The Leftover Club (19 page)

“Meghan, we have company,” I said, ripping the bandage right off.

She swung the door open to face me. “Who?”

“An old friend,” I said. “He’s here for dinner.”

“
He
?” she scoffed. “You invited a man for dinner?”

I shrugged helplessly. There was no way to explain it. “Dinner’s in ten,” I said before I returned to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the meal.

Surprisingly, Meghan followed. She spotted the wine glasses on the counter and the roses I was putting into a vase for the table. I could almost smell the smoke as her brain struggled to compute all this new data. She followed me into the dining room and then finally into the living room. Dylan stood to face my daughter, who was looking him up and down like he was some foreign contaminant.

“Meghan, this is Dylan Fenn. He’s an old childhood friend.”

“I know who he is,” she snapped. She glanced down at the hand he offered in greeting. She tipped her chin defiantly as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Dad told me all about you.”

“We met once,” he
reminded her. “When you were little. You probably don’t remember.”

“It mustn’t have been very memorable,” she sneered. “You’re not as good looking as I might have thought.”

“Meghan!” I hissed under my breath.

Dylan just laughed. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he added with that charming wink and cockeyed grin.

Meghan seemed perplexed by his reaction. She had landed that barb to wound, but he shrugged it off. Meghan was clearly unsettled by this new development. The teenager shields went up with a roll of her eyes and a bored, “Whatever.”

But rather than squirrel away in her room, she plopped down on the recliner. She wasn’t looking at us directly, but I knew she was keeping track of everything in her peripheral vision.

He turned to me. “I forgot. I also brought something for after dinner.” He reached into his jacket for yet another gift. It was a DVD of
Grease
, which he handed to me with yet another wink and a knowing smile. “It’s the sing-along version.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Perfect,” I said.

Meghan glanced our direction and I held up the case. “We were in the high school production a gazillion years ago,” he explained. “Your mom would have made one hell of a Rizzo.”

There was yet another roll of her eyes as she glanced away, seemingly bored and annoyed with us, but surprisingly not going anywhere.

Dylan followed me into the kitchen once the timer went off on the oven for the bread. He carried our wine glasses to the table, where Meghan had already made herself at home in the seat in the middle of the other two place settings. He sat at one, I sat at the other.

I passed him the bowl with the pasta, which was now smothered in a sauce rich with vegetables. “So are you a vegetarian?” he asked Meghan. He already knew I wasn’t the herbivore in the
family.

“It’s
Meatless Monday
,” she said, as if he should have been aware.

“Oh,” he said. “What’s that?”

She sighed dramatically. “It’s only, like, a major global movement.”

He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to explain.

“A lot of people won’t commit to a full vegetarian lifestyle. This helps everyone go veggie for a day, which helps the planet and their own personal health.”

“Ah,” he said. It was clear he didn’t buy into the propaganda, so Meghan forged ahead.

“A plant-based diet wards off diseases like cancer, heart disease and diabetes. It’s one of the easiest ways for you to improve your health and live longer.”

He suppressed a smile. “I see.”

His attitude only made her argument more vehement.
“Did you know that it takes approximately two thousand gallons of water to produce one pound of meat? If everyone gave up meat for one day a week, we could not only lower our water usage, but reduce our carbon footprint and cut the demand for fossil fuels.”

“So why Monday?” he asked. I knew he was goading her now.

She glared at him. “Why not?”

He toasted me with his glass and that trademark smirk.
“Why not?”

I watched as Meghan visibly stewed. He shoveled a spoonful of pasta into his mouth before he gave her a wink and said, “Yummy,” with his mouth full. Again, though her contempt was palpable, she didn’t go anywhere. It was as if she herself wanted to see how it would all play out.

I wondered why I hadn’t invited him over sooner.

She even joined us for the movie, though she hid
behind her phone in Teen Text Land, pretending to be ever so bored with the dorky adults who sang along with every tune. “You should have seen your mother at karaoke the other night,” he told her, and because he was sitting next to me on the sofa, I sent him an elbow to the ribs to shut him up. He held up a hand slightly, a silent gesture I knew meant, “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

Her phone now forgotten, Meghan stared at me, stupefied. “You went out?” she asked, like I had just admitted I spotted Big Foot.

“Oh, yeah,” Dylan said. “You don’t think she sits around the house all weekend, do you?” Meghan didn’t have an answer for that. “Too bad you missed it. She brought the house down. I keep telling her we should put together a skit for our 20-year reunion next year.”

