Kody Keplinger - A Midsummer’s Nightmare

“This one is my favorite,” he said. “Come on. In bed before midnight? On a weekend? Even my mother isn’t that lame.”

“I’m not lame,” I snapped, taking the DVD case from him and hopping off the bed. I took out the disc and popped it into the laptop.

“But you are easily swayed by peer pressure,” he teased.

I hit play and joined him on the bed again. “I convinced you to give up your virginity within two hours or so of knowing you. Let’s not talk about caving to peer pressure.”

“Touché.”

But no matter how I tried—or how many times Nathan poked me in the ribs to keep me awake—I just kept nodding off, my head bobbing up and down as I tried to hold my eyes open.

I didn’t realize I’d dozed off until hours later when I opened my eyes. The lights were still on in the bedroom, and the menu screen for Back to the Future Part II showed on the monitor. The clock on the desk told me it was just after three in the morning.

Nathan and I were lying crookedly on his bed, huddled together in a way that, even half-asleep, I knew could only be described as cuddling. My head was propped on his chest, its rise and fall a gentle lull, calling me back toward sleep. My left arm was stretched loosely across his torso. He was snoring softly, with one of his hands resting on my hip. How we’d ended up this way, I wasn’t sure, but somehow, between both of us conking out, we’d managed to twine together like this.

I sat up, easing myself out of Nathan’s grasp and climbing off his bed. He looked so peaceful sleeping there. I backed toward the door. It had felt good to have him next to me like that.

I’d liked it—cuddling with Nathan.

And I wasn’t sure I was supposed to like it.

I hurried back to the guest room, shutting the door silently behind me so as not to wake anyone. Now I was questioning my relationship with Nathan, too. How did I feel about this guy? Did it cross the line between stepsiblings? Future stepsiblings? Did I want it to?

Shit, shit, shit.

I was going to kill Harrison and Bailey for putting these ideas in my head.

Right when I’d started to like—or at least not hate—Sylvia Caulfield, she decided to go and piss me off again.

On the last Saturday in July, Dad was ordered to go pick out his wedding tux. And I, for some reason, was required to go with him.

“You know he has horrible taste. You’re the only one I trust with choosing something this important,” she said.

She was hoping to make it sound like a privilege or something. Yeah, right. Dad had great taste in clothes. He picked out all of his TV suits. She was just making shit up to persuade me.

“You’ll be saving the whole family from a world of embarrassment.”

“Why can’t you go with him?” I whined.

There were a multitude of reasons why I didn’t want to go shopping with my father. In particular, the overwhelming desire I had to punch him in the face every time I saw him came to mind.

I’d spent the last two months attempting to talk to my father. The summer was almost over now, and my frustration had morphed into pure anger. He’d cheated on Mom, he’d let me spend the last six years blaming her, and he hadn’t cared enough to confront me about my behavior or let me live with him four years ago, when my world first started falling apart.

I didn’t want to talk to him now. I didn’t want anything to do with him.

“You’re off today,” I reminded her. “You can go.”

“You two need to spend some time together.” She said it so forcefully that I knew arguing would be pointless.

“Fine,” I muttered, poking the waffle in front of me with the tip of my fork. Sylvia made real waffles, not the toaster ones Mom always made for us. I would have never admitted it to Sylvia, especially that morning when I was so pissed at her, but she really was an amazing cook.

“Whitley.” Sylvia sighed. “Honey, you’ve been here since May, and you haven’t even unpacked your bag.”

I didn’t look at her.

“I know you’re not happy and that you must be frustrated,” she said. “But you’re only here for a few more weeks. I don’t want you going off to college with regrets about your relationship with your father.”

“He’d be the one with regrets,” I mumbled.

I didn’t think she’d heard me, but apparently she had. “That might be true, but you need to put forth a little effort, too. He loves you.”

“Whatever.”

“I’ll take that to mean you’ll go with him.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.” She smiled and took my plate of syrup. “He’ll be ready and in the car by ten.”

So, when I climbed into the SUV an hour and a half later, Dad was all pumped and ready to go. He grinned at me from across the cab. And for a moment, I thought maybe Sylvia was right. Maybe this time together would be good. Maybe we could work things out….

“Hey, munchkin. Nice to see you up so early.”

“I was forced.”

He laughed and started the engine, humming along with the country music on the radio. I frowned. At one time, we’d both hated country music. Jimmy Buffett was the only exception. But I guess that was just one more thing to show me how much my dad had changed. We didn’t even hate the same things anymore.

And if I had hopes of getting to know the new Dad on this little outing, they were dashed the minute we got to the tuxedo place. It was like I wasn’t there anymore. Just him and the tuxes—and there were lots of tuxes. He insisted on trying on all of them. Because nothing was good enough.

That coat was too tacky.

That bow tie was too small.

Those pants had a strange shape.

My father shopped like a woman, which made Sylvia’s whole pretense of me saving him from wardrobe embarrassment even more laughable. Laughable was also a great word to describe the bonding idea. This was real quality time, with Dad locked in a dressing room and me sitting on the bench outside, texting Harrison about how the store attendant was just his type.

But I couldn’t get Sylvia’s voice out of my head, and I knew that it was still my job to try. So, after three hours of shopping—during which time Dad wound up buying the first of the twenty-two tuxes he’d tried on—I swallowed my pride and made my attempt to talk to him.

