Wanted Always (Xander Barns) (5 page)

Circling around a few more people, I spot
Dad laughing with a couple of his friends; they are each holding a drink in
their hands. I take a deep breath and charge towards him. “Dad!” I yell over
the music when I get behind him. I see Dad’s body still for a moment, and then
he slowly turns around.

“Marisa!” he exclaims surprised. He puts
his drink down and comes to me with open arms. “Marisa, I can’t believe it.
You’re here, in the flesh!”

I walk into his open arms and hug him. My
dad’s cologne instantly overtakes my nostrils and it kind of feels like I can
breathe again.

Weirdly.

“I told Darcy I was coming. Didn’t she
tell you?” I ask him, stepping out of his embrace.

“She did, right away. We just didn’t
believe you’d come, considering how everything’s gone down lately,” Dad states,
still looking bewildered; he exhales a deep excited breath. “Wow, Marisa, it’s
so good see you. I’m so happy you came.”

“I’m happy you’re happy, Dad. There’s no
way I’d miss your party. By the way, Happy Birthday. Fifty years old…you’re
getting old, Dad!” I tell him in jokingly.

“Hey! Your old man has still got some
years in him. I’m not
old
, I’m just not that young anymore!” Dad
counters in mock offense.

I laugh at his mannerism. I love seeing
him in a happy mood.

Dad takes a moment and scans me from
head-to-toe. “Wow, Marisa, I’ve never seen you look this nice, not even for
prom. I’m touched. Did you do this for me?”

“I wanted to look nice for your birthday,
Dad.” I tell him.

“Yeah, are you sure about that? Is it just
for me, or is it for a certain someone your
own
age that you haven’t
seen or talked to in over five months?” Dad raises an eyebrow and looks at me
in disbelief.

Ben!

“I didn’t do this for Ben! He doesn’t
deserve the effort, and as we all know, I don’t do things like this for just
anyone or anything!” I say, rolling my eyes.

“That’s true. Your mother will be
disappointed. She’s been in constant denial about your relationship, saying you
guys have just hit a rough patch and just need some time apart,” Dad explains
with an exhale of breath.

“What?! I can’t believe her. She knows
it’s over between us!”

“I know that, but she still hopes. I think
she just wants the wedding; she and Gwen want to plan one so badly,” Dad
laughs.

Why couldn’t he be like this all the time?
There is no way Dad would talk like this in front of Mom. I hear heels clack
against the floor behind me.

Uh oh…speaking of the devil. I close my
eyes for a second, and when I open them, Mom walks around me and stands next to
Dad. She is shorter than I am, but her five-inch heels bring her height up.
Normally, that would cast her over me, but tonight, I’m wearing high heels too.
I don’t know how tall they are, but I do know that she is, for once in her
life, below
moi
. She’s wearing a purple, one-shoulder shift dress that
stops just below the knee, showcasing her gym-sculpted legs. Mom looks me up
and down, her eyes doing nothing to hide the shock that her daughter actually
showed up to one of her events looking beyond polished. Maybe even more
polished than the majority of the guests.

I know one thing; I’m not saying hello
first. She crossed the line all those many months ago; if she wants an olive
branch, she’ll have to stretch it out first, and even then, I don’t know if I’d
accept.

I’m still scarred from that horrible
screaming match over dinner.

After a few seconds and a staring
standoff, my mom takes a breath and opens up her peach-colored glossed lips.

That’s what I thought! I think smugly,
proud of myself for not breaking and standing my ground.

“Hello, Marisa,” Mom says calmly and
without a trace of venom, surprisingly. Well actually, not surprising. We
are
at a party; she isn’t going to go crazy and show her true colors in front of
her beloved friends, and the kids of those friends, who she apparently favors
over her own flesh and blood.

Moi
.

Bitch!

“Hello, Mother,” I reply, mimicking her
calm façade. It’s obviously a front. I bet she wishes I came a bit earlier,
prior to her guests showing up so she could share a word or two about my
selfish absence. I mean, there has literally been no one around for five-plus
months for her to scold unfairly.

“You look nice. I’m surprised you actually
showed up after so much time away. I’m so surprised; who knew you had it in
you?” Mom exclaims, taking another scan of my look.

And here we go, again…it begins.

Say it a little louder! I don’t think
enough people heard you belittle your daughter
. Ugh, what a wasted opportunity.

I should say something. I really should. I
mean, what’s the point of the new Marisa if she’s not going to retaliate in
unjustified digs by the forces of evil.

Mom needs to be taken down, maybe then she’ll
finally respect me. I’m not weak!

“It’s not a big deal; it’s just a dress
and some shoes,” I respond to her nonchalantly. I peek through the corner of my
eye, and Dad keeps sipping his drink, a bit on edge if you ask me. He is
probably scared that he’s going to get kicked between me and her, especially
after how the whole situation was left. He probably thought Mom’s irritation
over my absence had grown tenfold, and is dying for a chance to tell me how it
really is. I couldn’t care less if his prediction or conclusion came true. The
only thing I know is that I am ready, ready for a fight, for a chance to redeem
and pick up my scarred soul which she so happily trampled on in the favor of
another woman’s child.

Damn it, it still hurts. The sooner I get
over it, the sooner I’ll be able to shoot back responses that equally sting
her.
I dream of a day
when I leave her in such a state that she’s unable to mumble a coherent
sentence; maybe then she’ll finally turn off the bitch switch and become a
mother.

For once in her life.

Back to the dress. It isn’t
just
a
dress, and the shoes, they aren’t
just
shoes. I love them, love them
enough to go sit in the corner and stare, just stare. Glancing around the
party, sitting in the corner and ogling my shoes seems like more fun,
especially as this next person charges over to us.