She stared between us, trying to figure out what it all meant. I was going out on the weekends? He was going to be around in a year? It turned everything she thought she knew about me right on its head. She was
off center until he left just before ten. “It was nice meeting you,” he said. “Again. Officially. Maybe we can do this again,” he offered. “Like next Monday, maybe. I’ll bring the tofu,” he winked before he waved at us both and jogged down the steps toward his car.

I went to the kitchen to clean up. Meghan followed me, standing in the door frame, her arms crossed across her chest, as she glared at me.

Even my behavior was brand new. Normally I chased after her attention, now I had walked away first.

She didn’t know what to make of any of it.

“So is this, like, a regular thing?” she wanted to know.

I shrugged. “You were the one always telling me to get my own life so I could stay out of yours.”

“Does Dad know?”

I closed the door to the dishwasher and turned it on before I turned back to her. “It’s none of your dad’s business.”

That was new, too. For the first time in her sixteen years, I wasn’t kowtowing to a Connor, whether it was Wade or Meghan.

“I’ll let you finish the kitchen,” I said as I grabbed my glass of wine and headed toward my bedroom for a well-deserved and long-overdue bubble bath.

Predictably, Wade called me the following day to chastise me for exposing our child to my lovers like the wanton whore I was. “Let’s see. I’ve had one guy over in ten years. Which girlfriend are you on again?”

“My behavior didn’t tear apart our marriage,” he gritted.

“You think not?” I shot back.

Like Meghan the night before, he was flustered by my new approach. “How
is she supposed to feel about this guy you tore her life apart to screw?”

“She
probably hates him as much as she hates me,” I answered calmly. “But since you already made sure of that every single day for the last ten years, I really have nothing to lose, do I?”

“You have more to lose than you know,” he informed me. “She has been asking … no, begging, to move in with Sasha and me.”

That hurt more than I cared to admit. I tried my best not to let it show. “Maybe that would be a good idea,” I bluffed. “I’ve had her for ten years. You can take over the final two before she’s off to college. She needs her dad after all.”

He snorted in derision. “Move her out and move him in, I suppose. I guess now that you have a boyfriend, your title of mom is negotiable.”

“No more so than your title of dad after your own string of failed relationships,” I said, blithely skipping over confirming or denying my relationship status. “Is there anything else, Wade? I’m busy.”

He sputtered a bit before he finally hung up on me.
The minute he did, I called Dylan to make another date for the following Monday.

October 25, 1985

“Hear ye, hear ye, the first official order of the Leftover Club is now in session. May we have a reading of the minutes of our last meeting?”

I turned to Bryan, who presided over our little clubhouse meeting in my bright pink bedroom.
“Two new girls. Tiffany and Jennifer.”

“And the official consensus?”

Olive was on it. “Scuttlebutt is that he slept with one. The other was a tease. No details which was which.”

“And are any of these new subjects a Leftover?”

Charlie was quick to answer. “No.”

“Good.”

He rang a little dinner bell I had hijacked from Bonnie’s china cabinet. “The next order of business, we have a birthday coming up in a couple of weeks, so I think we really need to plan something special.”

I laughed. “No need to make a fuss.”

Bryan was quick to scoff. “Our intrepid president and queen of our little gatherings will turn a sweet sixteen at last. I do believe it would be appropriate to party like it was 1999.”

“It’s a party of four. I doubt sincerely we’ll usher in World War III.”

“Don’t you mean a party of five?” Bry asked.

“Who?”
I asked, and all four of them gave me a pointed stare. “Oh, no. Not happening.”

“What better
honor for a Leftover than to have Dylan Fenn himself make a command appearance? Who knows? Maybe you’ll even get your first kiss by the boy of our dreams.”

I thought back to the merry-go-round and that shy kiss in 1979. I blushed and shook my head even more vehemently. “There aren’t enough birthday candles in the world to make that wish come true. Let’s just make it us. That’s what I really want.
Pizza and a movie. No big deal.”

Bryan wrapped an arm around me and laid a noisy kiss on my cheek. “One day, my love, you will stop playing life so small. Now you invite Dylan. Or we will.”

“Dylan is preoccupied enough with his big Halloween bash. His plate is way too full to worry about some dinky little birthday of someone who isn’t even in his social circle.”

