Like a Fox (8 page)

Chapter 12

“He’s buying you a house?!”

I cringe from the obvious shock and apprehension on my sister’s face. “Kind of.”

She shakes her head in bewilderment, like this has never happened before, “That’s crazy.”

I’m not going to argue. I agree.

“You told him no, right?”

It’s her turn to cringe at the guilt written all over my face.

“Please tell me you told him no?” Maya pleads, but I can tell she already knows the answer.

I lower my voice, unable to make eye contact, “I can’t.”

“Jesus, Freya,” she mutters, falling back into her spot on the couch, appearing exhausted from it all. “I always thought
I’d
be the one moving too fast.”

So did I.

There’s one loud, pronounced knock on the door. I know its Vic; he’s here to pick us up to have dinner at my parents. I had been nervous to ask him, but he accepted without hesitation, not at all freaked out by it. I wonder what actually does freak him out?

I get up and keep my voice low, “Be cool about it, okay? Let me tell mom and dad first?”

I had waited to tell Maya about the house until today, nervous and worried she would tell them before I could.

Vic stands there, hands resting in the pockets of his distressed jeans, his long sleeve black sweater clinging to all the right places to show off his physique. He greets me with a kiss to the lips and a soft, “Hi.”

“Hi.” I give him another quick one to the lips.

We go to Vic’s black Mercedes that is parked in front of our place. My parents live on the outskirts of town and Vic wanted to drive. I didn’t mind; his car’s luxurious and we don’t have to go in the VW van Maya and I share. On second thought, it might be funny to see someone like Vic riding in a worn out van.

“What’s this?” I pick up a small gift bag from the floor of the passenger seat that’s next to a bottle of wine.

“It’s for your mom.”

I place it back down, “That’s sweet of you.”

“Let’s go to the bread place first!” Maya shouts, making my ears ring as we slam our doors shut.

“Yes, that sounds so good!” I agree with excitement. “When was the last time we went?”

“Like a month ago,” she answers with a longing as though she’d said years.

“Bread place?” Vic questions, turning on the ignition.

“It’ll be one of the best things to ever happen to you, I swear!” Maya promises.

“We’re due at your parents in fifteen minutes,” Vic reminds us like we’re children.

Maya gives me a weird look. I shrug, not knowing how to begin to describe Vic to her.

“They won’t care,” I assure him, giving him directions.

It takes us twenty minutes to get there, as it’s on the way to the ocean. Vic does not seem pleased, tapping the clock after pulling into a parking spot.

I roll my eyes and get out. There’s a long line, which is usual. The brick oven bread is made fresh by hand every morning. They have everything from seeded loaves to an orgasmic cinnamon bun, but our very favorite is their fougasse, which is filled with various cheeses, olives, and huge chunks of garlic.

Vic sighs as we wait in line.

Maya points a thumb in his direction, “Is he always like this?”

I smile over at him, “Yes.”

His arms are crossed, features hardened, not acknowledging us (his form of pouting).

“I’m glad we made him come then.” Maya slaps his back. Vic grunts as it smacks loudly against him and pushes him forward a bit. “It’ll be good for you.”

“My dad probably hasn’t even started cooking yet.” I tell him, hoping to get him to relax a bit.

This seems to only bother Vic more as he glowers at me.

I laugh. Maya’s right, this’ll be good for him.

We get two loaves of fougasse: one to eat in the car and one to share at dinner. Yes, it’s that freaking good. A loaf can be demolished in seconds and have you asking for more.

I break off a piece for Vic as we make the drive to my parents. “Try some.”

He opens his mouth and I pop it in. I watch his jaw grind the food. “Good, right?”

“Very.” It seems painful for him to admit that.

“Worth being late good?”

“No.”

I frown.
What a grouch
.

“It was worth it to make you happy,” Vic adds, resting a hand on my thigh and giving it a squeeze. I place my hand over his, squeezing it back. I almost catch a smile appearing on his mouth. One of these days I’ll see it. I’m determined.

“Hey!” Maya jumps forward in her seat, palm hitting the back of the front seat and jarring Vic. His jaw ticks and he glares at her in the rearview mirror. “Whoops, sorry. I just had a great idea! We should go on a double date!”

That would be quite the experience. Flynn and Maya are notoriously late, and Flynn is Vic’s complete opposite: laid back, friendly, go-with-the-flow, and he smiles
all
the time. Plus, what would they even talk about? Really, what does Vic talk to anybody about?

I shrug, “Maybe.”

“So what’s up with the house?”

“Maya!” I glare at her. I should have known better than to tell her first.

She ignores me, focused on Vic.

He speaks to her via rearview mirror, “Is there a problem?”

“You’ve only been dating for a couple of weeks.”

“Yes,” Vic agrees, his tone sounding like he doesn’t understand how that’s relevant to the topic.

“You hardly know each other.”

Maya’s sounding like me. This is a conversation we’ve had many times in the past when she thought each new guy was the love of her life.

Vic’s hands tighten around the wheel, Maya testing his patience. “I know enough.”

“
Please
,” Maya dismisses with a wave of her hand.

I glare harder at her to shut up.

“I know she never closes the cap on the toothpaste so it always leaves some on the counter,” Vic starts. “She can’t stand when people change everything about their order and aren’t satisfied by it even then; she loves to read in bed every night; her favorite tea is Good Earth Sweet and Spicy; she prefers her coffee with cinnamon; she believes honey can cure almost anything; she loves to walk and explore; she hates the color black and loves anything with cornflower blue – yes, I know what that color is, it’s in half her wardrobe and all your baking utensils; she puts avocado on
everything
; fog and sparkling lights are magical to her; nail polish annoys her because it always chips five minutes after she applies it; she can’t stand purses so all her clothing has adequate pockets; family is the most important thing and she would do anything for them, including extended family that isn’t blood; she’s beautiful, has nipples that beg me to suck them, and she tastes like Sunday brunch…Shall I continue?” His tone is challenging, his brow raised.

