My Parents Are Sex Maniacs Read online

  “That’s so cool.” Sienna shuts her locker. “We should double date sometime.”

  I feel instantly nervous at the suggestion. What would Dean Campbell and I have to talk about? We have nothing in common. Well, we have Sienna in common, but I highly doubt we like her for the same reasons. How does one converse with a thirty-ish roofer? How’s business? How’s the jeep running? I hear they’ve made some real advancements in hair plugs these days.

  “Oh, well, Russell and I are not even dating. I mean, I just met him.”

  “But you like him, right?”

  I feel my cheeks turn pink even as I affect a blasé attitude. “I guess. I mean, he’s just so different from everyone else around here. And I feel like I can talk to him about anything. He’s only seventeen, but he’s so smart and funny and interesting.”

  Sienna laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

  And I do like Russell, more than I’ve ever liked anyone. My Saturday shift with him just reinforces my feelings.

  “My mom thinks I lack direction,” he says, leaning back against the counter, “so she sent me up here to live with my dad. He’s a total control freak. He said if I didn’t get a job or go back to school, he’d kick me out of the house.”

  I pause my needless counter wiping. “So you don’t go to school?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

  “I didn’t see the point in starting up here,” he says indifferently. “I didn’t want to go through the hassle of trying to fit into that whole scene again. I wasn’t learning anything anymore anyway. So I took the GED and now I’m done.”

  “What’s the GED?”

  “General Equivalency Diploma,” he explains. “It’s a test you take to show that you know everything you would’ve learned in high school.”

  “It sounds great,” I say, rather awestruck. One test that can replace years of high school?

  “It is. I don’t know why more people don’t do it,” Russell says.

  “I’m definitely going to look into it.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know my mom will never go for it.

  “You should. We could hang out together.”

  I know he’s just being flip and charming, but my heart surges with delight. He wants me to drop out of school and hang out with him. What an excellent plan!

  Russell continues. “Once I get enough money saved up, I’m so out of here.”

  My stomach lurches a little at the thought of him leaving. I mean, we just found each other!

  “The suburbs are so boring and stifling. They have no heart, no center, no soul,” he says passionately.

  “Totally,” I agree. God! He’s like my soul mate! “Where will you go?”

  Russell throws the last bite of his hot dog in the trash. “New York, Miami, London . . . Anywhere with a good club scene. I’m going to be a DJ,” he says, his face glowing with excitement. “DJs are the rock stars of our generation. You can make, like, six hundred bucks a night when you get a following.”

  “Wow!”

  “What about you?” he asks. “You’re not planning on staying here forever, are you?”

  “God no!” Here is my chance to sound worldly and ambitious and the perfect girlfriend for a superstar DJ. “My best friend, Sienna, and I are going to move to New York. We’re going to launch our own fashion label. We’ve been planning it for years.”

  “Cool . . . ” he says nodding and looking at me like he really means it. “Maybe we’ll both end up there at the same time?”

  “That would be great!” I cry, maybe a little too over the top. But how can I not be over the top? I’ve just met the guy of my dreams, and our plans for the future mesh together perfectly! What is there not to be over the top about?

  The more shifts I work with Russell, the more I learn about him. And the more I learn about him, the more I feel some divine force placed him here, at the Willowbrook Mall Orange Julius, for me to find. It’s like we can talk about anything, like we’ve known each other forever! I’ve never had this kind of connection with anyone before . . . not even Sienna. By the end of our third week of working together, I realize that this is more than like; this is love. I am officially, 100 percent, in love. Finally!

  Being officially 100 percent in love has improved my mood and outlook immensely. In fact, I’m feeling so positive and benevolent that I’m even willing to meet with my dad. While his previous attempts to arrange another meeting with Troy and me have failed, I feel it’s time to let go of some of the anger. Yes, my dad betrayed and humiliated my mother. Yes, he traumatized my brother to such a degree that he has very little hope of ever being a healthy, fully functioning member of society. And yes, he destroyed two families because of his out-of-control hormones and raging midlife crisis. But what does that all matter now that I have found the guy of my dreams? I discuss this with my brother.

