23. Mandy
23
MANDY
T he lawn, my father’s pride and joy, is a dead field of beige stretched in front of my childhood home. It can only mean one thing—something horrible happened to him.
“Dad! Daddy!”
It was Jaxon. I had been stupid and stubborn. I should have let Salinger loose on him this morning. Now something happened to my father, and it’s all my fault.
Inside, I hear angry yelling and dishes breaking.
“Call the police,” I scream to Salinger as I race up the walkway.
Swearing, he sprints after me, shoving me behind him as the front door swings open.
My very confused, befuddled father wanders out. “Mandy girl!” His face lights up when he sees me.
“Dad!” I sob.
“What’s wrong?” He immediately bristles when he sees Salinger. “What did you do to my daughter?”
“Nothing, sir. However, did you know that there is a—”
“Dad, what happened to your lawn?” I ask loudly before Salinger can spill the beans about my stalker snafu to my dad.
Yes, friends, I have entered the pretend-it-never-happened delulu stage of a traumatic event.
In the safe bubble of Salinger’s private island estate, it began to feel increasingly obvious that I had overreacted about the stalker the night before. Shoot, I probably should have walked back to my car and not gotten so hysterical. I mean, hiding behind a dumpster? Overreaction, much? I’m not even sure why I even bothered to call Salinger. Completely unnecessary, right? Right.
And nothing was wrong with my dad. Another overreaction on my part.
“Sir,” Salinger begins.
I kick him on the ankle. He grabs my wrist.
“Thank you for the ride, Mr. Uber Driver,” I say. “You can go now.”
“Mandy, you’re not appreciating this lawn.” My boss’s hand sweeps out like he’s revealing priceless artwork.
“Looks dead, Dad. What happened? Did bugs get it?”
“No, no, no.” Salinger rests a hand on my back. “That is an intentional kill-off, probably using glyphosate. Whoever killed that lawn did a superior job. Didn’t miss an inch.” Salinger is enthralled. “I used to do this for extra cash during college. It’s the most complete kill I’ve ever seen.”
My dad is in love. His chest puffs out. “Yep, I used fast-acting fertilizer, watered it heavily, did two to three passes of glyphosate, then hit it again a few days later. ”
“This guy lawns.” Salinger pumps my dad’s hand enthusiastically. “I wish I could have seen it before you did the kill-off. Bet you had the best damn lawn in the city.”
“It’s just a hobby.” My father is so pleased his mustache is twitching in happiness.
“Dad,” I begin slowly, “why did you kill off the lawn? Salinger, you can leave now—thank you for the ride.”
“He’s starting a new lawn from scratch.” Salinger’s hand slides casually down to rest on my hip. “Probably that new high-end cultivar that everyone’s talking about.”
“You read that article in Turf magazine?” my dad asks him.
“Randal McKean is an idiot, but damn if that article wasn’t on point.”
“Oh my god.” I look between Salinger and my father in horror. “Salinger, you’re a grass nerd.”
“Mandy, it’s a lawn. This is serious business,” Salinger lectures. “It’s American culture and, sadly, a dying art form.”
“Dad.” I raise my voice over the two of them gushing about lawn care. “The Uber driver has to keep working.”
“An Uber driver? What happened to your car?”
Ugh, it’s probably still sitting on the street. I bet I have a ticket.
“Just needs some oil and fluids.” I grasp for a reasonable explanation.
“You could have called me. I would have given you a ride. Those rideshare apps are so expensive.”
“It’s fine, Dad. I have a coupon.”
“Mandy, your car is broken?” Mom asks.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Ma, something’s wrong with Mandy’s car,” she hollers back through the open door. Inside, my sisters are screeching at each other. “You need a better car, Mandy. Haven’t I been telling you, you need a better car?”
“My car is fine.”
My mom fusses with the collar of my dress. “I told you, Mandy—you need to find a husband, one with a good job, one like your father. Your father has a pension, you know.”
“I don’t think anyone gives pensions anymore.”
“My company does,” Salinger says.
“Uber gives pensions?” My dad frowns.
“Even if they don’t, Patrick, Mandy’s found a man who has a job. It’s a step in the right direction. Come inside, mister…”
“You can just call me, Salinger, ma’am.”
“Ooh, Salinger! What a lovely name.” She links her arm with his. “Did you know that J.D. Salinger turned into a hermit and lived in a shack in New England for decades? He even had women parading to his house to be his mistresses. Some of them, their mothers would drive them there so they could have sex with a famous author—can you believe it? I was reading an article by one of them in my women’s magazine. I was shocked. It’s shocking! Although now that my daughter has never brought home a boyfriend and will never get married or have children, I’m beginning to see the appeal in pimping out your own child.”
