Populazzi - By Elise Allen Page 0,111

and he might have been a far better husband, father, and person if his parents hadn't been so cruel.

"May I ask who's calling?" the secretary asked.

"Sure. It's his daughter, Cara."

"His ... daughter?" She was clearly unaware that Leonard Leonard even had a daughter. Nice.

"Just a minute," she said. "I'll see what I can do."

To his credit, my dad picked up the phone right away and managed to sound like he was happy to hear from me.

"Cara! Hey! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I sifted through his tone for snarkiness but found none, so I gave him the story Trista had worked out for me. It sounded disingenuous to me, but she knew what people needed to hear, so I went with it. I said now that I was almost a senior, I'd been thinking a lot about what came next—college, probably moving away—and before it happened I wanted to try to make things better between us.

Dad got weepy. I didn't feel any sense of accomplishment about it this time, just awe that Trista's skills were so well honed. Dad assumed I'd want to meet on neutral ground, but I said no, the house was fine.

"Even if Lisa and the boys will be there?" he asked.

I choked back gagging noises and painted a smile on my face, even though I was on the phone. "Sure! I'd love to see them."

A couple days later, on the first day of spring break, Trista and I drove to my dad's house. She seemed pleased when we pulled into his driveway. "Very nice. This could work for you."

The house was nowhere near as vast as Trista's, but it was big and it was impressive. Dad and Lisa had worked with an architect to design it from the ground up, so it was a modern marvel of skylights, angles, and gables. Trista led the way to the front door and rang the bell.

I knew I was doing this for a greater purpose, but I still felt very weird being there. I was glad Trista was with me—she'd make it easier. I had a feeling I could hang back and let her do all the talking and everything would be perfect.

Dad opened the door and seemed shocked to find a supermodel on his doorstep when he'd been expecting his daughter.

"Hi," Trista said.

"Well, hello," Dad replied, and I saw a flirtatious twinkle in his eye that made me nauseous. I leaned in close to Trista.

"Hey, Dad! Sorry, I should have told you I was bringing my friend."

"Oh!" He quickly rearranged his body language from provocative to paternal, then gave me a hug. He turned to Trista. "You must be Claudia, right?"

I doubled over laughing. Both Dad and Trista looked at me like I was a mental patient, but I couldn't help it. Eventually I pulled myself together.

"Sorry. No. This is Trista Camello. From my new school, Chrysella. Trista, this is my dad."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Leonard," she said.

"Call me Lenny."

I waited for it.

Nothing. Trista didn't even flinch. Was she just being polite, or had she really not caught the Leonard Leonard thing?

"Can I get you girls something?" my dad asked. "A soda maybe? A snack?"

"A little water would be great, thanks," Trista said, and as we followed Dad into the kitchen, she leaned close to my ear. "Your dad's cute," she whispered.

"Ew. Stop. He is not."

Though I guess he was, in a gross-even-if-I-never-see-him-he's-still-my-dad-so-shut-up kind of way. I mean, he was forty-two, which wasn't that old, and he was in good shape. I got my curls from him, though he wore them close-cropped and darker. And I supposed it was attractive that he usually had a big smile on his face. You know, when I wasn't making him cry. But still ... his name was Leonard Leonard. And he was my dad.

"Where are Lisa and the boys?" I asked as if I cared.

"They went out. Spring break—Lisa took them to the park."

That's what he said, but the obvious truth was that the Bar Wench had jumped ship so she wouldn't have to face me. Given that I had zero desire to see her, it made no sense that I'd feel hurt by this—but I kind of did.

Trista had finished her water now and looked around the kitchen. "Your house is beautiful," she told my dad. "Is it true you and Lisa designed it yourselves?"

Dad looked surprised—and a little proud?—that I had clearly shared this information with Trista. "Yeah, we did. A long time ago, but ...

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