Page 2

Chapter Two

Vivienne

“ I t’s coastal property, right on the beach.

And Bipal has great shopping, not to mention, it’s known for its great seafood.

And Maribel and her son are part of a social club, Clear View.

She says it’s an incredible place that you’ll love,” Dad says, flipping down his lap tray in his airplane seat. My stomach roils as nerves twist me up.

“First time flying?” the flight attendant questions as she rolls her drink cart down our aisle.

I shake my head. “No.”

Dad pats my leg. “It’s going to be good. You’re going to like it.” He looks up at the flight attendant. “Scotch for me, Coke for her.”

I look up at the woman, her dark hair pinned in a neat bun at the base of her head, a tiny blue cap on the side of her part. “I’ll have coffee,” I correct, not because I want coffee, but I don’t want him to control everything .

She passes us napkins and drinks, and I put my EarPods in, not wanting to hear all the reasons why this move is actually something for me to be excited about.

Maybe I will like Bipal. But right now, with a backpack full of goodbye cards at my feet and nothing but open sky all around me, I don’t want to hear that.

All I want to do is listen to my Lana Del Rey and zone out.

I’ve met Maribel a few times in the last year.

She flew to California once and stayed with us for a long weekend, but because she is a CEO and business owner, getting away was very difficult for her.

Moving in with her is still strange, even if she’s not a total stranger.

I just never thought I’d have to get used to someone else’s space.

I’ve only been here for a day, so I realize it’s all still so new.

But even so, I feel like I have to ask permission for everything.

It feels rude not to ask. But when I asked if I could turn on the television, Maribel laughed.

“It’s your television as much as mine. You live here now,” she’d said, earning a gracious hug from my father, who then kissed the top of her head.

Seeing him affectionate with her is new to me, and it’s just another thing I’m acclimating to. I’m happy for him, and that is one truth I cling to because his happiness is important to me. It is. And I want this to work for him. I love my dad. I want good things for him.

Still, everything is foreign to me right now, and I hate that. This was supposed to be my last year of high school filled with cutting class, drinking in the orchards, wearing matching SENIORS shirts with my friends, and–most importantly– getting some .

I didn’t have a boyfriend in California, but the boys at Dover knew I was ready. If I wasn’t going to lose my virginity, I was at least hoping to give a blow job before college. Maybe even let a boy go down on me.

But now I’m in a new town, a new state, a new school, and instead of having fun and living life to the fullest, I’ll be starting over, asking people their name and what college they’re going to, I’ll be spending time trying to make friends and ingratiate myself in new social circles.

Senior year is now going to be a shitload of work instead of a boatload of fun.

Dad and Maribel finally get into the car.

We got here yesterday, and this morning, we’re heading to Maribel’s favorite restaurant for breakfast, then we’re going to pick out furniture for my room.

She says she cleared out the room so I can decorate as I please.

In my mind, I’m only going to be here for a year before I go back to California for college, but I appreciate the effort she’s making.

I’m not a brat, I’m not trying to pout and ruin things.

Equally, I’m not invested in being here, either.

I go along with it because it’s the right thing to do, and that’s who I am. Vivienne Beaumont. The good girl who follows all the rules, the one who always does the right thing, the person considerate of others at all times.

“I was telling Elijah,” Maribel starts, reaching over to stroke the back of my dad’s neck as he pulls the SUV out of the long, curved driveway.

“My son Harrison will be home in the next day or two. I’m sorry he wasn’t here when you both arrived.

He had a chess tournament. It was scheduled last year and he just couldn’t get out of it. ”

“You two are just a few years apart in age,” dad says, stealing a glance at me in the rearview.

“You mentioned that,” I reply. Chess tournament? My mind builds out a version of Maribel’s son that includes glasses, no eye contact, and a lot of computer games. “Chess, hmm?”

Maribel nods. “Chess, yes. He was on the team at the Academy but now he is a live moderator for the academy tournaments.”

Chess and Harrison very quickly drop from my thoughts as downtown Bipal whizzes past the window. I catch a glimpse of tiny boutiques, antique shops, and quaint bakeries. Maribel turns in her seat, peering back at me, her eyes falling to my hair.

“If you need recommendations on salons, let me know,” she says, smiling. I know she isn’t trying to say my hair looks bad. Maribel isn’t a jerk. That’s why I can’t bring myself to be pouty and snarky. I twist a strand of my long, honey hair around my finger.

“Thanks, I’ll let you know. I haven't changed my hair… ever, really. It’s not my style to mix it up.” I shrug. “But, new state, new school. Maybe,” I reply, shrugging with a smile.

Maribel smiles back, then turns around, gazing at my dad in the driver’s seat. Her eyes sparkle as she assesses him, letting out a belly deep sigh, her happiness radiating off in her palpable waves. “I’m so glad you’re here Elijah.” She twists to face me, her eyes wet. “You too, Vivienne.”

Breakfast is delicious–smoked salmon on dill waffles was not something I’d ever thought I’d eat much less like but I did.

