Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
I should have brought barf bags. The closer I get to Crispin’s parents’ house, the more likely spew-age is to happen.
My navigation tells me to turn left. I’m in a very normal neighborhood.
The houses are old, but most of them are well-kept.
Lots of Spanish tile roofs and stucco walls.
Brick accents. Very Southern California, I’m figuring out.
My navigation informs me my destination is on the right.
And that I’ve arrived. I pull to the curb in front of a house that looks like many of the others.
There is a charming stucco and brick arch over a wrought iron fence.
A stucco wall wraps around the property with large fan palms softening the look.
A palm tree is in the corner of the yard inside the wall.
It stands at least thirty feet high. Probably higher.
I stink at estimating. I grin at the palm as I get out of my car.
“Cool.”
When I lift the latch to let myself into the gate, Crispin appears in the entry of the house.
The double doors stand open, and tile floors stretch from the front door all the way to the back of the house.
Crispin, again in shorts, a t-shirt, and flipflops, looks so much a part of the scenery that I feel like I’m looking at an ad.
I point to the palm tree. “There’s a palm tree in the yard.”
He laughs. “We used to have three, but had to take out the other two when rats started living in the trunks.”
I freeze, halfway to the front door. “Ew. That happens?”
“Yeah. I think it’s kind of common.”
I glance at the tree like it did me dirty. “That really ruins palm trees for me.”
“Really, it wasn’t the tree’s fault.”
I shudder and finally continue to the front door where he still waits patiently for me, hands in pockets like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I would have taken them all out so it wouldn’t happen again.”
I step up into the house and look around.
It amazes me that you can just leave doors and windows open in California and not worry about mosquitoes or flies.
All the outdoor dining where you can eat and never be bothered by a single flying insect.
It’s crazy to me. In the Midwest, mosquitoes carry off our hot dogs if we don’t guard them with our lives.
“What a beautiful home.” I mean it. Everything inside is bright.
Linen couches and gauze sheers, in off-white and tan, with blue accents.
Windows everywhere show off the lush landscaping in the wraparound yard.
The entry hall opens to the living room, which flows to the dining room.
I’m assuming the kitchen is on the other side of the living room wall.
A half circular staircase sweeps to the upstairs on my right, and it looks like there is another living space across from the kitchen.
I can see straight through the house and out the double French doors on the other side where I think I see his family in the backyard.
It's all so comfortable and inviting. Open concept living has its benefits.
“Come on in and meet everyone,” Crispin says. “Do you want something to drink? A soda, maybe?”
“Sure.” If nothing else, it’ll give me something to do with my hands during the awkward introductions. I hand him the container of cookies I brought.
“You didn’t have to do this. But thanks,” he says, leading me to the kitchen.
Clutching my soda with both hands, I follow Crispin outside. Everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at me with huge grins on their faces. So creepy. I almost walk back inside.
I catch Crispin giving them all a significant look, but it doesn’t change their attitudes in the slightest. “Everyone, this is Arabelle. Arabelle, this is my dad, Stan.”
I reach forward and shake his hand, since he’s the only one close enough to do that with. I grimace when I realize my hand is cold and wet from gripping the soda can. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“My mom, Pauline.”
I wave, awkwardly. She sets down the container she’d been holding on the table and rushes over to give me a hug. “Oh!” I pat her back with my still-damp hand and hold the other away from her so the can doesn’t drip on her.
“We are so thrilled to have you here. Crispin never invites girls over.”
“Ah, Mom. Come on.”
When I smirk at Crispin, I’m surprised to see he looks exactly like a seventeen-year-old kid in that moment. An embarrassed one. No wonder he still gets away with playing them.
“And that’s my sister Claire.”
Definitely not goth. Mousy and as normal a girl as they come. I like her already.
She pushes her glasses up her nose as she smiles at me. “Nice to meet you, Ari.”
I grin at the familiarity with my nickname. It feels like Crispin has been talking about me. “You too.”
She tosses a baseball, with scary force and accuracy, to a young man across the yard.
“And that’s Claire’s boyfriend, Bruno.” I’m about to wave and call a greeting when Crispin says, “He doesn’t speak much English and can’t hear well out of his right ear. Claire mostly feels sorry for him.”
