52 Reasons to Hate My Father (21 page)

THE PURSUIT OF AWESOMENESS

After pressing send on Luke’s latest video update, I start the engine of Morty’s delivery van and head back to the flower shop. As anxious as I am to move on to the next job and keep plugging away, I’m actually kind of sad that this is my last day here. I really
did
have a good time.

Ever since I left Rolando’s apartment a few weeks ago, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what he said on the curb that night. About expectations.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right.

I’ve spent the last eighteen years living up to everyone’s bottom-of-the-barrel expectations of me. For as long as I can remember people have thought of me as nothing but a failure. A spoiled-brat princess with no values and zero work ethic. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve been doing nothing but proving them right.

All this time I thought the only way to get back at my father for putting me through this hell was to sulk and throw temper tantrums and complain about how miserable I am. How unfortunate my lot in life is. How unfairly I’ve been treated.

But you know what? That’s exactly what everyone expects me to do—my father, Bruce, even Luke. And that’s probably because it’s exactly what I’ve always done.

And where has it gotten me?

Nowhere.

I realized that if I truly do want to get back at my father I have to do exactly what Rolando said. I have to succeed with flying colors. For once in my life, I have to prove them
wrong
, rather than right.

I have to be
awesome
.

So that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do. And it turns out it’s actually a lot easier than I thought. I’m better at some of these jobs than I would have ever imagined I could be. I guess I was so busy whining about doing them that I never gave myself the opportunity to figure out
how
to do them.

“I enjoyed your last status report,” Luke says when he picks me up later that afternoon.

“Thanks,” I say, smiling to myself. “I thought you might.”

I buckle my seat belt and prepare myself for the drive but Luke doesn’t move. He fidgets awkwardly with the end of his tie, looking like he wants to say something else but is having trouble getting it out.

“Is that all?” I prompt.

“Actually, no.”

I turn and face him. “Okay. What? Is it about Morty? He hasn’t called you yet with my final progress report because he’s trying to fill a huge order for tomorrow. He said he’d call first thing in the morning.”

“No, no,” Luke says quickly. “It’s not about work.”

This makes me laugh. “Not about work? Since when do you
ever
not talk about work?”

“I know,” he admits sheepishly.

“What’s it about then?”

He contorts his mouth uncomfortably and looks away. “Actually it’s about clothes.”

“Clothes?” I spit back in disbelief. “You want to talk to me about
clothes
?”

Now he looks even more uncomfortable than before. “Well, remember the engagement party?”

“And you looked like you were showing up for a round of golf? Yeah.”

“Exactly,” he replies. “You told me the next time I needed help picking something out, I should call you.”

My grin widens and I touch my hand to my heart. “Oh, Luke,” I tease. “You want me to
dress
you? I’m so flattered.”

His face starts to turn several shades of red. “Well … sort of … I mean, I have something in mind but…” He’s all over the place now, barely even able to form a complete sentence. Very
un
Luke-like.

I decide to put him out of his misery. “Where and when are you going?” I ask authoritatively, stepping in and taking control of the situation.

He breathes a sigh of relief. “To a gallery opening. In Silver Lake. It’s tonight.”

“Who’s the artist?”

“Some new kid from Brazil that everyone is talking about. My friend knows him and asked if I wanted to come.”

“Okay,” I sum up. “Silver Lake. Gallery opening. Hot new artist. I think I’ve got the picture.”

“So what happens now?” Luke asks, looking awkward again.

“What do you think happens now? We go to Rodeo, of course!”

“Shouldn’t we go to my apartment first so you can see what I already have?”

I shake my head and flash him a patronizing smile. It’s nice to be on the other end of one for once. “Oh, Luke, Luke,” I say condescendingly. “I can
guarantee
you don’t have anything of use in your closet.”

UNDERNEATH IT ALL

When Luke steps out of the dressing room it’s like he’s a different person. The contrast is so startling, I almost feel inclined to peek my head around the curtain and check that he didn’t leave the other version of himself in a lifeless heap in the corner.

