“Cupcake,” a female voice called behind me in the alley.
“Mom?” I mouthed before I even realized it. My mother used to call me cupcake when she was alive, because it was my favorite food. I remembered how we often spend some weekends baking cupcakes. Those were the best moments of my life. But I hadn't been able to bake or eat cupcakes since then, because it reminded me so much of her and made me cry a lot.
Turning around, I didn't see anybody. Then a girl of about five years came skipping down the road. She was shortly followed by a woman, with a bob haircut, who resembled the girl.
“Cupcake, slow down,” the woman said to the girl.
The girl glanced over her shoulder. “Come on, Mom. Hurry up. The ice cream stand is going to close soon.”
The woman picked up her pace. Passing by me, the woman turned her face in my direction and smiled. Those vivid honey brown eyes reminded me of someone I lost to cancer four years ago—my mom. I bit back the tears that were going to flood my eyes.
I watched the woman and her daughter walk down the alley and disappear out of sight as they rounded a corner. They were a beautiful pair. I wished I could still take walks like that with my mom. But I was grateful for the time, no matter how short, I was able to spend with her.
The buzzing of my cellphone in my backpack distracted my attention. My dad had just sent me a text. Hurry home. He was fond of sending short text messages, because he found typing on his phone tedious. Consequently, he had zero social media presence. I'd told him he was missing out on a lot of things, but he wasn't bothered. He said people lived before the existence of the media, and so he'd live. He was right to some extent.
By the time I got home, I was craving for water. The blazing afternoon sun had dried up my throat. I skipped to the fridge and took a bottle of water. Returning a half-drunk bottle into the fridge, I strolled into the kitchen. I opened one of the overhead cabinets and took a bag of fries.
Dad strolled in with both of his hands buried deep in the pockets of his gray pants. That was a sign. Dad didn't pocket his hands unless he had some breaking news for me. He'd pocketed his hands the day he told me Mom had lung cancer.
“When did you come in?” he asked.
“Barely five minutes ago,” I replied.
“How was school?”
I lifted my shoulders and dropped them. “Same as always. I saw your text.” I opened the bag of fries and started eating.
“Are you free this evening?”
“Why did you ask?”
“Stephanie wants to meet you.”
The mention of Stephanie's name piqued my interest. She was the stunning blue-eyed divorcée Dad had been dating for three weeks now. At first, Dad had no intention of getting into a romantic relationship after Mom left us. But his friends and family convinced him to give love another chance. They said even Mom would have wanted him to love again. I wasn't sure about that, but I knew Mom would have wanted him to be happy. And from what I'd seen, Dad was happy with Stephanie.
I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously. “Why would she want to meet me?”
Dad sucked a deep breath. “We're getting married.”
That was the most ridiculous news I'd ever heard. Dad's relationship with Stephanie wasn't even a month old. How could he decide to marry a woman he barely knew?
“No way,” I shouted.
“You told me sometime ago you wouldn't mind a stepmother,” he reminded me. I'd told him that last year when he asked me if I'd mind a stepmother. I wanted him to be happy. My personal feelings didn't really matter.
“I did say so. But I didn't mean you should get married to a woman whom you've known for only three weeks.”
“Stephanie's real, Olivia. Don't be prejudiced.”
“I'd find out for myself.”
I headed toward the bedroom hallway and entered my room. Dropping my backpack on my desk, I climbed up my bed. I checked my phone screen. I didn't have a single message from any of my six social media accounts. That was partly because I didn't have many friends. Actually, I hadn't had any close friends since middle school. My close friends moved out of Springfield one after the other until there was no one left. I was in touch with a couple for a few years but lost contact along the way. No one had tried to reach out to me, and neither had I tried to reach out to anyone. I didn't want to be bothersome.
I lay on the bed fiddling with my phone until I fell asleep.
I woke up to the sound of knocks on my door. My room was wrapped up in partial darkness. Reaching for the bedside table, I flicked the lamp on.
“Olivia? Can I come in?” Dad asked from outside.
“Come in," I said, sitting up on the bed.
Dad walked in. He was dressed in an immaculate white shirt with a pair of black pants. He wore an oddly looking bow tie around his neck. It was way too large. He almost looked like a clown.
I stifled a laugh.
His bushy eyebrows furrowed in a deep frown. "Why are you laughing? Is my outfit bad?"
"No. I didn't mean to laugh at you." I had hardly finished my statement, when I burst into laughter.
Dad stared at me like a clueless groom. "Is my outfit that bad? I'd taken my time to select them. Tell me, Olivia, what exactly is wrong with the way I'm dressed?"
"It's the bow tie. You definitely don't want to wear that to meet Stephanie." I chuckled. "Where on earth did you find it?"
Dad's face fell. "It was a gift from your mom. She'd given it to me on the last wedding anniversary we celebrated together. This is the first time I'll be wearing it."
I wondered what was going through Mom's mind when she bought that bow tie. Did she for a split second forget she was in the 21st century?