I suggested we go get ice cream together, and I started the conversation.

“So,” I began, swirling the plastic spoon around in my Dairy Queen Blizzard. “We, um, haven’t really had a chance to talk in a while.”

“I know,” Dad said. “I’m sorry about that, munchkin. I’ve just been so busy. Between work and preparing for this wedding and just getting used to everything. Becoming part of a family can be difficult.”

You were already part of one.

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess it probably can be…. But the Caulfields are nice, I guess.”

“I thought you’d love them.”

“I wish you’d told me about them.”

He sighed. “I suppose I probably should have. It just didn’t seem right, you know? To tell you over the phone or in an e-mail that I was engaged.”

“You could have told me when you started dating her. You could have called.”

“Oh, you know me, munchkin.” He laughed. “I had no idea how serious it would be. I didn’t see any need to waste your time by telling you about another girlfriend when I figured she’d be gone in a month or two.”

I gritted my teeth. Whose time did he really think he’d be wasting by calling me? Mine or his?

“Then we were serious all of a sudden,” he continued. “And I just thought I should give you the news in person.”

“Right. Well, I like them. Nathan and Bailey are nice, and Sylvia… She’s been really great support through all of this online-bullying stuff.” I waited to see if he’d even admit knowing about it, or if he’d feign ignorance.

“Yeah,” he said. “Well, Sylvia says you’re holding up well.”

Fuck that. Holding up well? He hadn’t spoken to me about the pictures, hadn’t acknowledged them. He’d just untagged himself and ignored them, never even asking if I was okay. Sylvia shouldn’t have been the one talking to me about cyber-bullying. It should have been him—my father. He didn’t even care.

But like an idiot, I just kept trying.

“The things they said—most of them weren’t true,” I told him.

“Good.”

“Do… do you want to talk about it?” I asked. “I mean, I know some of it was on your Facebook page. Did you want to ask me about any of the pictures or… anything?”

“No, munchkin. I have faith that you can deal with it,” he said.

I stared at him, trying to fight off the tears springing to my eyes. Even if he wasn’t angry, couldn’t he have given me a hug? Comforted me? I wanted to throw my ice cream at him. To scream, Everyone in this fucking town thinks I’m a whore because of that web page! I was almost raped a few weeks ago because of some of the things it says about me! The least you could do is tell me you give a shit.

But I didn’t say anything.

“We should get back,” Dad said, standing up. We’d been sitting in the booth for barely ten minutes. “Sylvia will be wondering what’s taking us so long.”

“Wait—I need… Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, munchkin. What’s up?”

I swallowed. I couldn’t believe I was going to ask him this. I was such a moron.

“A few years ago, when I asked to live with you, you said no. Was it really because of Mom? Because you didn’t want her to be upset?”

“Of course.”

“Really?”

“Well… why are you asking me about this?” he asked.

“Just because. Because I should know. Was there another reason you didn’t want me to live with you?”

He let out a long breath and pressed three fingers to his temple. “That was a big part of the reason, yes. Because I knew your mother was very upset about the divorce and if you came to live with me, she’d be even more upset. I felt guilty, and I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“But this was two years after the divorce,” I told him. “It was over with. She was still mad, but… What was the other reason, Dad?”

“Whitley, I don’t—”

“Just tell me.”

“To be honest, I was happy. I was a bachelor with a good job and a great life. I’d just gotten out of a marriage I’d been in since I was twenty-one, and I was having fun. I didn’t think it was the right time.”

“Right time for what?” I asked. “For me to live with you?”

He shook his head. “Having a teenage girl live with me would have complicated things.”

“So… you just… didn’t want me?”

I’d already figured this out, but hearing it out loud still hurt like hell.

“I wouldn’t say it like that. It was more just… I know I was a bad father for feeling that way, but I thought, in the long run, life would be better for both of us if you just stayed with your mother. I was sure you were just going through a phase—wanting to live with me. You were fourteen. You’d change your mind. I shouldn’t have lied to you. But it all worked out in the end, right?”

“Right,” I muttered.

“Okay, let’s get out of here.” He stood and picked up his empty cup of ice cream. “I’m sorry, munchkin. I wish I could have told you the truth then, but I was a selfish asshole. I’ve changed, though.”

No, I thought, watching him toss his cup in the trash can and head for the door. I stood up and followed, throwing away my unfinished Blizzard. That’s one thing about you that hasn’t changed at all.

Right after we got back to the house, I received a text message from Trace.

Hey sry havent called n a while. Em got a new job! How r u?

His timing was pretty uncanny. Dad was walking into the kitchen, leaving me standing in the living room, alone, without even a word. Like nothing had happened. Like I wasn’t there. It was like Trace knew I needed him. Like he knew how alone I felt.

I started texting back as I walked upstairs to the guest room.

Not good. Can I call u?

He replied quickly.

No. N a meeting. On a saturday. Its boring & its a long story. I can txt tho

Leave it to my brother to be texting under the table at some kind of important meeting. A good sister would have sent him another message, telling him she’d call him back when the meeting was over. He shouldn’t be texting. This was his job. All of that bullshit.

Well, I wasn’t a good sister. In fact, I was pretty goddamn selfish if you got right down to it. Yet another trait I’d gotten from my father, I guess.