Love Storm (45 page)

My mom gasped. "They aren't 'flowers or
whatever
,'" she exclaimed.

"Okay, okay," I said, "Your gardenias, or –" I stopped myself just in time. "Sorry," I whispered.

"
Anyway
," my mom said, though annoyed that I had insulted her flowers, hiding a smile. I could tell she was trying to hide it because her brown eyes were sparkling just the teeniest bit. "I invited her and her family over for dinner, as a way of thanking her, and I totally forgot until about two minutes ago."

"Okay," I said slowly. "And…?"

"And it's today, and basically they have six people in their family, a grand total of
four boys
, and I need your help because I can't possibly feed four boys with the amount of groceries I have at home right now! So I have a list for you." She handed me a slip of paper. "Go to Safeway and buy all that stuff. Here's forty dollars." She handed that to me, and got up. "Take my car. The keys are on the table in the foyer. Hurry."

I scowled at her retreating back, foul mood in place again. My short stage of unhappiness had turned into anger. Not a "please" or "thank you" anywhere in sight. Most parents wanted to put off letting their child attain their driver's licenses, but no, here was my mom, using the fact that I could drive to her utmost advantage. I did
not
fail my driver's test three times so I could make little trips to Safeway for groceries, thank you very much.

Why was I in such a bad mood in the first place anyway?

…Oh, right. Okay. Well.

I sighed. A trip to Safeway was in order, I guessed. Maybe if I spent the money right, I could stretch it and buy an ice cream bar to eat on the way home. My mom would have an absolute fit if I were to spoil my appetite right before company was coming over. She would have an even bigger fit if she knew that I had had ice cream in
her
car, risking ruining her leather interior. If I was lucky she might even have a heart attack, healthy as she was, if I took as long as I could to bring the groceries home, taking the long way back from Safeway.

I smiled at the thought.

xxxxx

"Put on something nice!" My mom yelled up the stairs.

"I don't know what constitutes as
nice
!" I shouted back, looking through my closet, nodding my head to the Yellowcard CD I had playing on my computer. It was the music that we were shouting over. I was in a slightly better mood because of the sugar high from the ice cream, and the fact that I
had
eaten it in her car and
had
taken the long way home. And my mother hadn't even noticed. She had been too busy working pots and pans in the kitchen. I smirked to myself. How very sad. Here I was, getting my kicks from performing microscopic acts of rebellion. I shook my head slightly, laughing to myself as I found my favorite pair of jeans, the old ones with the threat of an oncoming rip in one knee. I gazed at the worn spot sadly.

"A skirt, or something! A nice blouse! Preferably with a collar! Maybe the one I bought from J. Crew last time! You can borrow it," she bellowed. "And turn down that music!"

"WHAT?!" I shrieked. "I'm not wearing a
skirt
and a
blouse
! Especially not
that
blouse!"

"A nice sweater,
at least
, then!"

"JEANS and a T-SHIRT okay?" I hollered.

"
NO!!!
Winter Bruin, if you come down these stairs into the kitchen wearing jeans and a t-shirt I will personally detain your driver's license!"

"Yeesh," I muttered to myself, "No need to get all pissy. Just having a nice, straight forward shouting match." I smirked. "
Alright
," I yelled back. "Fine. Jeans and a blouse it is!"

"NO JEANS!" she screamed.

"MY NICEST JEANS! They're not even ripped at the pant cuff!" Man this was fun. I chuckled to myself as I picked out a plain white beater and paired it with my "nice" jeans, admiring the effect.

"
NO!
"

"FINE! A skirt and a t-shirt!" I smiled to myself. It sure was fun to get people all riled up like this just for the hell of it. I hummed along to "Empty Apartment" under my breath.

"
WINTER BRUIN!
" she screeched. "Give me the answer I want, or so help me God, I will be up in your room in three seconds flat and
I will pick out your outfit for you!
"

I paused, then turned off the Yellowcard. Silence ensued.

