Whipped) (11 page)

I've never met a girl's parents before. I expect a stubborn father who is determined I'm not good enough for his girl and a perfectionist mother who needs every detail of my life. I know I'm stereotyping.

It doesn't go as I expect.

When I knock on the door a woman yells, "Come in!" We do. The hallway is white, and a modern painting of a blue sphere hangs on the wall. Vi told me her mother's a painter. I wonder if this is one of her pieces.

Someone giggles.

A petite woman in khaki shorts and a tank top is playing Twister on the living room floor. Tangled with her limbs is a man, his arms thick, his orange shirt half unbuttoned. Two glasses of wine stand half full on the side. They notice us and wave. "Hi, honey. Just give us a second." The woman tries to move her foot to a red circle. She slips and falls and laughs. The man wraps his arm around her. They stand.

Vi gives each of them a hug. "So good to see you!" She motions at me. "This is Lachlan. Lach, these are my parents. Angela and Marvin."

I offer a handshake, but both of them embrace me instead. Angela smiles at her daughter. "He's tall." 

Marvin, who reaches only my shoulder, shrugs. A streak of gray runs the side of his black hair. "Height's not that important."

Angela kisses his cheek. She has freckles and a dimple. Her hair is red. "It’s okay, baby. I still love you." And then, to me, "Forgive him, he's drunk." Her face scrunches up, and she burps. "Sorry. We're both drunk."

Vi shakes her head.

I should say something witty, but nothing comes to mind. Alcohol should help. "Any more of that wine?"

Angela grabs a leopard purse off a hanger. "Not for you. You're driving."

Vi frowns. "I thought we were staying in for dinner."

"We were, until you told me Lachlan's a dancer, so…"

"So, we decided to go to a club," finishes Marvin, throwing on a leather jacket. I notice a tribal tattoo around his wrist.

"Nice tat," I say. When I imagined Vi's parents, I imagined an old couple that spends their days on the sofa, yelling at each other to pass the remote and ordering cheap takeout food for dinner. But Marvin and Angela seem like… well, they seem like Vi and me. They seem fun.

"Thanks," says Marvin. "Got it a year ago with my brother. How about you? Any tattoos?"

"Yeah, actually—"

"Okay, boys," says Angela. "You can compare tattoos later. Right now, Mama needs to party." She opens the door and Marvin follows her out.

Vi has a hand on her face, her cheeks red. "So, that's my parents."

I wrap my arms around her waist. "I like them. It's me I'm worried about."

"Just do some fancy dance moves. They'll love you."

"I hope so." I turn to go.

She grabs my hand. "You're really nervous about this, aren't you?"

"A bit."

"Really? Just a bit? Then why is your hand sweating?"

I pull my hand away and wipe it on my jeans. "Okay. A lot. I never impressed my parents."

"Your parents were assholes."

"And yours aren't."

She raises her eyebrow. "I see. So you really want to impress them. Okay. Here's the game plan." She takes my arm and walks with me outside. "For my mom, impress her with your dance moves. Also, if you could do something extremely physical, like maybe pushups while I'm sitting on you, that would help."

"Really?"

She grins. "Okay, fine. The pushups would mostly be for me." We pause outside the car. "For my dad, just talk about mixed martial arts fighting—you know, MMA. He loves it."

I grit my teeth. "I don't know anything about MMA."

She shrugs. "Then just buy him cocktails and listen. It works for me."

"Thanks."

She presses her lips to mine. "You'll do great."

We pull apart and get in the car. "Where to?" I ask.

Angela gives me the directions to a nearby club. It takes ten minutes to get there. On the way, Angela and Marvin ask me about my hobbies—working out—my favorite TV show—
Breaking Bad
—and my opinion on zoos—don't have one.

"Zoos are evil," says Angela.

"Some help educate kids," says Marvin. Vi told me he teaches theater as well as produces plays.

They keep debating as we arrive at the club. The bouncer recognizes Angela and Marvin and lets us through. Inside, tables and chairs glow lime green. People dance to a fast beat and a live DJ. Marvin grabs Angela's hand and pulls her into the crowd. Vi wraps her arms around my shoulders, and we start swaying side to side. I want to do more than dance.

Vi runs a hand down my chest. "You should show off your moves."

I'm used to performing on stage. Performing in a crowd is different. There's no choreography. I'm in control. I decide when the show starts, when it stops. Freedom is mine.

"Soon," I say.

I wait for the next song. A slow deep beat comes on. I grin and pull away from Vi, finding some space. I start simple, my body flowing with music. Some people stop to watch. A circle starts to form around me. I have more space. My legs glide over the floor, my arms forming shapes in the air, starting and stopping to the beat. The circle of people grows again. Angela and Marvin are among them, cheering. I must have a quarter of the dance floor to myself. I add spins and flips to my routine. I lock my hands behind my back and flip forward, letting my head touch the floor. It's a tricky move. Painful when done poorly. Dangerous when done wrong. I perform it perfectly. Again and again.

The crowd roars with excitement. On my final flip, I stick my arms out, and instead of landing on my feet, land straight on my back. My arms and legs help absorb the shock. It barely hurts. People gasp. This is a move few can imagine doing.

I perform a kick-up, jumping back on my feet. The bridge of the song comes on. It's faster, and so am I, isolating parts of my body as they move to the music. As the song reaches the final chorus, I begin a series of trick jumps, twisting sideways through the air. On the final note, I land a double flip. I bow my head and hold my arms up. The crowd knows my performance is over, and they erupt in howls and cheers.

I walk into the circle, joining the audience, and a woman takes my place, her hips moving to the new beat. Once a performance has begun, others want it to continue. They want the energy of the applause.

