Playing It Safe(15)

He picks up on the second ring. “Talk to me, Goose.”

“What’s up, Maverick?”

It would be important to note that my brother Darren stumbled upon Top Gun when he was a kid and became obsessed with it. Hence the nicknames for each other of Maverick and Goose. In fact, he was so obsessed with that movie that he eventually turned it into a career by joining the Air Force right after high school.

“Nothing much, heading over to Mom and Pop’s,” he says.

“Yes! I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Why?” he asks. “Are you heading over there too?”

“Yup. You’ll probably beat me there, but I’ll be there sooner rather than later.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon then. Later, Goose.”

“Later, Maverick.”

I disconnect the call, but my phone rings in my hand a second later, so I answer it thinking it’s Darren again.

“Did you forget something, Maverick?” I ask while roaming toward my bedroom to get dressed.

“It’s your mother, not Darren,” she says in a rush. “Julia, are you still planning on coming over today?”

“Yes. I actually just got off the phone with Darren, and he said he was stopping over as well.”

“Oh, thank God!” she says. “Your father is driving me crazy.”

I mosey over to my closet and ask, “Is everything okay?”

“Sweetheart,” she says, her voice going deathly quiet, “I love your father dearly, but if he brings out his toolbox one more time to fix something, I may stab him in the eye with one of his screwdrivers.”

My eyes are trying to zero in on the outfit I’m going to wear when I hear my dad’s booming voice in the background. “Marilyn! Where the hell is my goddamn Phillips screwdriver? I left it on the kitchen island not two f*cking minutes ago!”

“Mom, did you take Daddy’s screwdriver?”

She doesn’t answer, but I can hear her breathing on the line still. “Mom?”

“I’m here, sweetheart, and yes I hid his screwdriver … and you’d better hurry,” she says cryptically before hanging up.

Jesus Christ, those two are going to end up killing each other if my dad doesn’t get a new hobby, and soon. Flying through what normally takes me about a half hour to accomplish by throwing on a pair of black yoga pants and an old, black racer-back tank top, I’m ready to roll. I slip on my flip-flops and gather all my hair in a ponytail while heading out the door to face whatever calamity awaits me at my parents’ house.





CHAPTER SIX


I pull into the driveway of their house an hour later. Having had to deal with toll traffic on the Rickenbacker Causeway due to the perfect beach day weather, it’s taken me a little longer than usual. My brother Darren’s Bumblebee Chevy Camaro is already here, and I park right behind him just in case I have to make a quick getaway. Ugh, I hate that car. It’s so … yellow. Reminds me of a school bus rather than a car that can transform into an intelligent life-form. If it was so goddamn intelligent, it should have picked a more appealing color to be seen in.

Walking toward the front door, I’m already on high alert when I hear my dad yell out a string of curses that aren’t suitable to repeat, even for me. And in case you’re wondering where I got my colorful language from, look no further. My dad has never been one to tone it down for absolutely anyone’s benefit for as long as I can remember.

One time, when I was eight, my parents were called to my school to meet with my teacher because I had gotten myself into a wee bit of trouble. Okay, so I called another girl a bitch because, well, she was a bitch. She moved my chair out from under me right before I sat down. The worst part was that I was wearing a skirt that day, and as I rolled over to get to my feet that sucker flew right up and left my panty-clad ass hanging in the breeze for the rest of the class to see. Anyway, when my teacher, Mrs. Black, told my parents the story about how I used foul language, I’ll never forget what happened next. My dad stood up, looked at me sternly, and asked if what the teacher had said was true. I nodded and kept my mouth shut since I was paralyzed with fear over what my punishment would be. He looked over to Mrs. Black and said, “That little girl is a bitch for pulling my daughter’s chair out.” He turned to my mother then. “Marilyn, let’s go.” Mrs. Black was appalled while my poor mother was hemming and hawing, watching my dad take me by the hand and drag me out of there. On the drive home, my dad said that next time I should try to say it more quietly, then proceeded to take me to Swenson’s for an ice cream sundae. It was the best day ever.

As quietly as possible, I open the front door and peek my head around the frame so I can assess the damage before throwing myself into the fray. My mom, God bless her, is sitting on one corner of the long chaise sofa, arms crossed and chewing away at her bottom lip. My dad is sitting on the opposite end, in the same manner, and sporting a look that could kill directed at my brother. Darren’s back is to me, and he’s pointing the now infamous screwdriver at my mother, and then he snaps his attention back to my dad, saying something about both of them being in a time-out so they can think about what they did.

Good Lord, if this isn’t the craziest shit I’ve ever witnessed. My parents in a time-out? I never thought I’d live to see the day.