The Other Fish in the Sea (3 page)

Really. I’m at a loss…

I’m also getting
way
ahead of myself. Let’s back up a couple months, because there was what you might call a substantial quantity of drama that occurred before my father made his request of Tristan, the aforementioned hotter than the flames of hell boyfriend, to stay with my little sister and me in January. I like to call the short period of downtime in my life between when Tristan and I signed what is known as our “contract” on Halloween and shortly before Thanksgiving, the eye of the storm. And if you’re unfamiliar with what our contract is, well, we basically committed ourselves to each other exclusively and agreed on some physical boundaries in the form of a Sharpie tattoo.

Oh and in case you’ve forgotten, my name is Camie, I’m a sophomore in high school, I adore the TV show
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
, and I have this quirk of playing various songs and scenes from movies and TV in my head. Depending on how you look at it, it’s either amusing or annoying. Most of the time I find it kind of cool unless the song sucks. Anyhow, Tristan, my drop-dead gorgeous soul mate, is a junior but
should
be a senior. However, there was this whole thing with chicken pox, his best friend, Jeff, and repeating third grade. But I digress… I’ll be sixteen on January fifteenth and exactly one month later, Tristan will turn the big One-Eight. Yeah, California State might take issue with it, but we’re good because our parents are cool with the age difference. And that’s an especially big relief because Tristan and I are also proud parents. Yep, that’s right! I’m a mom even though I’m still a virgin. He and I adopted two kittens on our first date and now for all intents and purposes, Phineas and Ferb are our babies. They’re girls but
shhh
, don’t tell them they have boy names. Tristan is certain that’ll result in an identity crisis of some kind.

Moving on…

My little sister’s name is Jillian…or the spy, or the criminal, or the evil genius. Take your pick. She goes by many names—kind of like God and Satan do. Jilly is turning thirteen on January thirteenth, which happens to be a Friday this year. She couldn’t be more thrilled with that. In fact, I’m pretty sure she wants to celebrate herself with a horror themed birthday party with all the bells (ax murderers) and whistles (zombies). I also wouldn’t be all that surprised if she figures out a way to literally raise the dead just so the party is authentic. It kind of goes back to that genius thing she’s got goin’ on. Point in fact, Jill’s in eighth grade when she should actually be in seventh based on her age. Truth is though, my sister is smart enough to be in freaking college. But again, I digress.

So, back to November…

1.

Kool-Aid & Honey

It was almost instantaneous. When Tristan and I got together, my house turned into the “Kool-Aid house.” You know, the house where all the kids gather and hang out at when there isn’t anything else to do. I think that happened mainly because Tristan is there all the time, which means Jeff is there all the time, which in turn means Kate, Jeff’s girlfriend and my best friend, is there all the time, and so on. My mom absolutely loves it. Again, in case you’ve forgotten, her name is Mandy and she has breast cancer, which is thankfully in a kind of unofficial remission. And because my mom loves having all my friends hanging around constantly, my dad, Kevin, loves it too. I think my mom would’ve loved to have more kids so she makes all my friends feel as welcome as family. I swear you can practically hear Sister Sledge chanting “We Are Family” from my house on any given weeknight. So, that’s why it was no big deal when Kate threw my front door open one Sunday evening before dinner without having knocked and informed us of the following:

“Well, they’re arguing again so I hope there’s room for one more!” Kate is a cheerleader and normally she’s spunky, but she’s been a
little
moody lately. I think it’s probably because her parents have been arguing kind of regularly.

“Will it just be you tonight or wi—” my mom started to ask, but another voice answered her question before she even got it out.

“Hey Mrs. R., what’s on the menu tonight?” Jeff asked, walking in and kissing Kate on the top of her head.

Completely unfazed by Jeff’s unannounced entrance, my mom answered, “Kevin and Tristan have been in the kitchen for over an hour and a half trying to follow an old family recipe I found for meatloaf, so, we might be having pizza.”

I had to work hard to stifle a laugh because as soon as my mom finished her sentence, both my dad and Tristan came out of the kitchen looking disgruntled with either each other, or, the state of dinner. I’m guessing they’re worried about the food, though, because it seems like they’re wearing a good portion of the ingredients. At least they’re wearing aprons as well, although that just makes it even funnier. In order to appreciate the comedy of errors this whole thing is, you should know that neither my dad nor Tristan can really cook but they both think they can. Not to mention that my six-foot four and almost two hundred-thirty pounds of solid muscle boyfriend is wearing a pink gingham apron and if that isn’t hysterical enough, it’s also trimmed in lace. Jeff didn’t work at all to stifle his laughter one bit…he just started cracking up.