Vi, Angela, and Marvin huddle around me. Angela squeals with her arms in the air. "That was amazing. Vi, honey, this one's a keeper." So mom's impressed. Check.

Marvin shakes his head up and down to the music. "Pretty good moves." Dad still needs work. Take note.

Vi's face is red. She's biting her lip. "I'll require a private performance later."

I grin. I know just the moves I'll use. The finish will be amazing.

We head over to the bar and order drinks. Marvin talks about MMA. We all nod along. "You ever practice fighting, Lachlan?"

If you don't count a few scuffles in high school, then… "No. Dancing was always my thing."

Marvin rolls his shoulders. "You should try martial arts. There are quite a few similarities between katas and choreography. Plus, you already have the flexibility. That was my biggest challenge."

Darrel taught me stretches along with my first dance moves. Each morning, I would push my body further and further until doing the splits became easy. Then I'd push more.

Angela checks her phone. "We should head home. I'll need to get up early just to get rid of my hangover."

I finish up my drink. "Vi's got an amazing hangover cure."

Angela chuckles. "Who do you think taught her the recipe?"

***

The next day, Angela and Vi make everyone the secret hangover cure. We're all in the kitchen. Marvin and I cringe as we down the vile concoction. Marvin trembles. "I have a love/hate relationship with this drink. You'd think I'd be used to it. Some days I think it tastes worse."

I shrug. "You can't deny the benefits."

He nods, and we clink glasses. Angela and Vi sip their drinks, smiling and chatting the whole time. Marvin nudges my shoulder and whispers. "Sometimes, I think they've figured out how to make the damned thing taste good. They just give us the old version for fun."

I raise an eyebrow. "Or maybe they just give us a special ingredient."

He rubs his chin, frowning. "There's no way to know."

I have an idea. "Hey, babe."

Vi flips her red hair out of her face. Her grin is devilish. "What's up? Enjoying your drink?"

I rub my belly. "Oh, I loved it. In fact, I loved it so much I'm all finished. Can I have some of yours?"

She turns away, doing something on the counter. "I'll make you a second one."

"Come on. Just a sip."

"Well…" She turns back, holds out her glass. "Well, okay."

I grab it and drink. My throat burns. My eyes leak. "Oh fuck. This is like ten times worse." I run to the sink, turn on the cold water, and splash it over my tongue.

I hear Marvin's shocked voice. "What are you drinking ladies?"

The ladies giggle. "Vi added pepper when you weren't looking," says Angela.

Vi makes a clicking noise. "How's that for your special ingredient?"

I lick at the sink water. This makes no sense. "I like spicy foods. What kind of pepper is this?

"Carolina Reaper," says Vi. "Hottest pepper in the world."

My mouth cools off. I turn off the water and dry my face. Marvin pats me on the back, a sympathetic frown on his face. "Sorry, son. But I've tried as well. Like I said. There's no way to know."

Some warning would have been appreciated. But then I realize he called me
son
. I feel warmth in my belly. It might be happiness.

It might be the pepper.

I pour myself a cold glass of milk and silently swear vengeance on my girlfriend and her mother.

Marvin pulls a silver box from a closet. "Ready for the barbecue?"

"Yeah. Watch the seasonings, or we might end up with Carolina Reaper steak."

Vi pouts her lips. "I'm sorry, baby."

"No, you're not."

She caresses my face. "I am if I hurt your feelings."

I smile. "You didn't."

She steps back and her devilish grin returns. "Oh, good. Watching you lick the tap water was hilarious."

***

I flip the steaks over and apply a layer of barbecue sauce with a brush. Angela and Vi sit at an outdoor table overlooking a backyard of colored rocks and vibrant bushes. The landscape requires less maintenance than a field of grass and looks more beautiful. I'll have to get something similar for my house.

Marvin slides open the back door, joining us outside. "We're out of beer. I'll go grab some."

Vi taps the table. "Oh, you should take Lachlan with you."

"Great. Let's go."

I close the barbecue lid. "Sure, but the meat's not done."

Vi walks up beside me and grabs my spatula. "I'll take care of it."

I remember she doesn't like to cook. "You sure?"

"Of course."

I slip off my barbecue glove and pass it to her. "Thank you." I kiss her on the lips. It's hard to pull away.

I walk into the house. Marvin and I throw on our jackets. We're halfway out the door when we hear the scream. I rush back outside.

Vi is cradling her hand. "It burned me!"

"Let me see." I examine her. There's a small red spot on her index finger. It will heal easily. "You're fine. What happened?"

She sways her arms. "I… um… tried to flip the meat."

"With your hand?"

She huffs and looks indignant. It's adorable. "No. Of course not. I flipped it with the spatula, just, right off the grill. Then I tried to lift the steak. It hurt."

I notice the piece of meat on the wooden patio. I chuckle and hug Vi. "Does this make it better?"

"A little. Thank you so much—oh shit!" She spins toward the grill, turns off the heat, and opens it. The meat is black. "Shit. I burned it." She bites her lip. I can see she's close to crying.

I laugh to diffuse the tension. "What are you talking about? The crispy bits are my favorite. It's Cajun style."

Vi smiles as I begin to serve the food.

Angela takes a bite and looks at Marvin. "She still cooks better than you."

***

We finish what we can of the steak, and Vi offers to show me around town. She wants to show me where she grew up. I can't say no.

She drives me to her old high school, where her favorite teacher taught art, and to the mall, where she hung out with friends. She drives to the movie theater she used to frequent, and we watch a romantic comedy. She drives to the restaurant she loved, and we eat a pair of burgers. She drives to the beach.

We sit on the sand and watch the sun set, and I toss rocks into the ocean. "Is this where you brought all your boyfriends?" I ask, jokingly.