“Huh? No, I love it. Seriously. It’s delicious,” I answer my dad, trying to sound normal as I pick up my spoon. “I had a weird day, is all.”
I push Porter out of my mind. Eat my soup. Concentrate on watching seagulls soaring around the shore. ?en I hear my dad tell Wanda in a salacious voice, “She had a date today.”
“O-oh,” Wanda says, mouth curving into a smile.
“Dad, jeez.”
“Well, you didn’t tell me how it went. What was his name? Patrick?”
“If you must know, it went like this,” I say, giving a thumbs-down sign and blowing a big, fat raspberry. “Turns out your daughter gets a failing grade in relationship chemistry, because, funny thing, but Patrick is gay.”
Wanda makes a pained face. “And he didn’t tell you before?”
“Not his fault,” I say. “I guess I just made some wrong assumptions.”
Dad grits his teeth and looks several shades of uncomfortable. He has no idea what to tell me. “Oh, honey. I’m … sorry?”
I shake my head. “Like you always say, never assume.”
“Makes an ass out of ‘me’ and ‘u,’ ” he nishes, quoting one of his favorite goofy word games. After a moment, he loosens up and drapes an arm around my back. “I’m truly sorry, kiddo. It wasn’t meant to be, but don’t let it get you down. ?is town is lousy with cute boys.”
Wanda smiles to herself.
“Gee, Dad. I can’t believe you just said that in front of your girlfriend,” I say in a stage whisper, letting my head fall on his shoulder.
“Me either,” he admits, rubbing my back. “Being a parent is weird.”
Wanda wipes her mouth with a napkin, nodding her head. “So true. My baby is two years older than you, Bailey. And he’s just gone through a crazy breakup.”
“Wait, you have a son?”
She nods. “Been divorced for ve years. He’s nineteen. Went to a year of community college, and now he’s taking summer classes at your dad’s alma mater, Cal Poly. Electrical engineering. He’s a smart kid.”
As she’s telling me more about her son, I dig into my stew, wondering if I’ll ever meet this guy. What if my dad remarries? Will I have a stepbrother? ?at’s bizarre to think about. ?en again, Wanda seems pretty cool, and the way she’s talking about Anthony—that’s her son—you’d think he was the most awesome guy on the planet. Besides, my dad’s like me: He doesn’t make rash decisions. I can’t picture him rushing headlong into another marriage, not like Mom—who still hasn’t called, just for the record. Not that I’m counting the days or anything, crying my eyes out for her like a ten-year-old kid who’s been shipped off to summer camp and misses Mommy.
But still. One call? One e-mail?
If she thinks I’m calling rst, she can think again. I’m not supposed to be the adult here.
When I’m done eating, I get up from the table and grab my phone out of my purse, which is stashed in the seat of Baby; I drove and met Dad and Wanda here. On my way back to the table, I notice that some of the distant surfers have stripped out of their wet suits. ?ey’ve stuck their boards in the sand, propped them up like gravestones, and are trudging to the posole truck. My pulse leaps as I scan the three boys for Porter’s face. I don’t
nd it, but I do spot someone else limping across the beach:
Davy.
Crud.
I don’t really want to see him again, especially not while I’m with my dad. Unfortunately, no matter how low I duck as I sit back down next to my father, it’s not low enough to escape his hazy gaze.
“Look who it is, little miss thing,” he says in a rough voice. “Cowgirl. You work with Porter at the Cave.”
I raise my hand a couple of inches off the table in a weak wave and lift my chin.
“Davy,” he says, pointing at his chest, which is, as always, naked—even when the other two surfers are clothed. He’s shivering. Put a damn shirt on, dude. “Porter’s friend, remember?”
“Hey,” I say, because it would be weird not to. But why did he have to mention Porter?
“Is that your Vespa?” he asks. “Sweet ride. Looks legit. Has it been restored?”
