I'll Be Here

8:30?
     
                My fingers shake as I type out a response.
     
                            See you then
     
    Oh.  My.  God.

 
     
    Zombies hate that you are awesome.
    ~Unknown

 
     
    CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
    It’s  my bi-monthly dinner with my dad and his girlfriend Diana.  She pronounces her name Dee-aaah-na and expects the rest of us to go along with it.  She has highlighted blond hair that she wears in an over-styled shoulder-length bob.  She uses so much hairspray that I think her coif could withstand hurricane force winds.  There should be a warning sign around her neck that reads: Highly Flammable Hair. 
    “Did you give any thought to which weekends you’d like to visit in the summer?”  She asks.
    I shake my head and swallow the bite of eggplant parmesan that I’d been chewing for the last minute.  Diana has this thing about eating slowly.  It really irritates her when people eat too quickly.  Dad is sitting next to her in the booth checking the email on his phone for the fourth time since we sat down to eat. 
    “Um, not really.  I’ve had so much going on lately with school—”
    She interrupts.  “And your break-up.”
    “That I haven’t really looked at the calendar,” I continue choosing to ignore her comment. 
    I’d been irritated earlier when mom had told me that she’d mentioned it to dad.  The last people I needed taking an interest in my personal life were my father and his girlfriend.  I’d rather face a firing squad than have to go into the details of the whole thing with them.
    She sighs, just barely hiding her disapproval.  Diana likes to schedule things.  Before she came along dad and I saw each other whenever it worked out.  Sometimes it was three times in one month.  Some months I wouldn’t see him at all because he’d be too busy working on a big case or doing whatever else was more important than me. 
    When dad started dating Diana, that lax schedule changed.  It didn’t seem right to her that we didn’t have a proper visitation schedule.  Diana didn’t like the sound of “whenever” so she came up with the two monthly dinners and two week-long stays each year—one after Christmas and one in the summer. 
    “Well, please look at it this week.  I know that you’ll be busy planning for college and there are a few things that your father mentioned that he wanted to do so the summer weekends are filling up fast.”
    “Of course.”  I take another bite of eggplant parmesan to occupy myself.
    She touches my father’s arm.  “Miles, do you think it would be too much for you to put your phone away for a few minutes and try to enjoy dinner with your daughter ?” 
    I hate how Diana does that—uses titles like “your daughter” and “your father” instead of just calling us Willow and Miles. 
    He looks over sheepishly and punches two more keys before sliding his phone into his side pocket. 
    “Sorry about that.  Busy time at work right now.  New cases coming in every day and we’re short-staffed as it is.”  He looks at me attempting to make a connection.  “Tell me how you’ve been kiddo.”
    Kiddo.  That’s what he still calls me.  It bothers the hell out of me but I don’t say anything because the last time I told my father something honest—that I no longer enjoyed our annual visit to Disney World—he was completely irritated.  He called my mother and acted like it was her fault that I’d grown up and didn’t want to stand in hour-long lines in ninety-eight degree weather to see animatronic animals sing and dance to cheesy songs. 
    No, speaking one’s mind does not pay off with Miles James.  He’s a strictly “on the surface” kind of father.  He wants to hear that I’m doing well in school, that I’m eating lots of vegetables and that I brush my teeth every night before bed.  Anything more tends to set off a chain reaction of negativity.
    He and Diana listen attentively as I tell them about school and the paper that I have due in English.  He asks a few questions.  I answer.  And then he looks at Diana and something passes between them and he takes her hand.  “We’ve got news,” my father says with a grin like he’s holding court.
    “Okaa-aay…”
    “We’re getting married.”
    Oi vey.
    ***
    Now is as good a time as any to admit that I lied before.  My friendship with Laney didn’t just end with a fight.  It didn’t fizzle out.  I extinguished