What the fuck, Salinger mouths at me.
“Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands,” my mom chatters on. “Lauren, where are you?”
Lauren, hair askew, saunters in from the kitchen.
“Lauren, this is an Uber driver.” My mom pats Salinger’s muscular arm. “They have a retirement program. You could drive for Uber when Mandy gets her car fixed. You can use her car. ”
“No, she can’t, Mom. Lauren, go get a real job.”
“No shame in it. A job is a job,” my dad says, moseying over to select a piece of cheese and a cracker from the charcuterie board.
“And a man is a man. Working-class men have the biggest cocks, Mandy,” Gran tells me sagely, shoving a water glass full of cheap wine into my hand. “You shouldn’t pass that up. I should have gotten me a working-class sidepiece after I married your grandfather. Do you have any brothers, hot stuff?”
Salinger seems mildly alarmed.
Lauren scoffs. “That’s not her Uber driver. That’s Mandy’s rich boss. She thinks he’s hot.”
“He is hot,” Gran pipes up from the couch.
“You think I’m hot?” Salinger purrs in my ear.
I elbow him. “Lauren, shut up.”
“Aw, someone’s mad because she didn’t get laid. I know you didn’t sleep with him—you’re still extremely uptight.” My sister sticks her tongue out at me.
Salinger’s teeth catch his lip briefly. Thank god he’s not actually my boyfriend, because he would have broken up with me already and been halfway back to the city by now.
“It’s time for Salinger to go—he was just giving me a ride. A non-paid ride,” I add before my mother can launch into twenty questions about Salinger’s employment status.
“That was so gentlemanly of you.” My mother strokes his suit jacket. “You have to stay for dinner after driving all the way out here from the city.”
“It’s not that far, Mom.”
“I don’t know where your manners went, Mandy. Stay for dinner, Salinger. I made Mandy’s favorite—loaded tater tots and sloppy joes. Also, I made an icebox cake for dessert. ”
“I don’t think he—”
“I love sloppy joes, Mrs. Miller.”
“Call me Gale! Mrs. Miller is my mother-in-law.”
“Crusty old cunt,” Gran mutters.
“Mom, the timer is going off,” Amy calls, gliding into the living room, her hands cradling her barely there baby bump. She locks eyes with Salinger.
Salinger frowns.
Amy’s eyes light up, and her voice gets breathy. “Hi, Salinger. It’s so good to see you again.”
“What the hell?” I look between them wildly. “No, no, no, no.”
“Now you know how I feel!” Lauren screams, pointing at Amy.
“Praise jeebus.” Gran throws up her hands. “Salinger’s the real baby daddy. We’re all rich! Kick that lump of barely sentient used lubricant to the curb.”
I gag.
“Amy, you’re pregnant?” Salinger seems shocked.
I’m literally going to kill him.
“Asshole. You slept with my sister.” I lunge at him, arms swinging.
He grabs my wrists.
“Salinger,” Gran says, “you can build me my own mother-in-law suite in the back yard. No, shoot, get me my own condo on the beach in LA where I can watch all those hot men in their teeny-weeny bathing suits.”
“You’re the baby’s father? This isn’t fair!” Lauren wails.
I can’t with my sister. “Lauren, stop making this about you! You had a chance to go out with him, and you couldn’t bother to show up on time.”
Salinger turns all his attention on me .
Shoot.
His grip tightens. “You were going to have me go with your sister to the charity ball?”
“I don’t know why you’re acting so offended, considering you already slept with my other little sister.” I’m vibrating in anger, yanking at my arms, trying to get away from him.
“Look at him.” Gran is waving her glass of wine around. “He’s an animal. How did you not sleep with him, Mandy? Gale, you failed to teach your daughters to embrace their sexuality. For shame.”
“One of your daughters is a gold digger, and the other is pregnant by my boss,” I screech at them.
Salinger shakes me. “I didn’t sleep with Amy. I didn’t even touch her.”
“But he wanted to. You should have seen how he was flirting with me.” Amy pouts.
“You see?” Lauren shrieks. “Amy stole my boyfriend. Now she’s trying to steal Salinger from Mandy.”
“No, no, no. No. Salinger and I are not dating.”