He’s wearing the vintage Diesel narrow-leg jeans I picked out for him along with the yellow graphic tee and white sports coat. Even though I’m the one who selected the outfit, I barely recognize him. In the more than three months that I’ve known him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear
anything
but a boring corporate suit. And that disaster he showed up in at my father’s engagement party.

Right now he actually looks
normal
.

No. More than normal. He even looks kind of
hot
. I mean, the
clothes
look hot. On him.

I let out a low whistle and give him an encouraging nod. “Now
that’s
much better.” I spin my finger in the air, commanding him to twirl.

He gives me a bashful grin and does a full rotation.

I tilt my head to the side and study the outfit. “Actually,” I say, my smile falling into a frown, “the T-shirt is wrong. Hold it right there.”

I scamper back to the rack where we found the graphic tee. I locate a dark hunter-green version of the same one and bring it back to the dressing room. “Here,” I say, sliding the shirt from the hanger, “try this one instead.”

He shrugs off the jacket, lays it carefully to the side, and then starts to pull the yellow T-shirt up over his head.

“Uh … maybe you should…” I start to suggest that perhaps he should do that in the dressing room. That is, after all, the
name
of the room. But before I can get the full sentence out, the shirt is off and Luke’s bare chest is staring me right in the face. And the sight of it dries up every last drop of saliva in my mouth.

Um,
hello
? Can someone say
ripped
? Where on earth did those pecs come from? And abs too? Don’t tell me he’s been hiding those under that stuffy suit this
entire
time. What a complete and utter waste!

And where does he find the time to tan? He looks like he’s been spending the summer at the beach or something. Not cooped up in a tiny cubicle at my father’s office. Or driving me to and from random job assignments.

I would tell myself to close my mouth but my brain is not really communicating with my body properly. Because if it were, I’d be able to command my eyes to look away. But that’s
so
not happening.

“Lexi,” I hear a voice say from far away. It takes me a few moments to realize it’s Luke who’s talking to me. I mean, I assume it’s him. There’s no one else around. But it’s not like I’m going to risk glancing away from his chest just to check that his lips are moving.

“Lexi,”
he repeats again. This time a bit louder. “The shirt?”

“Huh?” I blink and quickly realize that I’m still holding the green shirt that he’s supposed to be trying on. I glance down at my hand and realize that the shirt is now totally crumpled from being clutched between my fingers.

“Oh,” I say, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands. “This one is wrinkled. I’ll get you a new one.”

“Where’s that wrinkle-resistant clothing you suggested in your status report, huh?”

“Yeah,” I call back with a nervous laugh as I stumble to the rack to fetch a fresh shirt.

When I return, I reluctantly hand it over and watch as he slides it over his body and replaces the white jacket.

He turns and faces the three-way mirror, pulling the lapels down.

“Better?” he asks.

No,
I want to say.
It most certainly is
not
better.
But I manage to hide my disappointment with a forced smile and mumble, “Yeah, much better. That color makes your eyes pop.”

He nods his approval into the mirror. “Okay, cool. I’ll take it.” Then he turns to me and grins. “Thanks. You’re a rock star.”

Luke returns to the dressing room to grab his suit and I wander up to the counter to check out a display of sunglasses. I pick out the perfect pair to complement his new outfit and place them on the counter. Luke reappears a few moments later, still in his outfit, and asks the salesgirl if he can wear the clothes out of the store.

“Of course!” she says with a bubbly little bounce as she grabs a pair of scissors and proceeds to cut the tags off so she can ring them up.

I slide the sunglasses forward. “He’ll take these as well.”

Luke raises one eyebrow at me. “Sunglasses?” he questions. “At night?”

“Trust me.”

He holds up his hands. “You’re the boss.”

I laugh. “At least until Monday morning, right?”

Luke pulls out his wallet to pay for his new wares right as my cell phone beeps. I check the screen to find a text message from Morty, the owner of the flower shop.