My sister’s eyes are almost as wide as mine, both our mouths dropped open.

Maya snaps her lips shut, “Nope.”

I had no idea Vic knew so much about me. Most of the stuff we never even talked about, he just got from observation.

The car is silent the rest of the way. When we arrive at our parents’ we’re forty-five minutes late. I can feel Vic’s tension.

The outside of their house is neat and tidy with a beautiful garden, the only area my dad hasn’t taken over with Buddhas and incense.

“Perfect timing,” my mom greets us at the front door as we exit the car. “Your dad’s just getting it started.”

Vic extends his hand, “Vicsuyan. It’s an honor to meet you.”

My mom takes his hand, “Nina. I’m so happy you could join us.”

Vic turns her hand over and places a kiss on top. With his other hand he gives her the gift bag, “For you.”

She opens it to find her favorite candle made from a local artisan. My mom visibly swoons, “Oh, he’s charming.”

“Sometimes.”

Vic raises an eyebrow at me. I smirk. He’s not the only one that enjoys messing with the other.

“He also brought wine.” I hand over the bottle.

My mom reads the label, “I’m impressed, this is good stuff.” She has us come in and we wipe our feet on the front mat as a light drizzle starts.

“They’re here!” My mom shouts down the hall.

The inside is covered in random trinkets, silk fabric drapes the widows, huge rocks and lit candles are placed about like one would have flowers or picture frames, and the floors are covered in woven rugs, all different colors, all mismatched and clashing. Macramé plant holders hang from the ceiling. Reggae music is playing from the speakers on the walls. Reggae I can deal with. I like Reggae. From the look on Vic’s face I can guess he doesn’t. I laugh. “Welcome to my parents’ house.”

My dad steps out of the kitchen wearing his “Don’t Cook Bacon Naked” apron. He embraces Maya and I in a big hug, then shakes Vic’s hand, introducing himself, “Lewis.”

I can see Vic’s hand tighten around my father’s, eyes narrowing in on him, “Vicsuyan Vitalle.”

My father pales, the hand shake coming to a halt, mid-air. The air changes, a tension taking over. He retracts his hand like it got burnt, “Vitalle you say?”

“Yes.”

“You wouldn’t by any chance–”

Vic nods once, cutting in, “I am.”

My dad goes even paler.

“Do you have a private room we can go to?” Vic is calm, reminding me of someone about to enter a business meeting and not a family dinner.

“Y-y-yyes,” my dad stutters and stumbles over the word. We watch them leave.

“What the hell?” Maya and I say at the same time.

Mom smiles, but she’s nervous. I’ve known her for twenty-four years and I know what her face looks like when she’s nervous. Her eyes give her away. “Let’s go open this wine. I’m sure they’re just having some man-to-man, father-to-new-guy chat.”

“
Rrright
.” Maya turns to me, “Who the hell is that guy? I’m freaked out right now. I’ve never seen dad look like that.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know any more than she does. I take the wine back from my mom, bypassing her question, “Great idea, Mom.”

Mom seems relieved that I’m just as willing to ignore the bizarre interaction we just witnessed.

Maya, however, is not, “You two are acting just as weird.”

Mom and I look at each other, both hiding something and content to pretend we aren’t.

What
is
going on? Does it have something to do with Vic’s work? That doesn’t make any sense. My dad’s a cook, and has been since his early twenties.

“Hey!” Flynn calls, and we hear his footsteps echoing. He enters the kitchen with a big smile and a hug for each of us. “Where’s Lewis?”

Maya fills him in on what happened.

I pour us all a glass of wine, “She’s overreacting.”

“No,
you’re
underreacting.”

If she only knew. My insides are anything but calm at the moment.

It’s only about five minutes before Vic and my dad return. My dad is white as a ghost. Vic’s expression is cold and hard.

My dad tries to talk, the words getting caught in his throat so he coughs, trying again, “Nina, show me where that table cloth was you wanted me to get down.”

My mom seems puzzled then she jumps to attention, “Right, I’ll show you.”

Only my dad comes back a few minutes later, “Your mom needed the bathroom.”

I drink my wine, staring at Vic, needing answers. He doesn’t look my way.

Mom comes back, her eyes red-rimmed.

“You okay?” Maya asks, concerned.

“Fine, I just sneezed.”

Maya smells her bullshit as strongly as I do. “Where’s the table cloth?”

“Oh, right,” Mom retreats in a daze, coming back with the table cloth that is always on the middle shelf of the linen closet, a place she can easily get to.

“Sit,” my dad motions, smiling, seeming to be recovering. “I’m almost done prepping; we’ll chat while it cooks.”

We all take a place at the kitchen table.

“What was that?” I ask under my breath close to Vic.

“He knew my father,” Vic answers equally as low.

I wasn’t expecting that, “He did?”

He pulls my head to him, kissing the top, “Long time ago. It doesn’t matter.”

“It looked like it did.”

“My father is dead, Freya,” Vic informs me, not at all like a person who cares and is saddened by it. “I wanted to share the news in private.”

I take hold of his hand, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. He deserved it.”

“Vic bought Freya a house,” Maya blurts out, interrupting the questions I still had.

Dad whips around, wooden spoon in hand, “What?”