Finn was a mistake… a stupid, foolish mistake. And just to prove it, I was going to erase all traces of him forever. Pulling my phone out, I brought up his contact and clicked the edit screen. My finger hovered over thedelete contactbutton and – surprise number two of the day – I hesitated. Huh? Picking that man up was possibly the worst decision I’d ever made in my entire life, and I washesitating? What the hell was wrong with me? I was not a hesitater. Firm, swift, decision-making was myspecialty.
Quinn came barreling into the room with Keith onhistail.
“What in the hell?” my father exclaimed, as he deftly jumped out oftheway.
Used to such childish antics between my brothers, I simply lifted my legs up to let them pass without ever taking my eyes off my cell phonescreen.
“I will beat the shit out of you,” Keith promised, as he kept up his pursuit. I didn’t know, nor did I care, what Quinn had done to earn his ire, but I was certain he was the instigator. Like Kyle, Quinn had a mischievous streak in him, and he reveled in pushing his older brother’s buttons. The two were out the door only a few seconds afterentering.
We had an entire floor of the moderately sized hotel. The festival organizers had set Jake and his team up with rooms and had thrown in the extra ones for his family as an added bonus. I arrived before the others and had a good hour of peace and quiet before the storm. Because security was manning the exits to keep overzealous fans from gaining access to the top floor, our group was free to wander the halls undisturbed… or in my brothers’ case, racing down them. It was an open-door policy, really. If a door was open, expect people to walk through it. Mine, of course, wasfirmlyshut.
I’d taken up residence for the time being in my parents’ room, and it was a busy place to be. Mom had baked cupcakes out of a box and frosted them with the icing in the plastic tubs, and you would have thought she was Betty Crocker herself. At this very moment we had three crew and two drivers chowing down. The overzealous groans of delight were reason enough to stay put on the couch. Mom had played baker for Jake’s band and crew many times before, and she never tired of the adoration lavished on her for her boxed culinary creations. This weekend’s crew was much smaller than the usual number Jake traveled with on tours, as the festival provided many of the personnel needed to make the show a success; still, even the reduced contingent of team members numbered in the twenties. And some of these guys had been with Jake for so long they really did feel likefamily.
“Hi, Emma.” The greeting came from one of the sound engineers who’d just enteredtheroom.
“Hi,Tucker.”
“Lookin’ fine, asusual.”
“Thank you. You’re not too badyourself.”
“Well, you know, I work hard on my body,” he said, jiggling his belly fat for me toadmire.
“I canseethat.”
“Are you still single?” Tucker never tired of asking that question. Every. Single. Time. We. Met. “’Cuz I’m currently available, although I can’t promise for how muchlonger.”
Grinning, I took in Tucker’s bushy black hair and fluffy biker-gang beard. He was maybe fifteen years my senior, and for some unknown reason, the man was always ‘currentlyavailable.’
“You know I’m just waiting on your proposal,” Iteased.
“Right. Of course. But first I have to ask your father for your hand inmarriage.”
I pointed at my dad. “Haveatit.”
“Sir, I was…” Tucker grinnedroguishly.
“No.” Dad cut him off immediately, amusement playing out over his face. He loved this part of theritual.
“ButI…”
“No.”
Tucker shrugged, shoved another cupcake in his mouth, and said through the crumbling cake, “Well, Itried.”
“Better luck next time. I’ll bewaiting.”
This same routine had been going on for years. I cringed to think how much longer my dad would say no before he’d give up on my finding a husband on my own and just marry me off to Tucker and all his bushy-bearded, beer-belliedmagnetism.
I didn’t have to look at my parents to know they were exchanging that knowing glance. You know, the well-meaning, worried one parents adopted when they didn’t think we were looking. It was obvious my life displeased them. I had to assume it was because they viewed my apathy toward love and marriage as a bad thing. My seeming lack of interest in the opposite sex, or any sex for that matter, must have kept them up at night. My mother had even broached the whole topic of whether I was lesbian or not with a sympathetic, “You know we’ll love you no matter what” speech. Any discussions about my lack of a love life was always followed by “We just want you to be happy,” as if it were physically impossible to be happy without apartner.
Contrary to how my parents obviously viewed me, I was not a virgin; although I guess you could say I played one on TV. Or, more to the point, I played one for my clueless family. It just seemed easier for them to think I was some old barren maiden doomed to a life of loneliness than to explain to them the many, many hang-ups I had with love and marriage. I even got my kitty Cynthia last year to throw them off course and drive home the perception that I was indeed starting down that slippery slope of cat ownership. In reality, I was no goody-goody. I’d been having the occasional romp since freshman year in college. But I’d kept my sex life far removed from my family because I knew they would not approve of my ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ lifestyleapproach.
I came from a traditional lot who believed in the whole happily ever after; never mind that a good chunk of my life had been spent inside a dark fairy tale. Yes, there were times that I longed to find someone to grow old with, but what was the point? Unless he shared my very jaded view on children, there could be no future. Eventually the guy would tire of waiting for me to get a handle on my insecurities and find a less complicated woman. The guys I slept with were simpletons, caring only about where their next score would come from. They weren’t looking for love or marriage, and if god forbid a kid were to pop out nine months after one of our trysts, well, the baby mama wouldn’t have to worry about sharedcustody.
Quinn madeanother pass through the room, but Keith was no longer chasing him. Either Keith had gotten what he wanted or he was just too out of shape to keep up with Quinn’s teenaged exuberance. I caught him as he tried to get around my outstretched legs and pulled him to me, trapping him in myembrace.
“Are you serious?” He squirmed. “I’mnotfive.”
