s next for them, maybe a presidential run?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I told Justin. I can deal with it. It makes sense, especially when the guy who barged into the conversation is the one giving Mr. Marshall money in hopes he can snag Justin for a reality college bachelor show.”