“Have I taught you nothing?” Gran is having a fit. “No sex? Mandy, you’re almost forty.”
“I’m thirty-four—it’s not that old!” I yell at her as Amy tries to show Salinger her ultrasound photos.
“This is why your father killed the lawn!” my mom screams at us. “Because of this juvenile behavior! Next thing you know he’s going to be rearranging the boulders.”
I push Amy away from my boss.
“I can’t help it. Being pregnant makes me horny.” Amy twirls her hair around her finger.
“Ugh, Mom, do something about her.”
“I need to check the rolls.”
“Dinner is at two,” my dad reminds us .
“I swear, Mandy.” Salinger pulls me closer to him. “I didn’t sleep with her. I just manipulated your sister to give me access to the research system at Seattle University for some data I needed to make an investment. It was easy. I just smiled at her, and she let me have what I wanted.”
“Yeah, because that certainly changes you into being gentleman of the year.”
“Better than being the father of her child.” He releases me.
“We don’t know,” my grandmother insists, the ice cubes clinking in her glass. “Maybe you should stick around, just in case.”
“He doesn’t want to raise another man’s child, especially not Kenny’s, and I don’t know why you want to be a stepmother to that horrible teenager of his, Amy,” Lauren snaps.
“And that’s another reason why Kenny left you!” Amy yells at her. “You were a bad stepmom! No wonder he didn’t want to have a baby with you.”
“The only reason he didn’t have a baby with me is I’m smart enough to know how to use birth control.”
“Get Mandy pregnant instead.” My mother hands Salinger a glass of the boxed wine. “At least she can cook. She’ll be a good wife.”
“I can cook.” Amy is indignant.
“No,” I remind her. “You almost set the house on fire making microwave ramen. Where is Kenny, anyway?”
“He had to go to his kids’ debate match or something,” Amy complains. “He’s always putting them first. It’s so unfair.”
“Dinner is at two.”
“Yes, Patrick,” my mother says. “Go to the table, everyone.”
“Salinger,” Gran says, “you can sit by me.”
“Gran…”
“You snooze you lose, Mandy. You said you weren’t dating him. That means he’s single and ready to mingle. I’ve been on the internet. I know that younger men want older women nowadays.”
“Then Mandy must be just his type.” Lauren is snide.
“Mandy isn’t that old, Salinger. Don’t worry—she could still give you several children.” My mom pats his shoulder reassuringly.
“Mom, I’m not—”
“I gave birth to Amy in my forties,” my mom continues.
“And still no son.” Gran slurps her wine. “Not that girls aren’t amazing, but to be fair, Patrick has a college-dropout daughter who is pregnant by a man who is his age. I mean, I’d want a son too.”
“Mandy is still fertile. Mandy, stop arguing with me.” Mom slaps my hand. “I’m trying to help you. You’ve completely run out of prospects. Lauren tells me that all you do is sit alone with that dog of yours and watch YouTube videos and knit.”
“She’s in a parasocial relationship with several celebrities.” Lauren eats a tiny forkful of her sloppy joe. “Don’t worry, Mom—we’re going to the club. I’ll make sure she finds a man.”
“No, you’re not! You’re not going to ruin her chances with Salinger.”
I sink down heavily in my chair, still reeling, while my mom serves up more sloppy joes.
“Well, isn’t this nice? Aren’t you glad, Patrick, to have another man around?” My mom serves me more salad. “I think this is probably a little too much estrogen for him. Is it too much estrogen for you, Salinger? Half of us are pregnant or on hormone-replacement therapy for menopause.”
Salinger chokes on a bite of sloppy joe. My father stoically concentrates on his food.
“I guess I better sign you up for an appointment with my doctor, Mandy.” My mother sounds resigned as she fills her glass with wine from the box on the sideboard. “Just to make sure everything’s working. I’m sure Salinger wants a big family.”
“I want lots of children.” Amy bats her eyelashes at my boss. “And I’m still young enough to have tons of babies.”
“Slap her!” Lauren yells at me. “She’s trying to steal your man.”
“Ooh, you want to be careful.” Gran slurps her wine. “There’s a lady in my book club with ten children, and her uterus will just randomly fall out while she’s eating.”
“These tater tots are really good Mrs. Miller—er, Gale,” Salinger interjects.
“Have some more.” My mother scoops half the pan onto his plate.
“Mom, he doesn’t want all of that.”
“Mandy, this is the first time you brought a man home.” She’s trying to whisper, but she’s too drunk. “We can’t be stingy with the food.”