  “No fucking way!” Troy growls. I’m afraid he’s going to lose it again, but he actually seems quite contained today.

  “Look,” I say, attempting to calm him, “he’s a gross sex maniac, but he’s still our dad. He’s been calling us every week and . . . well, Mom’s doing a lot better now so . . . I think we should see him.”

  Troy is silent for a long moment. “I’m not going to his townhouse,” he says. “And I’m not going to see her.”

  “Of course not. We’ll get him to take us out somewhere nice. I hear that’s the beauty of divorced parents—you can guilt them into totally spoiling you.”

  Troy says, “We could go to Red Robin for burgers.”

  “Sure. That sounds good.”

  So when my dad calls on Wednesday, I tell him Troy and I would be willing to have dinner with him on Friday at Red Robin. He agrees instantly, which I appreciate, since he has always been the kind to check his calendar before making commitments.

  My mom offers to drop us off at the restaurant. “I’ll be fine,” she assures us as she backs the Protégé out of the driveway. “This is a small community, and I’m bound to run into him sooner or later. I’m not saying that I won’t have bad days, but I’m looking forward now, not backward.” She really has been making great strides in her emotional recovery. Ever since that symbolic trip to Orange Julius three weeks ago, my mom has rejoined the land of the living: getting dressed each day, combing her hair, and actually feeding and caring for her offspring. She’s also been spending a lot of time with her friend Judith, a divorced yoga teacher who shares my mom’s disdain for makeup and body hair removal. Judith has a whole network of friends who are in the same boat as she and my mom.

  Our dad is waiting for us just inside the front doors, so I guess he’s not quite as open to running into Mom. While it’s only been a month since we last saw him, something about him has changed. It’s more than just his out-of-season tan. He looks thinner—and not in a I’ve-been-working-out sort of way but more in a I’m-wracked-with-guilt-for-what-I’ve-done-to-you-all-and-can’t-eat-because-of-it sort of way. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

  “Hi, kids,” he says nervously, reaching out to hug us. I pat his back awkwardly, but my brother remains stiff and unresponsive.

  When he releases us, he says jovially, “Our table’s all ready. Follow me.” At our red vinyl booth there are two large, icy glasses of Coke waiting for us. I feel like I’m on a first date with a boy who is really trying to impress me—not that I have any firsthand knowledge of what that is like.

  “So,” my dad says when we are seated across from him, “how’s school?”

  I say, “It’s fine.”

  Troy mumbles, “Fine.”

  “Good . . . good.” He clears his throat. “And your mother? How’s she?”

  “Mom’s great!” I say exuberantly. “She’s really doing well. She’s been getting out of the house, hanging out with her friends. And she’s looking great too!”

  “I’m glad,” my dad says softly. With his thin, reedy voice and hangdog expression, there’s no denying he feels terrible about what he did. So I was right! But while
a few weeks ago his obvious sadness and dramatic weight loss may have seemed like poetic justice, now that I’m so in love and fulfilled, I can’t help but pity him . . . just a little.

  The teenaged waiter approaches and we order our meals. Troy orders the largest, most expensive burger on the menu. “And bring a dessert menu,” he adds.

  My dad makes a tremendous effort to engage us in small talk as we wait for our food. I play along, but my brother is uncommunicative. When we’re finally eating, he asks about my new job.

  “It’s good,” I say vaguely. “I mean, it sort of cuts into my schoolwork and extracurricular activities, but I’ve realized that if I want to get a proper hairstyle, I’ve got to earn some extra money.” Unfortunately, my father is unpracticed in the art of guilt-tripping and this flies right over his head.

  When the meal is finished and Troy has completed his Mountain High Mudd Pie, my dad drives us home. In front of our house, Troy piles out of the car with a quick “Bye” and sprints to the door. I linger for a moment. “Thanks for dinner,” I say.

  “It was great to see you,” he replies. “I hope we can do it again soon. Maybe next week?”

  “Maybe . . . I’ve been working quite a lot.”