"I'm sorry, Dad. But it's pretty out of date." He couldn't make do with it, not even if he were living in the 80s. Unless he wouldn't mind being goggled at on the street.
Dad took off the tie. He stared at it for a while. “Too bad,” he muttered with a sad tone, “Guess I'll never be able to wear it.”
“You could wear it to a costume party.”
Dad's eyebrows shot up. “It's really that bad.”
I tried hard not to chuckle.
“Get dressed. We're almost getting late.” He turned around, making for the door.
“Dad,” I called.
He looked at me over his shoulder.
“If you marry Stephanie, would we continue to live here?”
“Could we discuss this when we're back?”
“OK.”
“I'll be expecting you in five.”
“Dad, I'm a girl. Give me ten minutes.”
A smile cracked his lips. “Don't keep me waiting.” He walked out through the door.
I took a quick shower and returned back into the room. Because I'd like to make a long-lasting first impression on Stephanie, I settled for a red off shoulder gown with side slit. I matched the dress with a pair of silver peep-toe pumps. After applying mascara on my eyelashes, I ran a peach lipstick across my lips. I was thinking of what to do with my hair when I heard Dad's voice from the living room, telling me I had less than five minutes left. I didn't have the time to pack my hair into a complicated style, so I swept it to one side.
Going through my jewelry box, I selected a silver choker necklace with a pair of silver drop earrings. I grabbed my red clutch bag and headed for the door as Dad said my time was up.
“Oh my god, Olivia. You look amazing," Dad said, staring at me with open-mouthed amazement.
“Thanks. I'm ready. We may leave now.”
“After you.”
We made our way to the garage where a Volkswagen was parked. I sat in the passenger seat, while Dad walked over to the driver's side. We were on the road in about five minutes.
Dad drove the car into the parking lot of a fine dining restaurant. He climbed out of the car and walked to my side. Holding the passenger door open for me, I came out of the car.
We linked arms and ambled into the restaurant. A lot of heads turned in our direction, and I felt my skin tingle under their gazes. I tried to hide my discomfort, but the sweat that broke out on the back of my neck, on a cool evening, didn't do much to conceal my feeling.
“Olivia,” Dad whispered, tilting his head toward me.
“Uhm.”
“Stephanie hasn't arrived yet. We have to wait for her to come, because she's reserved the table in her name.”
I shook my head, disbelieving what he just told me. “You mean Stephanie isn't around?”
“I'm quite sure she's on her way.”
“I want to go home.” I pulled my arm away from the crook of Dad's arm, making for the exit. He scurried after me, calling my name. I didn't answer him. Stephanie had just confirmed the type of person she was. The type who didn't stick to time and respect other people's time.
When I got outside, I headed for the car. I was opening the door of the driver's seat when an expensive looking BMW pulled into the lot and parked right next to our Volkswagen. The two cars contrasted each other distinctively.
The dark windows didn't allow me to have a clear view of the person behind the wheel. But I guessed it must be some individual donned in fancy clothes.
“Olivia?” A familiar voice called. The voice felt out of place because I was used to hearing it at only one location—Springfield High School, the school I was currently attending. Looking up, I met the sparkling sea-blue eyes of the boy I'd been crushing on secretly since middle school—Andrew Nicholson, the boy in 12th Grade who had it all: beauty, brains and parents who could afford an annual vacation at Amalfi Coast.
Warm blood rushed to my face. I bet my face was every shade of red. And the red dress I was wearing wasn't helping matters. I must look like a human tomato.
I stood there blushing like a freaking five-year-old girl unable to form a sensible word.
Andrew got down from the car and started in my direction. His eyes were glued to my body which only caused me to blush the more. He was literally eating me up with his eyes.
“Fuck. You're hot,” Andrew said, while his eyes rested on my bust which were half hidden from his sight. “Do you mind if I take a photo? Others need to see this pure wonder.” He dipped his hand into the pocket of his designer sweatpant, fetching an iPhone.
I wasn't sure if I'd like my classmates to see me dressed like this. It could give out the wrong signals. I'd always been the invisible girl in the class who wasn't capable of holding a conversation let alone dressing herself up.
“Andrew?” Dad called, walking into our midst.
I turned an astonished look at Dad. How on earth did he know Andrew?
Andrew returned his phone back into his pocket. A dashing smile broke out on his face as he saw my dad. “Hey, Mike. My mother sent me to pick you up. She couldn't get off of work. She also sends her apologies.”
Did Andrew just say his mother sent him to pick us up? Could Stephanie be his mother? It couldn't be. Dad didn't tell me Stephanie had a child let alone a 17-year-old son.
“She said you weren't picking her calls,” Andrew continued.
Dad searched his pockets. “Darn it. My phone isn't with me. I must've left it at home.”
“We're going to be having the planned dinner in our house," Andrew announced to my consternation. He'd just confirmed my guess.
“Dad, what's going on?” I demanded.
Andrew knitted his eyebrows. “Dad? Mike's your dad? Oh shit.”