“Oh,” I say, somewhat surprised. “Morty just texted me. His evening driver didn’t show up and he has a few more deliveries that need to be made. Would you mind dropping me back there? I can call Kingston for a ride home when I’m done.”

Luke signs his credit card receipt. “Of course not. In fact, I’ll go with you.”

I give him a skeptical look. “To deliver flowers?”

He shrugs. “Sure, why not.”

I nod toward his trendy ensemble. “What about your gallery opening?”

The salesgirl folds his suit and places it in a shopping bag. He takes it from her and glances at his watch. “I don’t have to be there for another two hours. Besides, after that inspiring status report of yours today, how could I pass up an opportunity to see what all the fuss is about?”

“Well,” I say with a lighthearted chuckle, “
those
are three words I never thought I’d hear in the same sentence.”

Luke’s forehead crumples. “What?”

“Inspiring status report.”

DISCONNECTED

For the next hour and a half Luke and I circle the west side, delivering delightful gifts to unsuspecting people. There’s Beatrice in Beverly Hills whose husband is sorry about missing dinner the night before. Margaret in Santa Monica turned eighty and her grandson, who’s away at college, sent a vase of beautiful white calla lilies (her favorite flower). The Carson family just moved into their gorgeous new home in Cheviot Hills and were welcomed to the neighborhood by the homeowners’ association. And my favorite delivery of the night is twelve-year-old Nessa in Culver City who received a dozen red roses from a secret admirer. Seeing that girl’s face light up when she read the card was like seeing the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree light up in November.

I watch Luke’s reactions carefully throughout the evening. I can tell he’s completely enjoying himself. There’s really no way
not
to enjoy a job like this. The look on someone’s face when they open their front door and see you standing there with that bouquet of flowers in your hand is an instant mood shifter.

Like a drug.

And it has to be because Luke and I have never gone this long without saying something nasty to each other. In fact, we spend most of the evening laughing. Only a mood-altering substance could do something like that—turn mortal enemies into giggling allies.

When all the orders have been delivered, apart from one whose recipient wasn’t home, we climb into the cab of Morty’s van and head back to the flower shop.

“I want to tell you something,” Luke says as I turn onto Washington Boulevard and head toward the freeway, “but I’m afraid it’s going to come out wrong.”

I give him a sideways glance. “Luke, I just saw you shirtless. Spit it out.”

He laughs. “Okay.” He takes a breath. “I wanted to say that I’m proud of you.”

I give him a strange look. “For what?”

“For learning how to make the most of what you’re doing. When we first started working together, you were exactly how I expected you to be.”

“And how exactly did you expect me to be?” I ask coyly.

He teeters his head from side to side. “You know … spoiled, ungrateful, bitchy…”

“The usual?” I confirm with a smirk.

He laughs. “Yeah, I guess. I mean when your father told me what he wanted me to do—that he wanted me to be your … well, let’s face it,
babysitter
, I was completely skeptical about the whole thing. But I wanted to work for your father so badly that I agreed. I honestly didn’t know how I’d be able to put up with you for a whole year. After everything I’d read about you in the tabloids and seen on TV, I was sure I’d quit after one week. Or at least
you
would.”

“Thanks, Luke,” I say mockingly. “I’m flattered really.”

“But,” he says, holding up one finger, “you’ve genuinely surprised me in the last few weeks. It’s like you’ve managed to find the fun in what you’re being asked to do. The silver lining or something.”

I think about Rolando’s father and what he said over dinner about this very subject and I can’t stop the grin from spreading across my face. “Or something.”

“Anyway, I’m impressed. That’s all.”

My grin widens. “Well, thanks, Luke,” I reply playfully, pulling into the parking lot of Morty’s and killing the engine. I turn to face him. “You’ve impressed me too.”

He flashes me a curious look. “Oh really, how so?”

“Well, for one, I never expected you to have abs like that.”

He busts out laughing. The van is dark inside so I can’t exactly see the color of his face but I’m pretty sure it’s turned a bright shade of crimson again.