  Again, he misses his cue to offer me some hairstyle money. Instead he says, “I—I’ve really missed you guys.” His voice is hoarse with emotion. “It’s been hard being away from you all . . . harder than I thought it was going to be.”

  A lump forms in my throat. “Yeah, I know,” I mumble.

  He reaches over and squeezes my hand, a little desperately. “If I could do it all over again . . . well, I know I’ve made some big mistakes and—and I’m sorry for hurting you . . . ”

  “It’s okay,” I say, fumbling for the door handle. Tears are welling up in my eyes and I need to get out of the car. I’m still too angry to let my dad know how much he hurt me, how much I wish our family was still together, and how much I really do miss him. Plus, if I start crying, I sense that my dad will burst into tears too, and for some reason, I’m just not comfortable witnessing that. “Let’s talk next week,” I say, by way of good-bye.

  “I love you, Louise!” he calls as I exit the car.

  “Love you too.” And I hurry toward the house.

  14

  The following Monday, my mom practically skips into the kitchen. “I have an announcement,” she says. “I’ve got a job!”

  My brother and I stare at her in silence from our perches at the breakfast bar. “Doing what?” I finally ask. Unfortunately, it sounds like I’m saying, What on earth are you qualified to do other than vacuum and make grilled cheese sandwiches?

  “I have a psychology degree, remember?” she replies defensively. “I’ll be working as a counselor for low-income single mothers at the health authority. I’ve always wanted to do something to really make a difference.”

  “You have?” Troy asks.

  “Yes, I have,” she snaps. “Just because I’ve spent the last sixteen years taking care of this family doesn’t mean I don’t have my own passions.” She grabs her car keys off the counter. “I’m going to the mall to get some new clothes. I start Wednesday.”

  I decide to consider my mom’s new career as a positive step forward. She’s healing, moving on, embarking on a new chapter in her life . . . She wasn’t even all that upset when I told her how emotional Dad had been after our Red Robin dinner. Of course, her cheeks turned a bit pink and she looked a little upset, but she didn’t burst into tears or anything. On the downside, her counselor job will keep her away from home a lot more. With me working at Orange Julius, Troy will be spending more time alone. I don’t like the thought of him sitting in the empty house, probably surfing the Internet to learn how to make bombs or something. But today after school, I’m finally getting my hair highlighted and shaped by Audrey’s stylist. I decide to focus on my upcoming beauty and popularity instead of my brother’s future career as the Unabomber.

  “I’m getting my highlights done after school,” I tell Sienna as we make our way to the cafeteria. Thankfully, Dean Campbell has a big roofing contract, which allows me to at least eat with Sienna before I go work on sets.

  “Perfect timing!” she cries. “Audrey’s having another party! Her parents are going to Palm Springs for the Easter long weekend.”

  “What day is it?” I ask with feigned interest. I’m hoping for Friday because I’m working that night and will therefore have a valid excuse not to go. I’m not sure I can bear to watch Sienna get drunk and fall all over Dean Campbell. And what about Tracey Morreau? While she appears to have moved on (just the other day I saw her exit some guy’s monster truck wearing an incredibly short miniskirt and platform wedges), the sight of Sienna and Dean together may still send her into a jealous rage.

  “It’s Saturday.”

  Damn! My mind scrambles for an excuse. I know, I’ll say my mom is on a single-mother suicide prevention training course and I have to stay home with my deeply disturbed brother. “You have to come,” Sienna continues. “I’m bringing Dean. You should bring Russell.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say, biting my lip to hold back the excited smile curling my lips. The thought of walking into Audrey’s party with Russell on my arm is too fantastic! I can almost see the envious looks of all the other girls, hear the excited whispers: Who’s that gorgeous guy with Louise Harrison? Do you see how he’s looking at her? He’s so in love! And she looks amazing! Look at her highlights!