“It just
has
to be a mistake,” my dad said to Tristan who was wiping his hands on the pink gingham like he has motor oil on them and the apron is a garage rag.

Just so you know, Tristan and my dad have totally bonded over the last couple weeks by spending a significant quantity of quality time together in our garage. They’re both really into classic cars, muscle cars, hot rods…essentially, anything with wheels. I’m completely pleased with that of course, but sometimes I wonder if my dad thinks I brought Tristan home for
him
to play with. I didn’t. I brought him home because
I
like to play with him, but whatever. I’m not gonna complain because when we’re alone, Tristan does a really good job of reminding me that he prefers toying with me over tinkering on cars with my dad.

“I don’t think it was. I mean why would it be there right in the middle of the recipe?” Tristan asked, completely ignoring Jeff’s hilarity.

“Boy, (my dad calls Tristan “The Boy”) I hope you’re right, ‘cause I wouldn’t have added it. Oatmeal just doesn’t go with meatloaf, it just isn’t right.”

Oh good lord. They put oatmeal in the meatloaf…

“I know! It’s just crazy, but
that’s
what the recipe said to do.”

“I’d like Canadian bacon and pineapple on my pizza, please,” I teased and had to hop out of the way as the dishtowel my father was holding almost made contact with my butt.

“Young lady, you could at least show some respect like your sister. She’s been in there the whole time reading and hasn’t once said anything negative,” my dad told me with a twinkle in his eyes, demonstrating that he isn’t upset with my lack of confidence in his culinary skills. He talks a big game but really, he’s a softie.

But can we go back to my “respectful” sibling for a moment? I mean seriously, uh-oh.

“Um, Dad? Tristan? Did either of you happen to think
why
she might’ve chosen to read in the kitchen while the two of you were so diligently preparing what I’m sure will be a delicious meal?” My dad
might
have blinders on when it comes to Jillian, however, Tristan really should know better.

“Dude! You’re toast!” Jeff said and started laughing at Tristan again as my dad looked back at the closed door of the kitchen, contemplating what the big deal was. Only this time, Tristan didn’t ignore Jeff. His facial expression as the catastrophic possibilities dawned on him was to-die-for funny.

“Hi everyone! Who’s toast?” “Lonely Pete” asked upon entering our family room, having just let himself in as well.

I call him that because even though he’s a really close friend of Tristan’s and Jeff’s, therefore mine as well, he’s always kind of like the third or sometimes even seventh wheel. Basically, he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

“I think I might be. Do you think she’ll be willing to barter now or is this something she might blackmail me with at such a time as it suits her purposes?” Tristan asked the room at large.

“Right now you have nothing I want, but thank you for being so amenable in helping me try out my new video camera. I think the picture quality is tremendous.”

Apparently tonight Jill is both the criminal and the spy. Mind you, she didn’t come from the kitchen. No, she came from upstairs...and we
never
saw her go up.

“Oh, hi Jillian,” Pete said.

She ignored him. “Can we eat now? I’m hungry.”

“What do you want on your pizza?” I couldn’t help it.

“I don’t want pizza, I want the meatloaf.”

Out of all of us present, you’d think my sister would’ve already placed her order at the Bottle Shop for the best pizza in town after having bared witness to my dad’s and Tristan’s attempt to cook something edible. I say that with the utmost love and affection for both of them of course.

“Um, don’t you think that’s living dangerously?”

“Camie, I like living on the edge. Besides, it should be good.”

“They put oatmeal in it though,” I whispered. I was teasing them before but I’m still thinking pizza. I’m also hearing Aerosmith’s “Livin’ On the Edge” in my head now instead of Sister Sledge, which is kind of a relief.

“O ye of little faith,” Jillian replied, once again displaying her confidence in eating what I’m considering to be a questionable culinary concoction waiting for us in the kitchen.