It was true. I hadn’t seen much of Dylan this past week as he prepared for his first official party of high school. The Moms had momentarily lost their senses and agreed for him to host a party for all of us kids who were too old to trick-or-treat (theoretically) and too young to get plowed at various Halloween events across the southland. The biggest thing we OC kids did was Knott’s Scary Farm, which, of course, was where Dylan had taken his girlfriend de jour, Autumn Bailey, that evening.

Halloween, however, was the date all the popular kids were saving for Dylan’s party. I was invited by default, since it was in my house, and Dylan threw me a bone to invite the rest of the Leftovers.

He was always welcoming to my friends. We were the non-threatening nerd
s and geeks, dorks and misfits that added credit to his karma account. He could invite us, be nice to us, show he was accommodating to even the lowest life forms on the social totem pole, and it only served to boost his own image. This king of the high school was not only good looking, not only got good grades, not only drove a great car, not only was a stellar athlete… he was nice, too.

No wonder everyone loved him.

So needless to say, this party was the first can’t-miss event of the season.

My
piddly little birthday was dwarfed in comparison.

As stressed as I was about attending Dylan’s party, I considered this a good thing. After pulling my hair out trying to find out what kind of costume I could wear and how I might integrate with all the popular kids
who would invade my house – my last refuge against the rigors of high school and all the cruel kids who went there – pizza and a movie with the people I loved most was the perfect way to usher in Year Sixteen.

“Speaking of the party,” Olive interjected, “has everyone gotten their costumes?”

Figuring there was solidarity in numbers, the Leftovers had decided to coordinate our costumes and come as a group. We finally decided on
The Wizard of Oz
, with Bry as the Scarecrow, Olive as the Wicked Witch, Charlie as the Cowardly Lion and me as Dorothy.

I had petitioned hard to avoid the lead role, but you can’t have a
Wizard of Oz
group without the main character, and no one else wanted that kind of attention.

As the leader of our merry little band of outcasts, I had to toss myself on that particular grenade, even though the dress my mother had made me looked like Dorothy had been stung by a hive of bees and was having a severe allergic reaction, blowing up to twice her normal size.

After the first fitting, I reconsidered going as a flying monkey. It suddenly made sense why Charlie had abandoned her original idea, going as Glenda, to hide behind pelts of fake fur in a character that better fit her shy personality.

If the party wasn’t upon us, I might
have lobbied for another costume theme idea, if not abandon the idea of attending the party altogether. But everyone had already purchased/made their costumes, so I felt compelled to join in, against my better judgment.

So I swallowed my apprehension and we spent the rest of our meeting discussing Dylan’s party. For a band of outcasts, being included in the social event of the season was a big deal. It was the first open door to separate the cliques that had formed quickly and solidly within
the halls of Hermosa Vista High, and Bry was all about busting down doors.

In fact, ever since the first day of high school, he was a bit like a stallion locked in a paddock before a race. I could hear his hooves paw at the ground, waiting anxiously for that gate to open so he could gallop full speed toward the finish line.

I had no such compulsion. I was perfectly content munching grass in a secluded pasture, letting everyone else run the race for me.

But, since
Bry was my best friend, I didn’t have that option. When he took off running, he had every intention of taking me with him.

I both loved and hated him for that.

As the party neared, I clung to my best friend like a dinky little sailboat swirling in the middle of a maelstrom. He was at my house every day as we fussed and obsessed to get our costumes just right. He even bought me a stuffed dog to complete my ensemble.

“An early birthday present,” he winked.

Technically I was one of the hosts, since this shindig was being held at my house. The Moms expected my full cooperation as we planned the party. I helped decorate the den and the backyard, where the festivities were to take place. I was given a list of duties to perform during the party, not the least of which was doling out frothy green punch made with lime sherbet and ginger ale.

We spent the night before the party making devil’s food cupcakes that we adorned with gummy worms
and crushed chocolate wafer cookies to look like dirt. It was, of course, Dylan’s idea to add plastic tombstones to each one.

When I got home from school on Halloween, I found Dylan in the backyard, setting up strobe lights and fog machines.
“Where did you get all this?” I asked, as his party continued to take shape as a true Monster Mash.

He grinned. “Never underestimate the power of guilt
over an absentee father who has plenty of dough.”

Bry
arrived within a half hour, so that we could get into costume. I was in charge of “strategic straw placement” and finishing his makeup. He was in charge of making sure I didn’t crawl into my closet and hide there until the party was over.

By five-thirty, we had joined Dylan and the Moms in the back yard to put the finishing touches on the party.