"Mom?"

"What."

"You just used God in your –"

"I know, couldn't help it. They use it in the movies. Was it effective?"

I grinned. "Skirt and blouse it is, mom," I called down to her. "
And
the music's off. What a nice daughter I am." Picking up the tune again, I started humming and sauntered into the bathroom for a shower.

xxxxx

"Door, door! Someone get the door!" my dad was shouting.

"I'm busy in the kitchen, can you get it, Michael?" my mother yelled back.

"I'm changing, for goodness sakes, Fiona!"

"WINTER!" they both called out at the same time. Damn that freaky parental telepathy.

"Yes?" I called back, sweetly.

"Door!" they yelled exasperatedly.

"Now!" my mom added on for good measure.

"Gee, I'm not stupid," I grumbled, getting up from my spot on the couch, where I had been reading Eric van Lustbader's
The Bourne Legacy
. Jason Bourne, helped by his long lost son Joshua, had been in the middle of a crisis, trying to thwart the evil maniac Stepan Spalko's plan to kill the President of the United States with a deadly biological weapon in the form of a virus, and here were my parents, asking me to do something as civilian and utterly insignificant as opening a door for stupid Mrs. Farragut and her family so they could come to dinner? Wait. Mrs. Farragut? Was that her name? It couldn't have been. In any event, Mrs. Farr-something-or-other.

Still grumbling, I went to answer the door, smoothing down the front of my skirt as I walked. I had changed into a knee-length white linen skirt that had some pretty cobalt flowers embroidered at the hem and a light blue
blouse
, or so my mom called it. It was just one of those collared, cuffed, button-down formal shirts that are modeled after men's formal shirts. To spite my mother, I had unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled them up to my elbows.

Skirt, blouse, and
The Bourne Legacy
in one hand, I answered the door.

"Hello," I said with a cheeriness and brightness I didn't feel. In front of me stood a six-person family, and the mother was smiling very nicely at me. Suddenly I felt very, very short. And I'm not even really
that
short. I'm 5'5". Honestly. That's not short. But this family was
tall
. Every single last one of them. I had to look
up
to talk to the mother. "Come on in, Mrs. – ah, Mrs. –"

Oooooh
, holy crap-o-moly. I didn't know her name! I started panicking, smile frozen in place. "Mrs., uh…F-Farr–"
–something-or-other
, I thought desperately.

Just then I looked behind her to her four boys. And what did I see? Lo and behold…

One of her sons was Ian Farrington. Ian Farrington, as in
the
Ian Farrington, Gavin's bestest buddy in the whole world, cocky and arrogant and popular beyond belief, sure to be future Prom King Ian Farrington. The one who had asked me to Morp. The one who supposedly liked me. The one was royally pissed off because I had rejected him. I groaned inwardly. What a
fun
dinner this was going to be.

"Mrs. Farrington, it's nice to see you again," I said automatically, not embarrassed by the weird look her youngest son sent me. Stupid little boy. I gave him a discreet glare, which someone – Ian, or Mr. Farrington, I didn't know who – had caught; I heard a low chuckling. I made a mental note to convince my mom to flunk mini-Ian later on after they had left.

"And it's a pleasure to see you again as well, Winter," Mrs. Farrington said graciously as I stepped aside and held the door for the six of them to troop in. Her voice was melodic and pleasing to the ear.

"Uhm…my mom is still in the kitchen," I said uncomfortably. "You all can…sit down, if you like." I gestured toward the living room couches.

"Thank you, Winter," she said in reply.

When Ian passed by me, he scowled lightly. His father came in after him. Though taller than me by a long shot (I am
not
resentful), he seemed like a pleasant man – he was tall, and handsome; all of his boys looked just like him. And he had a nice smile. I thought he was the last one in, but one more person followed him. At first I figured it would be a younger son, hiding behind his dad, but I was in for another surprise.

Following Mr. Farrington, Gavin walked into my house.

