Bad Influencer by Kenzie Reed
Chapter Fourteen
Jillian
My stomach is squeezing itself into knots as Ari pulls up in front of my parents’ house. I thought they were so mad at me about my bank robbery joke that I’d get a pass on being invited to any family events for the foreseeable future, but when Ari, Bronwyn and I got home on Saturday, there was an invitation to a barbecue sitting in my mailbox.
Yes, my family is the type to send out a formal invitation to a barbecue.
I’m already on thin ice with them, so avoiding this was not an option, but there is no way I’d face this alone. For moral support, I have recruited my BFFs.
I mean, yeah, I did consider bailing. I briefly thought about going and hiding out in my late grandmother’s cabin, which is a couple of hours from here, maybe changing my name and starting a new life. I could learn to forage for nuts and berries. But Blinky probably wouldn’t like nuts and berries, and my parents would know to find me there. Then I thought about inviting Elliott, but that would have been weird. It’s not like we’re actually friends in real life… even if that one kiss was so passionate that my panties nearly melted off my body.
Leaving the park the day after the park opening meant saying goodbye to our strange little fantasy world. I have an appointment to meet up with him on Thursday to go over my plans for some new social media campaigns, and that’s as close as I’ll ever get to a date with Elliott Bradford.
I try to shove all thoughts of him from my mind. My nerves are already frayed enough without me thinking about my strange, inappropriate crush. And I can’t deny it; I have a crush on Mr. Tall, Dark and Serious.
There is a scattering of other cars parked in my family’s expansive driveway. I make a face as I climb out of the back seat. Yay, I get to spend an hour mingling with the country club set. What could possibly be more fun? A swim through a piranha tank wearing a bacon bikini comes to mind.
We trudge up the herringbone brick walkway to my parents Tudor revival house, with its half-timbered upper floor sitting on a foundation of red brick. The emerald lawn is buzz-cut to meet neighborhood standards, and gracefully adorned with islands of flowers.
“Wow, this place is fancy AF,” Bronwyn says. “I love old houses. When was it built? Does it have ghosts?”
“If only! It’s not as old as it looks. They built the neighborhood in a style known as neotraditional.”
She makes a gagging motion. “And now I want to slap someone. Namely, the person who came up with that term.”
“Right?” Ari makes a face. “Are the guests also neotraditional?”
I flash a rueful grin. “Mid-century modern, I’d say. Prepare to listen to people talk about their golf swings in agonizing detail. Yes, I owe you both big time.”
“We will collect,” Ari assures me.
I glance down at my knee-length denim skirt. I paired it with a red T-shirt and sandals. Refusing to go along with my parents’ dress code is a petty act of defiance which I should have outgrown long ago. Bronwyn’s donned a vintage pink and yellow Pucci dress from a consignment store, and Ari’s wearing his traditional uniform of cargo shorts and T-shirt with the logo of an obscure indie rock band.
He’s also agreed to play the role of my boyfriend. For this afternoon, Ari and Bronwyn are Steve and Susie, brother and sister. Bronwyn took to the idea of secret identities with great enthusiasm, as I knew she would.
We circle around to the back of the house, where the expansive lawn offers a stunning view of Elliott Bay. Tables are arranged on the flagstones, laden down with enough food to satisfy a small, gluttonous village.
“Are they playing croquet?” Bronwyn says, sotto voce. “What fresh hell is this?”
There is, indeed, a group of people playing croquet. My brother is working the barbecue, and my father is talking to a group of middle-aged men near the outdoor Tiki bar. He waves at me, and his forehead creases in a tiny frown as he takes in what I’m wearing. Then he turns back to his friends. He’s still mad about the bank robbery joke. And I’m still mad that he believed that I was serious, so I am going to passive aggressively ignore him for the entire evening. That’ll learn him.
My mother and Pansy break away from a group of women in tennis dresses and hurry over to us. Pansy waves at a man who’s standing by the barbecue grill, trying to get his attention. He’s tall, slender, doesn’t have much of a chin, and is mostly indistinguishable from every other guy she’s tried to set me up with.
Ari, as pre-arranged, throws his arm around my shoulder. Pansy stops waving, drops her arm, and shoots me a look of deep hurt.
“Steve, Susie, this is my mother Athena and my sister-in-law Pansy. Mother, Pansy, this is my very good friend Steve and his sister Susie.”
My mother pastes a polite smile on her face. She’s actually met my roommates a couple of times. The fact that I could take it for granted that she wouldn’t remember them says everything about our relationship. As in, she barely notices anything about me or my life, except to fuss and worry.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” she says gamely.
She turns her attention to me. “Hello, dear. Ah, just to let you know, some of the people here work with your father and are serving as character references for him. So…”
“Don’t sing, dance, or otherwise carry on?”
“Thank you, yes. That would be much appreciated. And no cartwheels. Also, that’s an… interesting choice for your outfit.” My mother smiles brightly at me. Pansy, to her credit, winces and gives me a little shrug of sympathy. Pansy is of course dressed appropriately, in her Jill St. John pink floral print dress—everything she does is appropriate.