 “Marisa, I thought that was you!”
Gwen, Mom’s best, best, best friend exclaims happily, as she glides towards us
in her flowy, peach–colored, spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress.

“In the flesh,” I say to her as she joins
Mom’s hip. Mom smiles at her best friend and then turns back to me as a
different look transforms her happy, genuine expression.

Forced tolerance?

I don’t know. I never know if it’s real or
forced. I think it’s easier if I just assume she’s being fake for the greater
good of our surroundings. That is, until we’re behind closed doors, and then
that’s when she’ll let it rip.

Well, I definitely won’t give her the
chance to express in her loving tone, how much of an embarrassment I am to her
and the family. There won’t even be a room for us to go to, because I’m not
leaving this party room for anything other than to use the facilities.

There won’t be, ‘A word Marisa’ or ‘I need
to speak with you in private!”. I’ll be like, ‘You’ve got my email, send me a
letter!” I laugh inwardly at the thought.

I hope that isn’t obvious.

“So Marisa…we haven’t seen you for a long
time. What have you been up to? Where have you been?” Gwen asks.

I should have come up with a script about
what I am going to tell people; I’m certainly not going to tell people that I
work at an ice cream parlor for horrible pay. I haven’t changed except for a
few small details regarding my personality, in which I regard as monumental.
Anything that involves growing and changing as a person for the better is a
success in my book. But for these women standing before me with newly threaded
and penciled-in eyebrows, casting an obviously discerning eye every two
seconds, my accomplishments aren’t really accomplishments in their opinion. I
bet that they’ll think whatever it is that I’ve been doing since leaving is
pointless. I haven’t moved to a better place. My financial situation hasn’t
moved for the better; my career certainly hasn’t moved for the better, and I
don’t even have a man to at least say I have a man.

Fail!

So I’m not going to tell them what I’ve
been up to really. A lie should ward off their interests for now; or I’ll just
bend the truth, enough to satisfy their urges to depress and humiliate me.

Control your claws ladies, this girl does
not want to fight. Not that she can’t if she has no choice, but really, who’d
want to fight in such a pretty dress? And let us not forget the shoes, these
shoes are too good not to feel special in, not even for a second.

“Oh, I’ve been around the neighborhood,
here and there. You know, nothing really that special going on,” I reply
nonchalantly, like it’s all nothing to boast about.

Mom looks back and forth between Gwen and
myself, confused as to what is going on. For one, why we are even having this
conversation? Why the hell is Gwen bothering to talk to me? I mean, I did break
up with her shining-star prince of a son…whatever. I should have been hated on,
yelled at, told how it was, that I was so lucky, and that I didn’t deserve the
five years I ruthlessly stole from her precious
pookie bear
.

If that ever comes up, I’ll just tell her
why her special little man stayed with me for so long. The extra little bit
that he could never deny. I’ve got great lips.

Not even going to elaborate on that one.
Think about it and let it simmer. Do you get it now?

 But would she get it as quickly?

If I ever use that response, if her face
contorts into confused disgust, I’ll know she gets it.

What a pity. I want to see her ‘calm’
façade spiked with something more real. I don’t mind getting the ugly truth
from people; at least I’ll know where I stand instead of us all being fake to
one another. If you hate me, I want to know so I can hate you back. It’s the
only way in life, in my opinion.

“You don’t work at Dairy Queen anymore, do
you?” Gwen asks.

“No, I quit five months ago,” I tell her.

“So where do you work now?” Gwen asks
next.

“At a place near my house,” I answer while
using every ounce of control I have not to laugh at the conundrum I’ve been
placed in. I’m zigzagging, giving no clear answer for them to sink their claws
into and destroy me with their ‘opinions’.

“That’s nice; that’s great, Libby. You
must love all the extra room you’ve got now, don’t you?” Gwen turns to Mom,
changing her line of questioning to her now that she sees I’m not going to give
her a clear answer. Perhaps asking Mom questions that involve me would be a
better tactic in exposing me for who I really am. Discreetly, of course,
neither of them would actually want to show what kind of people they really
are.

Mean bitches.

“Yes, it was dreadful before. The basement
was too cramped; especially since the twins wanted a few game tables. So we
just cleared some things and put them in Marisa’s old room,” Mom responds,
wide-eyed.

“That’s great; good use of space,” I tell
them, pretending to agree. I know what they are trying to do, and it isn’t
going to work.

Try a new tactic ladies; it’ll take more
than a few digs on personal space to knock this girl.

Even if it had been my room for most of my
life; but nevertheless, I can’t be bothered. I remember, all of a sudden, that
Dad is still here with us, discussing things that aren’t really what we’re
actually talking about. I turn my gaze toward him and see he’s in the middle of
finishing his drink.

“Ladies, I’m off. Back to the guys,” Dad
says as he puts down the now empty cup.

“Of course, darling, go enjoy yourself,”
Mom gushes, a little out of her normal character. Probably putting on a front
for her dearest friend, pulling a stupid façade that screams, ‘I take care of
my husband, and I don’t belittle him when it comes to our children. And no, he
doesn’t act like a bitch when it’s just us because, after all, he’s the man of
the house, and has the balls in our family’.

Yeah, right!

Dad turns to me before making his way back
to his rowdy friends. “Marisa, we’ll have a talk later, okay?”

“Alright. Don’t worry, Dad, I’m not going
to run anywhere anytime soon,” I tell him, totally ignoring the other two.

Dad nods, and I chuckle as he quickly
turns to the open bar to get a new drink. He should have some fun; this is his
party. He should be having lots and lots of fun. The spot I’m in is the no-fun
zone. Even at a party where it’s a requirement to be constantly laughing and
soaking in the good vibes, I’m stuck in a horribly hidden interrogation with
the terrible twosome.

A.K.A. The Piranha Squad.