I never used my watches. They were decoration mostly because I normally just used my phone when I needed to know the time.
“I…” I began but was interrupted by a voice that I hated hearing.
“What in the world are you doing on the back of a motorcycle?”
I turned to see my stepmother practically hanging her upper body out of her window.
I gritted my teeth. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for your father to take a few minutes off of the track meet to come pump my gas,” she answered immediately, knowing that it would be a blow to hear that he was willing to leave the track meet that he wasn’t needed at to come pump my stepmother’s gas. Yet he was unwilling to come help me. “Now, answer my question, young lady.”
Where did she come off acting like that? She didn’t even know me well enough to ask those questions. Never had, actually.
“What question?” I feigned ignorance.
“What question…” She shook her head. “Your brains must be addled. Who is that man with you, and why are you on the back of a motorcycle?”
My eye twitched, and I heard a shuffle and a thunk as Zach finished pumping gas and hung the nozzle back into place.
I chanced a look at him to see him staring at my stepmother like an annoying mosquito that he was just waiting to kill the moment it landed on his skin.
Or mine, for that matter.
“I met him just a few seconds ago. He gave me a ride.” I shrugged.
Zach snorted, causing me to glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I barely restrained the laughter.
Which caused me to miss my stepmother’s disgusted expression.
“You hitchhiked?” she shrieked. “Get in this car right now.”
I rolled my eyes. “No, thank you.”
“You have a certain obligation to this family,” she continued as if I hadn’t just turned her down. “You have to present yourself in a certain way. No wonder your father never invites you to family dinners. You would embarrass us with your actions.” She swept a hand at me. “Hitchhiking! In that!”
I looked down at what I was wearing.
Jeans and a t-shirt.
It was a cut off t-shirt, with many strategic holes, but it was still just a t-shirt.
I didn’t look bad.
At least, I didn’t think so.
“Those jeans show off every single dimple, roll and bump,” she continued, digging the knife just a little bit deeper. “How embarrassing for you to be seen on the side of the road like that.”
I felt my eyelid twitch.
“I wouldn’t have been on the side of the road if one of you had come and gotten me,” I pointed out.
She ignored my comment and kept going.
“You should probably try to lose a few pounds,” my stepmother offered. “We wouldn’t want you being the only big one in the wedding photos.”
I ground my back teeth so hard I thought I heard one crack.
“I’ve seen her run at the track,” Zach interrupted. “She’s like lightning. I think she’s in great shape. Your photos don’t have anything to worry about.” He squinted at my stepmother. “You know, I know a doctor that can help with those crow’s feet beside your eyes. Do you want me to give you his number? He’s a really good buddy of mine. And, like you said, we want everyone looking their best in the photos.”
My mouth fell open, as did my stepmother’s, as we processed his words.
Did he…
“Excuse me?” My stepmother wasn’t used to getting the smack laid down on her, so it was actually quite comical.
For her age, Melody Archer was in great shape. She was fifty-four, blonde-haired—produced in a salon like clockwork every three and a half weeks—blue-eyed and in shape. She didn’t have any wrinkles to speak of because she not only moisturized her face every night, but she also had surgery that dealt with the fine lines in her face as well as Botox once a month.
No, needless to say, Melody Archer did not have crow’s feet.
But it was amusing for Zach to say that she did.
“I’m a doctor, so I know these kinds of things.” He nodded once. “You can feel free to call my place of employment if you…”
Melody rolled up the window and put her car into drive so sedately that it looked as if she were just out for a leisurely Sunday drive.
As she exited the parking lot, I looked over at Zach with amusement lighting my features.
“You ready?” he asked.
I nodded.
I was ready.
“Hop back on,” he ordered.
So I did, and he drove me the rest of the way home, then waited patiently while I climbed off.
When I had both feet planted on the ground and was turning to him with a thank you on my lips, he surprised me.
“Two things that I think you need to do,” Zach said quietly. “Get a dog and name that bitch Melody. Tell everyone you know what a good dog Melody is. Take her everywhere with you. Word will get around that Melody is a good dog, and everyone will tell the human Melody all about her. It’ll piss her off.”