Chapter 2 #2
My swearing offended him momentarily before he blinked and chuckled with a shake of his head. “I named you Saylor because I used to go sailing. From the phone call with your mother I had an hour ago, I learned you’ve got quite the sailor’s mouth.”
At my five-ten height, Scott wasn’t that much taller than me. He definitely wasn’t intimidating, but there was a hint of authority about him, like when pushed he could go there.
I threw my hands up in surrender. “You got me.”
A second later he held his hand out to shake with me. “Hi, Saylor, I’m…Scott. I’m your father.”
For a moment I couldn’t speak. Unable to process this bizarre reality I’d fallen into.
Scott was standing there with his hand outstretched, waiting. His eyes kind, and an eager smile on his face. And all I could think about was who the hell meets their father this way?
Around us people were reuniting with their families, or sending them off on adventures. Hugging hello or clinging close in goodbye. And yet I stood meeting my father for the first time with the man attempting to shake my hand.
This was completely fucked.
I wrapped my arms around myself. “Saylor.”
Scott lowered his hand and tipped his head my way, accepting my refusal to touch.
God this was painful.
Scott stood there, staring at me, a spark in his eye and a small smile on his face.
“What?” I asked when it became too weird.
He shook his head, going and looking at the ground. “Nothing, it’s just…you look so much like her.”
My mother. He looked at me and saw my mother.
I was the same age as she was when they’d first met. I wondered if the sight of me would haunt him. If this whole thing would become too much for him.
Scott gave me a tightlipped smile, tinged in sadness, taking my luggage and showing a hand toward the door. “Shall we?”
“Not like I have much choice,” I mumbled.
He took the lead and opened the door for me before wheeling my two suitcases behind us.
“It’s a forty-five-minute drive back to Meadow Grove, would you like to stick around here and get something to eat first?” Scott offered.
My stomach grumbled for attention, but I didn’t bite. He’d probably pick a restaurant, which meant awkward small talk.
“No thanks.” I made a mental note to raid his fridge whenever we got to his place.
In the parking lot, Scott stopped at a dark purple Ford pickup before stowing my luggage in the truck bed.
He eyed me before studying his mode of transportation. “Need a lift in?”
I declined his offer before going around to the passenger side and helping myself inside the truck.
Scott climbed in beside me, looking nervous as he set his key into the ignition.
He scratched at his head, which only held a few gray strands in all its thick blackness.
He must’ve been a lady killer, Scott, because even though he appeared tired, with his cologne and decent build, he was easy on the eyes. Rugged, some women would say.
Briefly I wondered if I had a stepmother to deal with.
“What, uh, do you like to listen to?” Scott nodded toward the radio for emphasis.
I considered saying screamo to be a brat, but decided against it and shrugged instead.
“My father,” Scott began as he started up the truck.
“Your grandfather, is a big country fan, my mom too. I got into rock in my teen years, but every now and then I catch myself listening to the stuff Dad used to play. I was never appreciative when he was around. They, uh, live in Florida now, with my sister, your aunt, Irene.”
My mother and the Asshole both liked indie music, and my mother especially liked R&B and soul as well.
I didn’t tell Scott this.
Scott settled on a modern rock station before beginning the drive to his house.
“Ah, you probably don’t know this one,” Scott noted of the song that was playing. “They’re an oldie, but a goodie.”
I recognized Queen instantly. “Hell yeah. I love Queen.”
“A lot of the kids your age I’ve encountered aren’t too familiar with bands like this from the ’70s,” Scott commented, seeming impressed.
“One of my best friends, his parents are in their sixties, and he has a way older brother. His parents had him late or whatever, but his older brother’s record collection saved his life—it saved all of us. The music back then—”
“Was the best,” Scott concluded. “Guess I won’t have to endure you listening to boy bands and the Top 40, huh?”
I cringed. “God no!”
This comment served to make Scott smile and laugh.
Along the way to his house, my mother texted me, asking if I made it safely. She’d texted me throughout my trip and I had barely responded. I typed in an answer to her latest question but hesitated to send it.
In the end, I deleted the message and slid my phone in my pocket.
Let Scott tell her I’d made it.
Exactly forty-five minutes later, Scott was driving by a sign that said Welcome to Meadow Grove.
