Isn't She Lovely (Redemption 0.5)(14)
“Oh, has it been three and a half years already? I guess that makes sense since we just passed the four-year anniversary of Mom’s death.”
My dad is silent on the other end, although I don’t know if it’s because he’s mad, hurting, or just plain fed up with his “struggling” daughter. Eventually he says, “Your anger was fine when you were eighteen, Steffie, but seeing an adult woman continue to act out is ridiculous.”
“Getting snippy with my father on the phone isn’t acting out, it’s just a part of being alive.”
“I’m not talking about this conversation. I’m talking about your little rebellion—”
Oh, here we go.
“—you know, the hair, the piercings, the … black.”
“Not a dirty word, Dad.”
“I miss my little girl.”
“Well, she’s gone,” I snap. “She up and left when you got married six months after we buried my mother and you moved me to the land of fried chicken and Bible groups two months before high school graduation. Your little girl bailed when her whole life fell apart.”
I don’t even bother mentioning Caleb’s name. My dad doesn’t know that part of the puzzle, and never will. Not a conversation you have with your father.
“Steffie …”
“I’ve gotta go.”
I hit the end button and let my hand fall to my side. And he wonders why I so often let his calls go to voicemail.
I get up to go get my laptop to start that stupid film project with Pretty Boy, even though all I really want to do is curl up on the bed and cry.
I exit the bedroom, and I’m about to thank David for giving me privacy when I see her.
The same redhead who totally turned my personal life upside down is currently trying to swallow David’s tongue, and his hands are all over her huge ass.
I gape at them for a second, though neither is aware of me.
“Seriously?” I finally manage.
“Hey, Steph,” Leah says with a friendly smile, and I kind of want to spit in her eye because she screwed my boyfriend.
“Seriously?” I say again.
Ethan runs a thumb over the corner of his mouth, wiping away the smear of plum lipstick that Leah McWhore has marked him with.
“Steph, you remember Leah.”
“I remember Leah’s bare ass,” I say, folding my arms over my stomach and hoping I don’t puke.
“Well, she’s kind of got a housing crisis of her own, and I said she could crash here. But don’t worry, she’ll be sleeping with me, so the living room’s all yours.”
Oh. Hell. No.
I twirl my finger in the air, gesturing at our awkward little powwow. “You want to live together? All three of us?”
David shrugs a little, and I try to remember that I was the one who begged him to let me stay here, but what I really want to do is punch Leah in the ovaries.
“It’ll be fun! Modern roommates.”
Yeah. Fun. Like Pap smear fun. Like paper cut fun. Like PMS fun. Like …
I can’t believe the thought is actually crossing my mind, but suddenly hanging out with Ethan Price all summer isn’t sounding so bad in comparison with watching David paw at his new toy.
Then I remember that, gorgeous or not, Ethan Price is the type of guy who probably waxes his chest and irons his Gucci underwear.
I think I’m better off with my ex.
Chapter Six
Ethan
“Ethan, are you even listening?”
I pretend to jolt awake from a deep sleep as I look up at my pissy-looking film partner. “Hell, no,” I say, rubbing a hand over my eyes. “You’ve been babbling about old movies for the better part of an hour. Honestly, I don’t think a vegetable would still be listening.”
Stephanie gives me one of those long drawn-out breaths that only girls know how to do and slowly puts the cap back on her dry-erase marker before putting her fist on her hip like an irritated teacher.
Although I can’t really remember any teachers who wore tank tops the way she does.
“What the hell have you been doing if not listening?” she asks.
I shrug. “Counting your earrings. It looks like you have eight in your right ear, but I feel like that can’t be right because your ears are creepily small.”
She stares at me. “You think I have small ears.”
I give her a sympathetic smile. “You do. But on the plus side, those babies,” I say, gesturing at her boobs in as non-pervy a way as possible, “are blue-ribbon worthy.”
“Wait.” She holds up a hand. “I’m trying to give you a crash course in cinematic history, and you’re checking out my ears and my tits?”
“Mostly just the ears,” I lie.
I’m fully prepared for her to lose her shit at this point. It’s the third day in a row we’ve reserved one of the private study rooms in the library, and most of the time has been spent with her listing movie after director after screenplay while pointing at some scribbles on a whiteboard. My interest level was maxed out five minutes into the first day.
To be fair, it isn’t just because Stephanie is a horrible lecturer, although she’s pretty bad. Mostly it’s because, despite making every effort to spend the summer away from my parents and my normal social life, I’m finding that my mind doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Instead of concentrating on Stephanie’s movies, I’ve been focusing on my own private movie.