  Unfortunately, I wouldn’t really be on Russell’s arm, since we’re not even dating, and, therefore, he wouldn’t be looking at me with “I’m so in love” eyes, since our relationship is still strictly platonic. And what if I did bring him to Audrey’s party and one of the “experienced” girls offered him an expertly administered blow job? I could lose him forever! “My mom’s got a job,” I say. “She might be working or training that night. And Troy . . . well, he’s in no shape to be left to his own devices these days.”

  “Your mom’s got a job?” Sienna says. “Where?”

  “At the health authority downtown. She’s a counselor for low-income single mothers.”

  “Oh . . . well, good for her. She really seems to be moving on.”

  “Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “She is.”

  Sienna pulls open the cafeteria door. “I wish my dad would get his shit together like your mom has.”

  “He’s not getting over it?” I ask as we head to our usual table.

  “He’s pathetic!” she spits. “He still thinks she’s going to come back. Every time they go out for dinner, he’s all, like, ‘Kids, it’s just a matter of time before she comes back to us.’”

  I stop in the middle of the cafeteria floor. Sienna halts too and looks at me. “What?”

  “Every time they go out for dinner?” I ask. “Your parents still see each other?”

  “Yeah . . . don’t yours?”

  “No!” I cry. “They don’t see each other! They haven’t even spoken in, like, a month! It’s over between them.”

  Sienna looks at me blankly for a moment before she says, “Well . . . that’s probably why your mom is moving on so well.” And she heads to our table.

  After school, I hurry to The Scissor Shack. My stylist, Marco, concurs with the hair assessment of my peers. “You definitely need some layers around your face and some brightening in the crown area,” he says in some kind of accented English. “You have very pretty eyes. Let’s create a frame for them.” I excitedly nod my agreement. Marco is obviously very talented and undoubtedly got his training somewhere in Europe where they know a lot about framing beautiful eyes with bangs.

  And when he’s finally done, my hair looks really good! It’s a subtle change. I mean, no one (other than my mom, who said, “Nice haircut, honey”) has even commented. But I’m hoping people are thinking, Gee, Louise looks great. So well-rested—and does she have a tan? In fact, with my new hair, I almost feel confident enough to invite Russell to Audrey’s party. He’s much
less likely to ditch me for an oral sexpert with my new ’do!

  On my Friday-night shift at Orange Julius, I realize I have no reason to fear losing my potential boyfriend to any of my friends. “Look at them,” he sniffs toward a table of popular twelfth-grade girls. “They’re so pathetic.”

  “Yeah,” I respond, though I’m not really sure what’s pathetic about them.

  Luckily, Russell elaborates. “Their whole world revolves around being popular—wearing the right clothes, driving the right cars, hanging out with the right friends . . . Don’t they know that there’s a direct correlation between how popular you are in high school and how successful you are after?”

  “There is?”

  “Yeah!” he says, like this research made the front page of all the papers. “Popular in high school equals big loser in real life.”

  “Well,” I say with a smile, “I’ll probably be the next Donald Trump then.”

  “What? You’re not popular, Louise?”

  I’m not sure if he’s saying this in a mocking way, since I would think it’s fairly obvious that I’m not. But when I look at him, it seems he wants a sincere answer. I explain. “My best friend is super popular so I kind of hang on the periphery of the in-crowd. She’s really great. She always makes sure I’m included in everything. Like tomorrow night,” I say, my stomach dancing with nerves, “there’s this party at this popular girl’s house, and, well, I’m invited . . . ”

  “Ugh.” Russell makes a face. “Are you going to go?”

  “Uh, probably not.”

  “If you need an excuse, tell them you’re hanging out with a friend from work. We could go to a movie or something.”

  Oh my god! Did he just ask me out? Well, it’s not exactly a date date, but he wants to hang out with me on a Saturday night, which must mean something. These highlights really work!

  Russell nudges me with his elbow. “Check out the blonde girl in the blue jacket.” He nods toward the table of popular girls. “She’s totally giving me ‘the eye.’”

  I glance over casually, and sure enough, Kelsey Gibbons is leering at my coworker. A sick feeling of jealousy wells up inside me, but it’s instantly quelled when Russell says, “Get real! You are so not my type.”