I shrug. Since I know I’ll inevitably do something to disappointment my family, I like to get it out of the way early. Set their expectations low.
“Great turnout, as always,” I say. I’m refusing to rise to the bait that she’s probably not even aware she’s casting.
“Why thank you. Just a few friends from the neighborhood dropping by.”
“The amusement park opening went off without a hitch, by the way. The Bradfords are very happy with me.”
“The Bradfords?” my mother looks at me, puzzled. “Is that the save the whales people?”
“Bradford Family Amusement Parks and Resorts.” My voice goes high and shrill. “I told you that I’m working for them.”
“No need to raise your voice, dear.” She looks around, catches the eye of a friend across the lawn, and waves at her. A polite little Queen-Elizabeth-style wave. Then she returns her focus to me. “I’m happy things are turning around for you.”
Turning around for me? Turning around for me? I strangle a shriek of frustration, and end up making a noise like a seal’s bark. Ari shoots me a look. I clear my throat.
“Are you all right?” My mother’s eyebrows shoot up. “Do you need a doctor?”
I manage a pained smile. “Sorry. Allergies. I already took some Benadryl.”
“Jillian, can I speak to you for a moment?” Pansy’s eyes go wide and bright.
My mother smiles, but her worry-wrinkled forehead sends a different message. “I’ll leave you girls to it.” She strolls off, flashing her social smile as she makes her way towards a cluster of women who are standing by her neatly trimmed rose bushes.
“I’ll go grab myself a drink or three,” Bronwyn says, and bolts for the Tiki bar. Traitor.
Pansy gives Ari a pointed glance. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you alone, if you don’t mind,” she says to me.
I smile and blink my eyes innocently. “Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of Steve.”
“Well. All right then.” She manufactures a big, bright smile. “I had no idea that you were in a committed relationship.”
I shrug. “Well, committed is a strong word. We’re seeing how things go.”
Her smile twitches. “I don’t understand what that means. I don’t understand what’s happening here.”
Ari leans in closer to me. Across the lawn I see Bronwyn, and she crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue out at me. I struggle not to crack up.
I feel kind of bad for Pansy, who’s growing increasingly frustrated with me, but I am also growing increasingly frustrated - with her terrible fix-up attempts.
When it comes to me, she has some kind of blind spot. She’s fixed up every one of her single friends with absolute winners, and been a bridesmaid at all of their weddings, but when she picks guys for me it’s like she’s deliberately, almost spitefully, choosing people who are so wrong for me that it feels like secretly she hates me.
I cock my head and look at her. “Do you hate me?” I blurt out.
“What?” she sputters. “Why on earth would you ask me that? What have I ever done or said to make you think that?”
“Aunt Jillian! Aunt Jillian!” My nephew, Theo Junior, known as Theodore, and my niece, Violet, have spotted me. They run over and hug me, and for just a brief moment the awful, icky feeling inside me melts away.
I hug each of them back. They’re so polite and well-mannered. They’re the apples of my parents’ eye, and I shouldn’t sound so bitter in my head when I say that; they’re very sweet, very smart children. And unlike everyone else in the family, they love me without judgement and are always genuinely thrilled to see me. It’s a good feeling.
“I’ll let you guys catch up,” Ari says, and he makes a beeline for the bar.
“Rats abandoning a sinking ship,” I mutter.
“What did you say?” Pansy looks puzzled.
“Nothing. Hey, Theodore, hey, Violet.” I crouch down and listen to them babbling about their science camp, their theater classes, their computer classes, their tennis and golf lessons. Theo Junior starts first grade in September. Violet’s in second grade. I wonder what Pansy will do with her time during the school year.
As they’re talking, Ari wanders off to join Bronwyn, who’s over by the Tiki bar. At least they remember their cover and he refrains from grabbing her butt.
Finally, my niece and nephews scamper off, but in a restrained, non-boisterous fashion, to meet up with some of the other neighborhood children over by the swing set.
Pansy makes a pained attempt at a smile. “Are you mad at me or something?” She’s so nice all the time, I’m afraid she’s going to burst a blood vessel. I wish she’d just yell at me.
I shake my head. “I’m not mad at you. Why would I be mad at you?”
She lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “That’s what I’m asking myself. We agreed that you’d come here to this barbecue to meet Gilbert, a very nice, very single man who was eager to meet you. And then you brought a date. I don’t understand.”
Theo’s making his way towards us across the lawn. Hurray! More piling on.
I fix her with a firm gaze. ”Pansy. Come on. I did not, at any point, agree to come here to meet Gilbert. My parents summoned me to this barbecue, and I came so I wouldn’t have to endure any more of their guilt trips. I’m sorry, but I have told you repeatedly that I don’t need you to fix me up with anyone.”
