Lisa Desrochers - A Little Too Hot

The whole time we were in high school, Trent’s band played at every high school dance. They broke up years ago, when they all went away to college, but this must be their reunion tour, because everyone but Trent is up on the stage. They’re not really what I’d call good, but they don’t suck either. The dance floor is packed with people in dresses and suits, moving to the rhythm.

“Samantha?”

I turn toward the semihysterical voice at a table near the door, sure I must have been imagining it. Mom stands from behind the table and gapes at me for a moment before rushing over and throwing her arms around my shoulders.

I’m momentarily speechless. Despite the fact we’ve been best friends for years, it never occurred to me Lexie would invite my parents.

“Oh my word!” she says, crushing me in a hug. “I didn’t think . . .”

Greg steps up behind her and lays a hand on her shoulder. “Sam,” he says with a little bit of an apologetic squint, then shoots a wary glance at Blake. “I’m glad to see you looking so well.”

“Thanks.”

Mom backs away and her lower lip begins to quiver as she looks me over. She pulls me close again. “That black man came to the house and he wouldn’t say anything and I was so worried that something had happened to you, but then he said you were fine and I shouldn’t worry, and when I told him I wanted to talk to you he said—”

“Mom,” I say, cutting her off mid-ramble. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” I pry myself out of her grip and find tears streaking her mascara into jagged black lines down her cheeks.

“There’s so much I need to tell you,” she hitches. “I’ve been such a hypocrite.”

“Mom it’s okay.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not. I know this is neither the time or the place, but I don’t know when I’m going to see you again and you need to understand why I did what I did.”

I glance up at Blake and he gives me a small nod. I back away a few steps and Mom follows, still clinging to my arm. “Okay. Why did you throw me out?”

She takes a deep breath. “When I was your age, I already had a one-year-old and—”

“And you were divorced,” I interrupt. “I’ve heard the story.”

She shakes her head. “I wasn’t divorced. I’d never been married.”

“But . . .” I trail off, trying to wrap my mind around that. “You always said—”

“I lied to you,” she says, her eyes pleading with me to understand. “I didn’t want you to think my behavior was acceptable, so I never told you the truth. But the truth is, I didn’t even know your father very well.”

“So . . . the Butcher . . . ?”

She bites her lip, leaving a red lipstick smudge on her teeth. “I was a ring rat. I used my parents’ money to follow the WWF around on tour with a friend the summer after my sophomore year in college.” She wipes her face with a shaking hand, smudging her mascara worse. “Of course, that’s not how we started the trip. We were exploring America. But we went to a WWF match in Las Vegas our second night out and one of the guys picked us out in the crowd. We got invited to the after party and spent the next month in a drug-induced haze, following professional wrestlers around the country. Butch claimed me as his.”

My head’s spinning. “His what?”

What little bit of composure she’s holding onto crumbles. “I stayed in his room, Sam. I was his tour rat.”

“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say.

“I dropped out of school, and you were born, and it took me a long time to get myself straightened out.”

Our surroundings start coming back into focus and I look around. “And you’re telling me this now because . . . ?”

“Because I need you to understand how scared I was when you started partying and skipping school. I could see you making the same mistakes I did. I’ve had twenty years to reflect on those mistakes, and what I know is, if my parents had given me more direction . . . if they hadn’t given in to my every whim, if they hadn’t financed all my bad decisions, none of it would have happened.”

So she went totally the other way, driving me crazy by living my life for me and fixing all my screw-ups. “Cutting me off was supposed to straighten me out?”

A tear trickles over her lashes and her bottom lip quivers again. “We tried talking to you. We sent you to counseling. I didn’t know what else to do.”

The counseling was their attempt to get me put in rehab, but it backfired when the counselor wouldn’t agree that I was an alcoholic.

“I think you overreacted, Mom. I mean, I get that having me so young ruined your life, but—”

“What?” she says, her eyes springing wide. “No, sweetie! You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I just didn’t want to see you get hurt. But what I did was wrong. I want you to come back home.”

Before I can even say anything, there’s a tissue being handed over my shoulder. I turn as she takes it, and see Blake hasn’t bailed.

It takes her a minute to get her shit together. “Thank you,” she snivels, dabbing her eyes, then she looks at me. “Are you going to introduce us to your date?”

“My . . . date,” I say, glancing at Blake again. I take a breath. “Mom, this is Harrison Yates. Harrison, this is my mom, Erin.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Blake says, extending a hand.

Mom and Greg shake it in turn. But just as it gets super awkward, the chime of silverware on glasses crescendos, and the chant of “Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!” sweeps through the room. I look toward the dance floor, and everyone has pulled back to the edges, leaving Lexie and Trent alone in the center.

And the second I see her, any concern Blake had about me outshining the bride goes out the window. Her long blond hair is pulled back in front and falls in loose curls over a smooth, off-the-shoulder antique lace gown with a small bustle. Trent is at her side in a classic black tux and ascot. He’s trimmed his chocolate brown curls short, and his face beams as he gazes at her. And when he sweeps her into his arms and kisses her gently on the lips, I’m surprised by the swell of emotion. With a finger, I dab at the tear that’s threatening to spill over my lashes and swallow the rest.

A strong hand slips around my waist, and I look over my shoulder at Blake. “You okay?” he whispers in my ear.

I lean into him and press my forehead against his cheek.

He pulls me tighter and I get lost for a second in the feel of him before I remember my parents are watching. When I look at them, Greg is giving Blake the skeptic’s eye.

“So, where did you two meet?” he asks.

I open my mouth, but Blake cuts off anything I was going to say with a squeeze of my waist. “I met Sam when I was on special assignment, and I knew I needed her in my life.”

My heart pounds, and all I can do is stare at him.

“What’s confusing me here,” Greg says, the creases around his eyes deepening, “is that her cell phone is disabled, and she’s vanished off the face of the planet as far as her family and friends are concerned, and yet you two show up here looking like peas in a pod.”

Blake releases me and I’m suddenly cold. “We met before everything started,” I tell Greg.

“What the hell is ‘everything,’ Sam?” he demands through clenched teeth as Mom clings to his arm. “What’s going on?”

Before I can even respond, Blake is ushering my stepfather toward the exit with a hand on his elbow.

Mom stares after them, alarmed. She starts to follow, but I reach for her hand. “It’s okay, Mom. Just please don’t ask anything that I can’t answer. I really want to be able to stay here for a little while.”

She reaches up and holds my chin in her hand. “You’d tell me if you were in trouble.”