Beyond Blonde (15 page)

“Better now.” He kissed the top of my head. “Now that I can see my girl.”

“Yeah, I’m better now too.” I opened the bag. “Coffee?”

“Two large ones!” he smiled.

“Oh boy!” I had to pee already. “Black?” I asked. All last year, Papa kept forgetting that I liked to be called Sophie
rather than Sophia. Even now, he forgot sometimes, so I wasn’t holding out much hope on the coffee front.

“Black of course! And no sugar.”

Damn! Can nobody get that one little thing right?

“Because I brought six little packets. I know my sweetie likes it sweet, but I didn’t know exactly how sweet. You can put it in, but you can’t take it out, right?”

“Right!” My heart soared. “How’s it going with Auntie Eva and the business?”

“The business is amazing.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to leave in a few minutes. We got a last-minute call. Even adding two new drivers, we’re still short all the time. I may have to buy a new stretch.”

I whistled. “Wow, Papa!”

He threw his arm around my neck and kissed the top of my head. “I know, I know.”

“And Auntie Eva?”

“Ha!” Papa snorted. “Not so different from Mama. She watches me like a hawk. It’s actually easier being under Eva’s microscope, oddly enough.”

“I think I know what you mean.”

We sat down. Papa leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. Déjà vu all over again. “She asks me every day if this is the day I’m going to jump off the bandwagon. Sometimes I think I stay sober just to annoy her.” He gulped down the rest of his coffee. “And then, I think she knows it and counts on it, the old biddy. They are wily creatures, your Aunties.”

“It’s a good thing to keep in mind,” I agreed. I couldn’t get over it. I mean, they sat the same way? Was it a guy thing?

“And if things get shaky, I just go to a meeting.” He turned his head toward me and winked. “I go to a lot of meetings, AA meetings.”

“AA meetings,” I repeated. “I’m glad you’ve got that, somewhere to, well, somewhere to be. I get it, Papa.”

For a second, he looked so sad I thought I would break. “Of course you do.” He crushed the empty coffee cup. “But it’s good, it’s all good.” He turned toward me. “I
will
make amends, Sophie. It’s not a promise. I’ve broken too many of those.” He looked at his watch again. “It’s …” He smiled at the naked trees. “It’s a goal, to make you proud. That would be everything to me.”

“Papa, I already am so, so proud.”

“Shhh …” Papa brought a finger to his lips. “I don’t deserve it. Yet.” He straightened up. “Fathers and their daughters.” He looked broken and mending at the same time. What was going on?

“I pray.” He shook his head. “Yes, you heard right, I
pray
I haven’t caused you irreparable harm.” He kissed my forehead. “Such heavy conversation for having a coffee with your old man, eh? Hey, it’s not your job to figure it out, Sophie.” He stood up. “Just know, I’m trying Sophia, I’m trying, and I’ll do it for you. I’ve got to go. Walk me to the car.”

We strolled arm in arm through our park, down the slope, and over to the car, serenaded the whole way by the last moments of Indian summer. My head was reeling. There was so much guilt in the pretty autumn air. Mine was understandable. I was practically a shameless adulterer on the road to hell in three different religions. But Papa, despite his big
smiles—my father, who was finally getting sober, working, and clearly figuring out his life—Papa was blanketed in a guilt so thick it could warm up the whole park.

Wait a minute.

He said he was getting sober
for me,
which was brilliant except, what about for him? What about for Mama? More importantly, what if “for me” wasn’t enough? Was God pulling a fast one again? Was this a test? Was it all a test? And if it was, was I going to be rewarded or punished?

The loss hurt,
but not as bad as I thought it would. Double overtime and we played our guts out. Our entire team was punch-drunk with effort and exhaustion. Sarah insisted that we lost because her mother washed her lucky underwear. Kit made a gagging gesture. “You mean, you’ve been wearing the same undies since quarter-finals? Eeew!”

“What?! It’s like hockey players not shaving until they win the Stanley Cup!”

I didn’t want to think about it.