Theo strolls over, with the stiff posture that he always has these days when we’re forced to interact. ”Hello, Jillian. You’re looking well. How are things with you and my man Gilbert?”
And suddenly the light dawns. I glare at him. “Wait a damn minute. Your man? Gilbert was your idea, not Pansy’s, wasn’t he?”
He flashes a panicked look at his wife, who shrugs helplessly. “Gilbert would be perfect for you. If you’d just give him a chance,” he says defensively.
“No, don’t try to dodge the issue. I was wondering why Pansy didn’t give up after her first fix-up flop, when I flat out told her I wasn’t interested. It’s you. It’s been you all along.”
He lets out a long, exasperated breath. “Pansy and I are very, very happy.” He smiles at her fondly. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
She smiles back. There’s something not quite right about her smile, though, and I feel a whisper of worry. What could possibly be wrong with the golden couple? They adore each other. That I’d stake my life on.
Unfortunately, I’m not close enough to either of them to have that conversation. And I don’t want to bring it up to my parents, because my father can’t think about anything but his judgeship and my mother would barrel in and try to fix everything, and if there was a problem, she’d end up making it worse.
“Your point?” I say shortly.
Theo gives me an exasperated look. “Is it so wrong for me to want you to have the same kind of happiness that Pansy and I have?”
“What makes you think I’m not happy?”
“How could you be? You’re just so... directionless.”
I arch an eyebrow.
“Go on,” I challenge him. ”Please, continue, tell me about my miserable, wasted life. The one you know so much about since we only see each other half a dozen times a year, if that.”
He throws his hands up in annoyance. “And now you’re getting defensive.”
“Who wouldn’t? And how would it make me happy to have Pansy foist some completely incompatible guy on me?”
“All of these men are very suitable!”
“Theo, come on. There’s a difference between ‘suitable’ and ‘compatible’.”
Pansy scowls up at him and then looks at me apologetically. “I’m sorry. I had different men in mind for you, like the barista at my favorite coffee shop, because he’s an artist and he goes to animal protests too, but...” she shoots her husband a look of mild reproach. “I did have a perfect match-making record before Theo got involved. Just perfect.” Now she’s pouting. She spins on her heel and stalks off.
He hurries after her. “Pansy! Wait! I’m sorry! I should have let you choose!”
I’m so furious right now I can’t even find words. ”Seriously?” I shout after his retreating back.
My father shoots a concerned look from all the way across the lawn. I swallow down my sigh and turn away. I showed up wearing the wrong clothes; I made a mini-scene; I brought a (fake) boyfriend instead of letting Theo fix me by foisting me off on someone respectable. Just another day of disappointment with Jillian Fletcher.
I stroll over to the Tiki bar and ask the bartender for an iced tea. My mother walks up, holding a seltzer. She’s never been much of a drinker. She reaches over and plucks at my shirt. “Dog hair, dear,” she says in a low, conspiratorial voice, as if she was telling me I’d exposed a boob. “Would you like a lint roller?”
Ah, dog hair. Her old nemesis. We were never allowed pets when we were kids.
“I actually like my dog hair. I wear it as an accessory.”
She laughs politely. Then I steer her towards talking about her fortieth anniversary trip, and she genuinely lights up in a way that’s beautiful to see.
They’re going in August. A whole month in the Mediterranean. She’s already planned every last detail.
“Oh, before I forget,” she says. She digs into her purse and hands me an envelope. It’s stuffed with cash. As if the monthly check they send me—which I’ve given up trying to refuse because they get so mortally insulted—wasn’t maddening enough.
“What is this for?” I ask her.
“Oh, just a little something to tide you over.”
“To tide me over until what?” I demand, astonished. “For the love of dogs, mother, I’m twenty-five years old!”
Her brows draw together in a disapproving frown. “No need to raise your voice.”
“I have a job! Several, in fact! Aside from my bartending and the influencer gigs, I’m making one hundred thousand dollars from the Bradford company!”
She glances around to make sure nobody’s listening to us. “No need to discuss money in public like that. It’s vulgar.”
And there we go. I’m vulgar, directionless, covered in dog hair… I think I’ve had just about enough fun for one afternoon.
“We really need to be going,” I mutter. I stalk away across the lawn, and Ari and Bronwyn scramble after me.
“Well, that was delightful,” I say when we reach Ari’s car. “Thank you for coming. Hopefully, I was awful enough that they won’t want to see me again until Christmas.”
“What about the formal thing they’re talking about, though?” Bronwyn asks, sliding into the front seat.
I get in the back and put on my seatbelt as Ari starts the car. “What formal thing?”
“I overheard your mother talking about it. Something for all of your father’s friends, that they’re having as soon as his confirmation gets confirmed. It sounded like it was coming up kind of soon. She’s hosting it at their country club.” Bronwyn waves at the house as we pull away. “Goodbye, fake old house and fake old people.”
I stifle a groan of pain, lean back in my seat, and massage my temples. And I wonder, if I hired a lookalike to go in my place, if my parents would even notice.