Dylan and Autumn were going as a football player and a cheerleader. I didn’t consider this much of a stretch considering they were a football player and cheerleader, but Dylan had a twist up his sleeve. They were a football player and cheerleader who had encountered a crazed serial killer who had marred their perfect good looks with a chainsaw.

Of course,
Autumn still looked perfect. A red gash cut between her perfect, perky boobs but her face makeup was flawless, with bright red lipstick that would make each scream in terror that much sexier.

Dylan was far more committed to his character, and
Bry helped him with some stage makeup to recreate a head wound that marred one-half of his handsome face.

By seven-thirty, the first guests began to arrive. Many came after trick-or-treating, so they threw handfuls of candy all over every one as they entered our magical kingdom. Halloween-themed music played from the speakers Dylan had set up around the backyard, which covered everything from Doctor
Demento novelty tunes to top-40 hits by Michael Jackson.

Dylan and his
zombiefied football players busted out the choreography to
Thriller
, much to the delight of all the guests.

The other Leftovers joined Bryan and me by eight. I could barely see Charlie under her costume, which I figured was by design. She was able to navigate just under the radar of her tormenters as she followed Olive around as closely as I followed Bryan.

Dylan was the perfect host as he came over to greet us and thank my friends for coming. It was the highlight of the evening for several Leftovers. Olive, Charlie and I weren’t that interested in making friends with the people who made our lives hell on a weekly basis, and those same people were content to allow us to pass without incident as honorary members of their race for just one evening.

Bryan assimilated a little easier. More and more girls were gravitating toward him as the old shell of junior high geek shed and revealed an elegant, beautiful boy underneath.

It probably didn’t hurt that he wore nice clothes and drove a great car.

Either way, several had him in their crosshairs for the party, which meant he was sticking to me just as closely as I was sticking to him.

The Moms kept an eye on things but weren’t intrusive. By nine-o-clock, when a group decided to play spin-the-bottle, they gave us enough privacy to earn cool points among the revelers.

One of the cheerleaders, Cindy Crawley, pulled Bryan into the circle so he, by default, dragged me there, too. They passed out packages of crystalized rock candy that popped when you ate it, and proceeded to have a fairly PG-rated
makeout session courtesy of a discarded bottle of soda.

Every time that bottle spun, I freaked out that someone I didn’t like – or worse, didn’t like me – would point that bottle right toward me. It happened almost right off the bat, when one of the senior football players ended up having to kiss me much to the jeering delight of his friends.

One quick peck and it was over.

When I spun the bottle, I was even more freaked out I’d land on Dylan. After what happened with the first boy, the last thing I wanted was for Dylan to be the object of ridicule among his peers for having to kiss the awkward fat chick who had a face full of acne in between her
ribboned pigtails.

Instead, thankfully, I landed on Bryan. I filled my mouth with candy and planted a kiss on his lips long enough for us to get the popping effect.

This was my job as his beard. I had to make him look as straight as possible to fit in.

And he had to make me look desirable.

From the loud applause when we broke apart, I was pretty sure that we pulled it off.

When
Bry spun the bottle, he landed on Dylan, which caused a bit of a hullabaloo amongst our juvenile little group. Everyone insisted that the two had to kiss, but I knew Bryan would never risk it. If he kissed Dylan, Dylan and all the other boys present would think it was a joke… until they saw Bryan flush from the experience and possibly become aroused.

He had only one kiss before, with an equally shy classmate in junior high. He was mortified by undeniable reaction his traitorous body made with an instant erection, which had scared the other boy silly and their experimentation was over before it even begun.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” they all chanted, but I could tell by the panicked look in Bryan’s eyes that he would have rather been carried away by a horde of flying monkeys than kiss Dylan Fenn in front of all our friends. His hands trembled as he opened up the package of candy and filled his mouth.

When he finally leaned over, he grabbed me instead. Much to my surprise, he even attempted to French me right there in public, but I was so unprepared by this public display I was frozen solid.

To the rest of the group, however, it looked like a real kiss, just like the one Cindy had laid on him when it had been her turn. Everyone hooted and hollered, especially when he took my hand and pulled me away from the circle for some private time in a darkened corner of the backyard.

“Shit, that was close,” he said. “Sorry about that,” he offered as he looked at my candy coated lips. “I just couldn’t risk it, you know?”

“I know,” I said. I wasn’t mad, just a little embarrassed. “I guess that puts off the gay rumor for another month or two.”