The championship game was held on neutral territory, so we were at a new venue, Central Secondary. Of course, everybody hunted us down anyway. Even Kit’s dad came. He sat with Mama, Papa, the Aunties, and a good smattering of Northern fans. The Aunties, Lord save us, were giving Mr. Cormier basketball pointers. So, ten minutes into it, now duly instructed, Mr. Cormier screamed “FOUL!” whenever an Oakwood player
came within two feet of Kit, or more inconveniently, whenever Kit came within two feet of an Oakwood player.

Kit smacked the back of my head in the first quarter. “I am so sorry, buttercup.” We walked over to the key for Madison’s foul shot. “Sorry for not getting the Mama and Auntie thing at the games.” I shrugged. Mr. Cormier waved to her from the bleachers. He expected her to wave back while he was still waving or he’d get frantic. We both waved. “I so get it now, man.”

We were hurting as we limped off the court that last time. Our section, our “fans,” including all the kids from Northern, stood and clapped us off. They
all
stood up. It was … I mean, a standing O … for losers? Mama and Auntie Luba cried as they waved, cheered, and eventually exited. David gathered us in, his voice hoarse from shouting. He reminded us that Oakwood was older, taller, heavier, and dirtier than we were, and that despite that, we still gave them game. The boy was levitating. I’ve never seen him smile so much. David congratulated everyone individually, shaking their hands, patting them on the back, clasping their arms. I waited for my turn, heart thumping, from the game I mean.

Would he touch me? How could he not? Of course he would. What would I do? How would that feel?

“Sophie.” I braced myself. “Brilliant game, great ball.” He raised his hand toward me and then withdrew it like I had the plague. “Awesome effort.”

“He’s blushing,” Madison whispered behind me.

He was. David looked at my knees. His jaw clenched, unclenched, clenched … “Yeah,” he said apropos of nothing and marched off.

Madison and I both looked at each other stunned. “Well, at least that’s the last I’ll see of him,” I said. Madison’s eyes narrowed.

“I mean it, good riddance. A girl could get whiplash trying to figure him out.”

“Or something.” She smiled.

We hobbled over to Mike’s to lick our wounds with milkshakes and fries. He hugged each of us as we came in. Mike is not a huggy kind of guy. “Luba called. You brats are champions in my eyes.”

We slid into our booth with more care than usual. Over milkshakes we decided that it
was
okay. We did the best we could do, played above our heads and above our weight as long as we could. “To next year!” I raised my glass.

“To next year!” We clinked.

“Speaking of next year, Sophie.” Mike plopped down the platter of fries. “I’m gonna need ideas for decorating this place for the big do, ya know?”

“Huh?” said Kit. Madison and Sarah lasered me.

“I couldn’t stop them,” I said.

“Who? What?” asked Sarah.

“THEM,” I said.

“The Aunties?” she asked. “What now?”

“It’s too stupid for words …”

“Find the words, Sophie,” said Madison.

“Aargh!” I groaned. “I went to their last glamour day. Big mistake. Turns out they think it’s a tragic miscarriage of justice that I was deprived of my Sweet Sixteen. So, apparently, I’m having it this February.”

“You’re having your Sweet Sixteen on your seventeenth birthday?” asked Sarah. No one had a firmer grasp of the obvious than Sarah.

“Yeah, but of course it will be billed as my …”

“Sweet Seventeen!” they said in unison.

“Genius!” said Kit. “And it’s going to be here? Holy cowpie! That’s never been done before. Think of it, ladies, a Sweet Seventeen party at Northern’s most preferred eating and drinking establishment and all to ourselves! All sorts of families have tried to buy out Mike over the years for a party. The very best families, Sophie.”

“The very
blondest
families, Sophie.” Sarah winked.

“Which means that your party will be
beyond
blonde, Sophie Kandinsky.” Madison whipped out a pen and started writing on her napkin. “We’re going to start a whole new trend with this seventeen thing, I can just feel it.”

We?
I was being hijacked, again. They were as bad as the Aunties.

“We’ll make this the toughest invite to score in years!” Sarah clapped.

“At some point we’ll have to arrange for a meeting with the Aunties,” said Madison. “A party summit, so to speak.”

Why didn’t I see it earlier, just because they didn’t have accents …

“What’s the matter?” Madison put her hand on top of mine.