Huh. If she’s willing to give it a go, then I guess I should too. I’m just not excited about the idea of what my stomach will do to me. Maybe I can get away with just a small piece if I fill my plate with vegetables. I should also make sure I have a couple napkins in case I can’t get any of it down. Of course I had to hide a little giggle as an episode of
Seinfeld
involving mutton, napkins and Elaine being molested by dogs popped into my head.

O ye of little faith indeed.

At one point during dinner, which surprisingly wasn’t bad—go figure, oatmeal in meatloaf—I was hard pressed to not climb on the table and do the Snoopy happy dance. I was, however, doing it in my head and quite vigorously at that.

“So what does everyone have planned for their Thanksgiving break?” My mom asked the four teenagers at the table who aren’t related to her by blood.

“Sadly, I’m going to New Jersey with my parents to see my dad’s family,” Kate answered, sounding utterly disgruntled.

“Which means I’m stuck having dinner at my dad’s girlfriend’s parents’ house. Thanks, Katy.”

Kate threw a roll at Jeff in her defense. He really hates being away from her for more than even a few hours. Not that she enjoys time away from him, but still; Jeff’s a pouter.

“It’s not like I wanna go, you know. I’m gonna be miserable.”

“My family is spending Thanksgiving in Palm Springs this year,” Pete said, ignoring the minor bickering going on between Jeff and Kate over their mandated holiday separation.

“What about you, Boy?”

This is when I started to get a little disgruntled myself and started to empathize with Jeff and Kate. Being what you might call desert-rats, almost my entire family goes to the desert every year for Thanksgiving. It’s a
ton
of fun. We all go in our motor homes and ride various pieces of desert vehicles like quads, dirt bikes, dune buggies, etc., but for some reason, I don’t think riding around the dunes with my cousins and Jillian is going to be as much fun as it usually is as I will be sans hot boyfriend.

“I got nothin’. My parents were asked to take a flight to Tuscany so they’ll be gone most of the week,” Tristan replied, sounding irritated. He also kind of threw a piece of his roll onto his plate to emphasize that irritation.

My mom frowned. “Can’t you go with them?”

“Not this time. My passport expired last month and I sorta had other things on my mind so I forgot to get it renewed,” he explained without saying that the “other things” on his mind last month were me.

Of course he made sure
I
knew what he was talking about by covertly pinching me under the table. It was totally unnecessary, like I didn’t already know. Hell, most of the people sitting at the table played some kind of role in how we got together, including my little sister. Well actually, especially my little sister, seeing as how she operated as a double agent. And even if they didn’t play a part, they all knew what Tristan was talking about but I didn’t see him pinch any of
them
. I think he’s just trying to get me to retaliate so he has an excuse to mess with me later on.

I was considering what form my retaliation would take when my dad asked, “Well then, why don’t you just come to the desert with us?”

I was stunned. I almost asked him to repeat himself because I thought there was no way my dad had just asked Tristan to spend four nights and four days with us in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t have to ask him to repeat himself though.

“Kevin, I think that is a simply marvelous idea. Really, Tristan, you shouldn’t spend Thanksgiving alone and we won’t take no for an answer.”

I took one look at Tristan’s face and although the expression he was wearing was something like innocent surprise, I knew from the way his eyes were sparkling that he’d just played my parents.

Then he pinched me again.

So now you can understand why I’m trying really hard not to table dance, right?

“Is there room on the trailer for my bike?” Huh. I didn’t know he has a dirt bike. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised…bikes
do
have wheels.

“Aw, that sucks! This means I’m not gonna have my girlfriend
or
my best friend around for like five days! And Pete’s gonna be gone…I bet Mike’s goin’ out of town too,” Jeff muttered to himself while Tristan and my dad talked dirt toys.

After dinner my parents retired to the family room to watch a movie that none of us was interested in seeing, so we all played a card game called Bullshit. The object of the game is to get rid of all your cards as they’re played in order from smallest to biggest. However, if you don’t have the right card on your turn then you have to pick up the pile, so what you’re supposed to do is bluff. So say you’re on threes and you don’t have one, you would choose a random card from your hand and say, “One three” and place it face down on the pile. Now, if someone calls you on it by saying, “Bullshit,” you have to pick up the pile. But let’s say you did actually play the right card and someone calls you on it incorrectly, well then
they
have to pick up the pile. There are all kinds of other ways to cheat, but you get the gist.