I stood there, still holding the door open, gaping at him.

"You – you – why are you –" I spluttered inarticulately.

"Shocked much, darling?" he whispered as the rest of his "family" was looking around my living room interestedly. "My, you're looking quite pretty tonight." His dark green eyes sparkled mischievously.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed. "You're not –"

"Part of the Farrington household? But I am." Gavin looked pleased at the stunned expression on my face.

"Explain yourself later," I muttered, shaking my head, but grinning slightly. "You are just full of surprises, aren't you, Gav." It wasn't much of a question.

He laughed lightly and joined Ian at the other side of the room, near the fireplace that we never used. They were looking at the pictures on top of it. Gavin pointed one out to Ian, said something under his breath, and they shared a secret smile. I knew it well; it was the kind of secret smile that only passes between the best of friends. I furrowed my brow, returning Mrs. Farrington's pleasantries automatically as I pondered over this development. Were they brothers? Not possible. Gavin didn't look remotely like anyone in Ian's family. Half-brothers? Adopted? Dropped off on earth by aliens and taken in? Of course it had to be the last, I decided with a private grin.

"How have you been lately, Winter?" Mrs. Farrington asked warmly. My gaze wandered for a split second, over to her two middle children, who were sitting on the couch and looking at the magazines my mom had there.

"I'm just fine, Mrs. Farrington," I said politely, with a smile. "And you?"

"Quite well," she said. "Have you met my husband? I don't believe you have. Harrison, this is Winter. Winter, this is my husband Harrison."

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Harrison," I said, accepting his outstretched hand with surprise. I was pleased that he treated me like an adult. It was large and warm, and his grip was strong.

"And it's very nice to meet you, Miss Winter," he grinned.

I returned the grin. My instincts had been right on with this man.

"Children, come here. Don't wander off," Mrs. Farrington called to her boys. "We haven't had introductions yet."

The four of them grudgingly made their ways back. "All of you, this is Winter. Bruin," she added on my surname as an afterthought, though unnecessary. "Winter, this is Isaac –" She touched her youngest on the shoulder. He was the one that was my mother's student. "He's in fifth grade, but you knew that. And this is Isaiah." Her middle child; looked to be in 8th grade or so. "Ian," she said, gesturing towards her oldest, "And Gavin."

I nodded. "I know Ian and Gavin," I said, because there was simply nothing else to say.

"Oh, you do?" Mrs. Farrington's light grey eyes registered surprise. "You go to Branner High?"

"Yes," I said. "We're in the same grade. All three of us," I added on.

Ian didn't meet my gaze, but Gavin, who was behind everyone else, sent me an impish grin.

Ooookay. Now what? Uncomfortable silence… Ho hum. Oh, drat it. Where was my mom when I needed her? What was taking her so long? And my dad. Where was
he
?!

"Cheryl!" my mother cried, rushing into the living room, wiping her wet, freshly washed hands on her apron. Yes! I breathed a sigh of relief. I was saved. Perfect timing, mom. I applaud you.
Next time, just try and come a little earlier. When, you ask? Oh, let's see,
maybe when the fricking door bell rings
.

Also more or less on time, my daddy followed her in, giving Mr. Farrington a pleasant nod and a greeting. My mom herded everyone into the dining room, and we had dinner.

It was by no means a quiet, uncomfortable, overly-forced-and-polite conversation meal, which I was glad of. My mom and Mrs. Farrington carried on a lively conversation the whole time, and my dad and Mr. Farrington seemed to be getting along quite well also. Isaac and Isaiah talked between themselves, and it was the same for Ian and Gavin, who I just
knew
was laughing at me, because his forest green eyes were twinkling with mirth every time he caught my eye. Ian didn't say a single word to me for the whole meal, though Gavin and I conversed animatedly. Since Morp, we had been hanging out more and more, though after the summer started I hadn't hung out with him at all – probably from lack of time on both sides. It was nice to see him again, and catch up with him.