Mike was loudly scraping the grill, but I knew he was listening. I flashed to the nightmare grade six sleepover, to all those times at recess when I was shoved into the middle of a ring and taunted as the “murderer’s kid.” School after
school, even the teachers looked the other way. I shook my head. I had to fly under the radar, not into it. It was a survival thing. “You don’t get it.” I paused and looked at each of them. “Whenever I’m at the centre of anything, I end up starring in a horror movie. I’ve told you guys about some of it. It
never
ends well. A whole party? For me? Humiliation city. It’ll suck, how could it not suck?”

Silence.

Madison lit a cigarette. “Sophie, dear,” she patted my hand and blew smoke in my face, “don’t be a dork. It’s tedious. That was then and this is now.”

“You’re one of
us,
buttercup,” said Kit, like that explained everything.

“Don’t worry, Soph.” Sarah threw her arm around me. “We’ll make sure you get the best Sweet Seventeen party in the history of parties! We’ll have to black out the windows of course, and remove the loose tables and chairs in the back for dancing, reposition the jukebox, and …”

And they were off. They were
worse
than the Aunties.

By nine o’clock we were too stupid with tiredness to come up with anything useable. Madison looked at her watch. “Sophie’s staying over tonight. Sarah, I know you’re meeting George, but how about you, Kit? Want to join us?”

Kit looked twitchy. “Can’t,” she said in some pathetic hope that she could leave it at that.

We all waited. If it took another round of coffee so be it.

“Rick?” asked Sarah helpfully.

“No.” Kit shook her head.

We waited some more. Just as Madison was going for the
coffee pot, Kit groaned. “I’m scheduled to have a marathon conversation with my mom.”

“That’s sweet,” said Sarah sweetly.

Madison raised her eyebrow.

Kit sighed and then looked to me. “See, the thing of it is …”

Oh my God, oh my God! Was she going to tell? What should I do? How should I look? How to react? I rearranged my eyebrows into neutral.

“The thing is,” she began again, “my mother wants me to move to California this summer and finish high school there.”

Silence. Mike went back to scraping the grill. I raised an empty coffee cup to my lips and slurped air.

“Yeah, so?” Madison frowned.

“Yeah?” agreed Sarah. “She gave up that right three years ago!”

“Not even worth thinking about,” insisted Madison. “Your life is here with us and with your dad who’s knocked himself out trying to be a good mom!”

This had to be why I felt so comfortable with them right off the bat in grade nine. My Blondes had a complete disregard for anything resembling personal boundaries. Your life was their life. I nodded at whoever said anything, terrified that I’d blow it for Kit with the wrong tone or word or look.

“Sophie?” said Madison.

“Stay,” I said. Kit blushed and looked at her empty coffee cup. “Tell her you want to stay. I know you miss your mom. I know she can, uh, offer you a different kind of life.” Madison and Sarah were nodding even though they couldn’t possibly
understand what I was trying to say. I wasn’t too sure myself. “We’ll make up for her, Kit.” Vigorous nodding all around, even from Mike behind the counter. “Stay with us until you graduate. There’s plenty of time for California and … well, all of that.”

“Sure.” She shrugged. “I just have to hear her out is all. She’s my mom.”

“Barely,” said Madison, who knew whereof she spoke on that issue.

Kit shot her a look, but Madison did not, would not, back down.

“I’ll pray on it for you,” I offered.

Unanimous groaning.

“You guys are going to be sorry. When I get to the Pearly Gates, given that I’m so tight with Buddha and the boys, I’ll be waved right in.”

“Yeah but you’ll be lonely without us.” Madison elbowed me. “Let’s go!”

We slowly limped our sorry, losing butts over to the Chandler manse. It really would have been so much better had that girl passed her driver’s test. We went straight for the kitchen as soon as we got in and made more coffee. I pulled up a stool and marvelled at the room all over again. When I first sat here almost three years ago, I thought it was the most beautiful, perfect thing I had ever seen in the world, except for maybe Madison. Creamy cupboards, creamier marble, two white sinks, hand-painted tiles. Nothing bad could ever happen to anyone who had a kitchen like this.