It looks out onto the backyard and somehow always feels warm.
Whitney turns from where she’s tending to something on the stove. “Hey, girls,” she says as she twists around, her gaze catching on Arlo. “And, Arlo. Nice to see you all.”
“Happy birthday, again,” I tell her, extending the bouquet.
“Oh my goodness, you shouldn’t have. These are beautiful.” She takes them, burying her nose among the blooms. “Arlo, I hope you’re a fan of chicken Marsala. It’s one of Olivia’s favorites.” She hugs me as she tells him this. It’s a proud mom hug—like she’s doing this for me, which makes me feel both guilty and agitated. She proceeds to hug Rose and Arlo and then moves to the cabinet where she keeps empty vases and starts filling it with water.
“Chicken Marsala should be everyone’s favorite,” Arlo says, bestowing her with a smile I have no doubt has gotten him out of missed homework assignments, traffic tickets, and straight into women’s pants. The universe wasn’t playing fair with Arlo. With his muscular frame and long sooty lashes and perfect hair and more perfect smile, most women don’t stand a chance. Add in his slight Jersey accent, and girls are tripping over themselves instantly. Whitney is no exception, but she recovers well by turning her back, so she’s not blinded by his charms.
“Can I get you guys something to drink?” she asks.
“I’ll get the drinks,” Dad offers. “We have practically anything you can think of. Water, lemonade, flavored lemonade, tea, coffee, iced coffee, juice,” he looks through the fridge, shifting things as he lists off a few more drinks.
“I would love a club soda with ice,” Rose says.
“Would you like lime in it?” he asks, knowing her drink.
She smiles. “If you have some, and it’s not too much work.”
“I’ll have one, too,” Ross says, smiling as he looks at Rose. He’s been giving her googly eyes for years.
“You won’t like it, honey,” Whitney says.
But Ross either doesn’t hear her or doesn’t bother with a response.
“Arlo? Olive Oyl?” Dad asks, looking over his shoulder.
“Do you have more of the cold vanilla latte drink?” I ask.
“Just bought some,” Whitney says, moving behind Dad so she can point it out to him.
“I’ll have that, please.”
“I will, too. Thanks, Coach.”
Dad fills two glasses with the chilled coffee. “So, you and Olive Oyl are hanging out, huh?”
“We’re friends. I told you this.”
“Sure, but everyone who attends the same college is friends,” he says.
“Are they? Is that like a Seattle rule or a college rule? Because I was not made aware of this.” I tell him.
“I’ve known Arlo for a couple of years,” Rose interjects. “We worked on a class project together last month, and I brought him into the fold. He started hanging out more after finding Juliet.”
“Juliet?” Whitney and Dad ask at the same time.
Rose nods, accepting her glass of club soda and lime from Dad. “Our cat.”
“You have a cat?” Dad asks. “Since when?”
“We’re like a foster home until we find the family who lost her,” I explain.
“She’s been with us for a month now. She’s ours.” Rose flashes a smile from her arsenal.
“I want a cat,” Ross says.
Whitney shakes her head. “We just got a dog.”
“So?” He demands.
“You don’t pay attention to the dog. We’re not getting a cat,” Dad adds before turning his attention back to me. “I didn’t know you guys were allowed to have a cat.” What he’s really saying is: he knows we’re not allowed to have a cat or any animal for that matter.
“Well, it’s nice you guys have become friends,” Whitney says when the silence lingers.
Dad passes out the remaining glasses. “I heard you were almost late to class today,” he says, finishing with me.
I shake my head. “Almost is not the same as being.”
Whitney laughs. “This is true.”
“You know manners matter to your professors, especially Professor Loughton. You need to make sure you’re getting there early, not on time.”
“I have the highest grade in the class. He could afford to cut me a little slack.”
“He’s trying to prepare you for the real world. No one’s going to cut you slack in the real world, regardless of how good you might have been.” He studies me then glances at Arlo. My stomach twists painfully, thinking about his conversation regarding his scholarship.
“It seems crazy that someone would be willing to cut off their nose to spite their face. If you have a great thing, why do people constantly look for something better?”