And furniture shopping was actually really fun.

Maribel and I perused three furniture stores while dad fielded work calls about servers being offline or whatever it is he does.

Around one in the afternoon, we’d selected a beautiful armoire, a sleigh bed with a canopy, and the most adorable mirrored nightstand.

The best part? It’s all being delivered tomorrow, so I only have to spend one more night in Maribel’s guest room.

The store associate hands my dad back his credit card as he signs his name on the receipt.

“Now that the lamp is taken care of,” he says, “is there anywhere else you two would like to go?”

I shake my head, glancing between him and the associate working the register.

She’d been eyeing us the entire time we browsed the Tiffany lamps, and at first I thought she was worried we’d break something, but now, I don’t think so.

She smiles at me, and I return her smile, then shift focus back to my dad.

“Nope. I think we’re set.”

Maribel beams, bringing her hands together beneath her chin. “Wanna do some sight seeing?”

The girl behind the counter clears her throat, garnering our attention. “Are you… new? In town, I mean.”

Maribel drapes her hand along my shoulders, pulling me into her side. “She is new,” she answers on my behalf. “She is my soon to be step daughter. She’s starting at Dulce next week. Her senior year.”

The girls eyes light up. “I have friends at Dulce.” Her eyes drift back to mine. “But I go to Creole public. ”

“I attended public school my entire life,” my father says, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket.

The girl looks between Maribel and my dad, then back to me. “Not to be nosey, but I kind of overheard you say you’re all done shopping. I’m off in like, ten minutes. If you want, I can show you around the pier, show you where everyone hangs out and stuff.”

Excitement flutters in my throat, and pink floods my cheeks. I look over at my dad, waiting for him to pull me aside and tell me how she’s a stranger and I’m new to town and it’s a bad idea.

Except Maribel waffles her hand into his, giving it a squeeze. His mouth opens and closes, their eyes come together and then my father looks back to me, smiling. “That sounds like a good way for you to get to know Bipal.”

The girl claps her hands excitedly. “Oh, perfect! I love Bipal. I’m so excited. I can’t wait to show you around.” She pauses, dropping her head a bit. “I mean, if you want to. I just realized you didn’t say if you want to or not.”

Laughing, I say, “I do! That sounds great.” I turn to face Maribel, trying to be respectful of the fact that I live in her house now. No matter how much she says it’s ours, it’s hers. “Maribel, do you mind if I go out for a few hours?” From my periphery, my dad’s proud smile radiates.

She looks at the clerk. “Can you give us your name and phone number? That way we know who she’s with.”

The girl nods, then points to the rectangle name tag pinned to her white blouse.

“Brooke,” she says, tapping it. Pressing a button on the register, she rips off a piece of blank receipt tape, then scribbles her name and phone number on it.

At once, the three of us pull out our phones, and type in her information.

Brooke Ackerman. 305-782-5488.

Maribel stashes the paper in her purse, and I look between her and my dad. “I’ll call you guys later?”

“Be careful,” dad says, not with warning but from habit. From behind the counter, Brooke laughs.

“Don’t worry. Nothing too exciting ever happens in Bipal,” she says, looking to Maribel for confirmation. Maribel’s lips twitch. “We’re a quiet town.”

After a hug and kiss, my dad and Maribel leave, and I linger awkwardly around the sales desk in the furniture store, unsure of what to do next.

Brooke leans over the counter on her elbows, holding her chin up with her curled fists. “So what’s your name?”

“Vivienne,” I tell her. “Thanks for inviting me out, by the way.”

She wrinkles her nose, like my appreciation isn’t needed. “We’re gonna have fun.” She studies me for a moment, looking at my rose pink cardigan and the gold cross around my neck. “So… that’s your step mom and that’s your dad?”

I nod. “Yeah, we just moved here from California. Got here last night.”

“Dad moves you your senior year, huh?” she clicks her tongue. “Maribel must give one hell of a blow job.”

I choke on my spit. “Oh my god!”

Brooke bursts out in laughter. “Sorry–but your dad is hot. I’d blow him.”

“Brooke!” I laugh, shocked by how inappropriate and forward she is. Back in California, at Dover, none of my friends joked like this. But I like the ribbing. “Don’t say that. He’s my dad!”

“He’s a DILF,” she says, laughing so hard her cheeks flame.

“Gross. But… Thank you for making me laugh. And thank you for inviting me out.”

She arches her brow. “I didn’t think he was going to let you come with me. But your step mom gave him the squeeze,” she says, and I nod my head, because I saw that, too. “He’s whipped.”

Ignoring that, I look out the glass doors to the bustling downtown sidewalk.

Every second someone passes by, fists full of colorful shopping bags, their hair tossed around in the breeze.

The sun shines and the skies are cerulean.

And in that moment, as Brooke tells me she’s clocking out and she’ll meet me at the register, I feel hopeful.

Maybe moving won’t ruin my senior year. Maybe it will be a good year after all.