I took the time to be alert and take in my new home.
The drive into town introduced all the businesses on either side of the street.
Several different restaurants lined one block, another offered mom-and-pop shops from health foods, repairs, and even stationery goods.
There was a movie theater with a large marquee listing that students with straights As got in free, and I had just spotted town hall when Scott made a turn, going toward the residences.
“A lot of kids hang downtown. There’s a lot to do,” Scott said. “In some ways, if you spin in a circle, you’ll have seen the whole town, but there are a lot of places to go and do things. Painting, hiking, kickboxing—there are a lot of fun activities.”
I negated to mention all of those activities weren’t my style.
One thing I really noted were the trees. There were so many of them lining the streets, and beyond the trees there were floral arrangements at every corner. All the greens, whites, reds, and yellows made me sick inside. The atmosphere was too cozy, jovial, and quiet for me.
In LA, everything was busy, alive with sound and people on the go.
Admittedly, the people could be quite rude.
If you bumped into a stranger on the street, they’d flip you the bird before going on their way.
Here, I could tell one would spend a good five minutes going back and forth apologizing and taking the blame for the mishap.
Scott finally pulled into an area called Cherrywood Drive before taking another minute to find his house.
All of the houses on the street were fairly close together, separated by fences or hedges.
Back home, we had space. The only time you would see your neighbor would be when you were taking the garbage bin to the curb and you happened to bump into them.
One of Scott’s neighbors was out jogging, and another was walking their dog.
Scott waved to each as he got out of the truck.
“Everyone’s really friendly,” he told me.
It was like he was really trying to sell this town to me, but it wasn’t about to work.
Scott gathered my luggage, and I followed him up the path to the front door.
“Your mother’s already arranged things for you at the high school. You’ll go to Horton High, and in the morning, I’ll take you,” Scott said as he unlocked the door and pushed it open for me.
I scowled as I stepped inside. I was not in the mood for high school just yet. Couldn’t I settle in for another week first?
I took in Scott’s décor as I stood in the foyer, noticing that the flooring was all wood.
There was nothing really to the space, and as Scott showed me to the next room, I realized he had no sense of style.
With all the high ceilings and spacious rooms, there was room for creativity, which Scott clearly lacked.
The living room simply held a coffee table, an ugly beige sofa, a brown leather chair and a large flat screen.
The kitchen lacked anything personal as well. The island was wiped clean and the fridge was a large empty steel canvas. There was nothing more to the brown cabinets and white countertops as well.
Every room was like this, as if Scott had just moved in. The place wasn’t exactly a bachelor pad, but it definitely lacked that home feeling.
When he showed me up to the second floor to my bedroom, I was surprised to find a stuffed tan teddy bear on the large queen-sized bed.
I went over and picked up the little guy, looking back at Scott speculatively.
He ducked his head, his cheeks tinting red as he switched from one foot to the other. “I wanted to decorate, but this was all so fast and I didn’t know what you liked.”
“Of course not,” I replied.
He set my luggage down by the door and looked around my room.
It was hollow, much like the rest of the house. Four white walls, cream-colored carpet, a walk-in closet, and a nice bed with a navy and baby blue theme.
I removed my white low top Converse, taking it all in. This was my sanctuary, at least until I found a better place to be.
“What’s your favorite color?” Scott asked me. “We could paint this room and decorate it however you please.”
I lifted and dropped my shoulder. “Don’t have one.”
When I was a kid, I was obsessed with the color green, and then I liked red, and then I liked black. After a while, I thought it was dumb to have a favorite color. I changed my mind too much.
Scott led the way back to the first floor, mentioning something about food, which immediately caught my attention.
“I work at the local grocery store,” he informed me.
“I’m their grocery manager, that’s the department I run, but sometimes I act as store manager or manager on duty.
I could see about getting you a job at the bakery or even a cashier.
There are a lot of departments at Marty’s, so it could be up to you. ”
“Manual labor?” I pretended to shudder at the thought.
Scott chuckled. “Gotta make a living, Saylor.”
My mother came from money, and even she enjoyed teaching her pottery classes. Marrying the Asshole hadn’t slowed her down her once. In a lot of ways, that was admirable of her.