was chewing the air, like he needed its nourishment in order to get fully into his elaborate condescensions. His shirt was luffing.
âDonât you direct a single word at me, Mike. I donât want to hear it. I will be speaking with your mother and father about this situation very soon. Bet your ass on that, son. I canât believe you two have any idea what youâre doing here! Iâm shocked to think youâre so misguided, that this seems to you like the best way to spend the Thanks giving holidays. This is just shameful, you kids, shameful.
Mike wasnât going to take this last speech too well, Wendy could see this. She knew him well enough. He was considering some harsh rejoinder. It was fight or flight time. If it developed into a fight, she figured that she would root for Mike. Because her dad outweighed him by probably 140 pounds. It was only fair to back the underdog.
But Mike hung his head with barely concealed rage. He didnât say anything.
âYoung lady? Her father looked her over.
âTalking to me, Dad?
âWho else would I be talking to?
âWell, then forget all this stern dad stuff.
âIâm not interested in your smart-ass remarks right now, lady. Letâs go. Right now. You and I can discuss it on the walk home.
At the mention of the walk home, at the mention of pedestrian conveyance, Wendy began to crack. The regret began to creep in like the bad colors in a bad sunset. She started to feel ashamed. She had curled her hands around Mikeyâs almost concave stomach as she rode up on the back of his bike and it had been a cool ride. Something about the fact that her father was here without a car, that they were gonna have to walk back to their house, walk along the roads of New Canaan, in the heaviest weather, like people who couldnât manage car payments, it embarrassed her. And she would have to defend her virginity to him. It was a burn , as they said at Saxe Junior High School. This was a burn. It was going to be an awful weekend. It was going to be a holiday weekend. There were going to be lectures and long, cruel silences. It would never end. She curled her tresses around an index fingerâas she stood silently next to Mikeyâand squelched tears.
âWell, her father said.
She joined him, didnât say anything, looked back one last time at Mikey. In his haste, Mike had zipped his shirt-tail up in his fly. She thought of his beautiful red and brown pubic hair, the color and consistency of a babyâs first tangles, and her worries diminished. Love was bittersweet. Then, on the way by, she thrust a hand into one of the packing boxes and came up with a half-dozen loose pieces of Bazooka.
âServices rendered, she called back to Mike.
Her father sighed.
They closed the Williamsesâ front door behind them. Evidence of night was everywhere. The freezing rain fell horizontally. It was ten or fifteen degrees cooler than when Wendy had waited down at Silver Meadow. Sleet and freezing rain. The mixture fell threateningly on her and her father as they made their way, skidding and cursing, down the walk and into the driveway. She began to shout a feeble and grateful apology to her father, but it was hard to manage with the wind and the rain. You couldnât hear.
On Valley Road, an emergency snow truck lumbered past them, hissing and spitting sand on the accumulating slush. Its yellow strobe lamp swiveled on top.
Wendyâs father took her arm roughly at the shoulder.
âBaby doll, he called, and his voice seemed to come from some beyond.
âBaby doll, donât worry about it. I really donât care. Iâm just not sure heâs good enough, thatâs all. We can keep this between us.
She didnât get where he was coming from. She could hear the apology.
âHuh?
âI mean, heâs a joker. Heâs not serious. Heâll end up living off Janey and Jim, you watch. Heâs just not worth it. And
âDonât you direct a single word at me, Mike. I donât want to hear it. I will be speaking with your mother and father about this situation very soon. Bet your ass on that, son. I canât believe you two have any idea what youâre doing here! Iâm shocked to think youâre so misguided, that this seems to you like the best way to spend the Thanks giving holidays. This is just shameful, you kids, shameful.
Mike wasnât going to take this last speech too well, Wendy could see this. She knew him well enough. He was considering some harsh rejoinder. It was fight or flight time. If it developed into a fight, she figured that she would root for Mike. Because her dad outweighed him by probably 140 pounds. It was only fair to back the underdog.
But Mike hung his head with barely concealed rage. He didnât say anything.
âYoung lady? Her father looked her over.
âTalking to me, Dad?
âWho else would I be talking to?
âWell, then forget all this stern dad stuff.
âIâm not interested in your smart-ass remarks right now, lady. Letâs go. Right now. You and I can discuss it on the walk home.
At the mention of the walk home, at the mention of pedestrian conveyance, Wendy began to crack. The regret began to creep in like the bad colors in a bad sunset. She started to feel ashamed. She had curled her hands around Mikeyâs almost concave stomach as she rode up on the back of his bike and it had been a cool ride. Something about the fact that her father was here without a car, that they were gonna have to walk back to their house, walk along the roads of New Canaan, in the heaviest weather, like people who couldnât manage car payments, it embarrassed her. And she would have to defend her virginity to him. It was a burn , as they said at Saxe Junior High School. This was a burn. It was going to be an awful weekend. It was going to be a holiday weekend. There were going to be lectures and long, cruel silences. It would never end. She curled her tresses around an index fingerâas she stood silently next to Mikeyâand squelched tears.
âWell, her father said.
She joined him, didnât say anything, looked back one last time at Mikey. In his haste, Mike had zipped his shirt-tail up in his fly. She thought of his beautiful red and brown pubic hair, the color and consistency of a babyâs first tangles, and her worries diminished. Love was bittersweet. Then, on the way by, she thrust a hand into one of the packing boxes and came up with a half-dozen loose pieces of Bazooka.
âServices rendered, she called back to Mike.
Her father sighed.
They closed the Williamsesâ front door behind them. Evidence of night was everywhere. The freezing rain fell horizontally. It was ten or fifteen degrees cooler than when Wendy had waited down at Silver Meadow. Sleet and freezing rain. The mixture fell threateningly on her and her father as they made their way, skidding and cursing, down the walk and into the driveway. She began to shout a feeble and grateful apology to her father, but it was hard to manage with the wind and the rain. You couldnât hear.
On Valley Road, an emergency snow truck lumbered past them, hissing and spitting sand on the accumulating slush. Its yellow strobe lamp swiveled on top.
Wendyâs father took her arm roughly at the shoulder.
âBaby doll, he called, and his voice seemed to come from some beyond.
âBaby doll, donât worry about it. I really donât care. Iâm just not sure heâs good enough, thatâs all. We can keep this between us.
She didnât get where he was coming from. She could hear the apology.
âHuh?
âI mean, heâs a joker. Heâs not serious. Heâll end up living off Janey and Jim, you watch. Heâs just not worth it. And
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