“You’re a jerk, Crispin,” Bruno says, no accent whatsoever. He lobs the ball back to Claire. “And my name is Angel.”
“Okay.” I laugh. “Good to meet you.” Crispin’s devilish side never ceases to surprise me.
I look at Pauline. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Oh my gosh, how sweet of you to offer. My kids never offer.”
I give Crispin a significant look. Then turn back to his mom. “If it makes you feel any better, he helped me do the dishes after dinner the other night.”
She lets out a dramatic breath. “It does help to know. Thank you.” She pats Crispin’s cheek. “You are a good boy after all.”
“Mom,” he whines again.
I have to bite my lip because it’s so adorable to see him like that.
Pauline returns to the task she abandoned when she rushed over to give me the hug. “But, no thank you, Arabelle. You and Crispin can just spend some quality time together.”
“Thank you.” I mean, what else can I say?
Shaking his head, Crispin motions for me to follow him and jogs down the steps of the deck to the yard below. As soon as Crispin comes into view, an old yellow lab hefts herself up off a dog bed in a shaded corner of the yard and hobbles to him, wagging her tail the whole time.
I don’t even think he realizes he’s petting her as soon as she makes it to him. It looks like they’ve done this same thing for a million years.
I squat in front of her and scratch her neck. “Who is this beauty?”
“Lady.”
“She’s gorgeous.”
“Best dog in the world.” Crispin squats next to me and rubs her ear until her head tips toward him. Her back leg raises off the ground and starts to flap around. “She loves to have her ears rubbed. It used to make her scratch her belly, but she’s not as flexible as she used to be. Are you, girl?”
She grins at Crispin like he hung the moon. Tongue lolling, rheumy eyes glazed. This girl is in love. And dang if it doesn’t make me like him even more. I’m so screwed.
“You guys want to join us?” Claire asks. The clap of the ball hitting Angel’s glove makes me wince.
I give Lady one last head scratch, and Crispin and I both stand and turn to face her. I shake my head and point to Angel’s glove. “I can’t catch anything like that. I can’t throw either, if I’m being honest.”
Crispin chuckles. “Claire is on her college softball team. I avoid playing catch with her too. Angel has to play if he wants to stay in her good graces.”
Claire rolls her eyes. “Also, he plays on the school’s baseball team.”
“Oh, right.” Crispin hits his forehead. Angel just shakes his head, but I can see he loves being teased by the big star. “Besides, I have to beat Ari at lawn darts first. I kind of promised.”
Now it’s my turn to shake my head at Crispin.
But, man, if I don’t love this spunky version of him.
I see a little of it on set – especially during lunch, when it’s just Sally, him, and me – but this is like next-level snark.
When I feature him on my podcast, I’m going to have to figure out how to draw this out of him. My viewers would go nuts.
He squints at me. “What are you scheming inside that head of yours?”
My eyes pop wide. “Me? Nothing. What makes you think that?”
“Only the smirk and the devilish light in your eyes.” He tips his head, and we walk across the backyard and around to the side yard where the lawn darts are already set up.
I decide to be honest with him. “I like this side of you and was just thinking how I could bring it out of you for an interview for my podcast.”
He spins toward me and leans forward. “I get to be on your podcast?”
I take in his ridiculously excited posture and frown. “You were always going to be on my podcast, just not right away.”
He deflates.
I tip my head. “Why do you want to be on it so bad?”
“I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck.
“I’ve been recording like a fiend to get them all done before we finish shooting. Then I’ll be able to play them for a few months after. I won’t have enough to fill all the time from when we wrap and when the movie releases, but it should be pretty close.”
“By then, you should be able to do some from the press junket.”
I stare at Crispin with wide eyes. “Press junket?”
“Yeah. Where we tour to promote the movie. It should be in your contract.”
“I wouldn’t be expected to go on that, would I? I’m just a minor role.”
Crispin shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ll have to check your contract, but since they had you in those promotional shots with Sally and me, I’m guessing they want you to do some promo.”
“I’m going to be in school.”
He holds his hands up in the air. “I don’t want to give you the wrong information. You should check for yourself.”
“I will.”
“Now, you ready to lose?”
“I am.”
Handing me my darts, he says, “At least pretend you’re going to try.”
“Oh, I’ll try. I always try.