"Some father you are," I grumbled, pouring coffee in my cup and joining them at the table.
Buttercup wrinkled her nose at the smell of my coffee as I sat down. She preferred the herbal tea that she grew herself versus the "tar" we drank, as she referred to it. I thanked my lucky stars Butch liked to drink the tar as much as I did or I would have been SOL.
"Can we at least buy some bug spray? Hey, maybe I can get a cat," I added. Butch was allergic to cats, which had always squashed that childhood dream, but now that I was in a separate space, it could work.
"I'm allergic," he reminded me.
"It can stay in my room," I pointed out, stealing one of the veggie sausages off his plate.
"Maybe that could work," Buttercup replied, sliding a plate of food my way. "We have to go shopping to replenish some of our dwindling food supply. I'm not looking forward to buying store-bought vegetables and fruit, but until I get my garden going, I guess I have no choice. Maybe we can find a local animal shelter while we're out," she added, rising from the table with her empty plate in hand.
"I need to find a hardware store too if I'm going to get to work on that bathroom. We'll need to see about finding something to remove that wallpape
r," Butch said.
"Like a blowtorch," I piped in around a bite of my toast.
"If that's what it takes," he said, winking at me, which made me a little nervous. I was ninety-nine percent sure he wouldn't really use a blowtorch, but it was the remaining one percent that had me worried. I'd like to say he'd never done anything like that before, but there was the time he mixed his own homemade concoction of polish for the floors in our old house. Thankfully, we discovered the toxicity of his home remedy rather quickly and it only eroded a two-by-two-foot section of the floor.
"No blowtorch," I said for good measure, popping the last piece of toast into my mouth. "Can we stop at a store so I can get a new swimsuit too?" I asked.
"Don't you still have one?" Butch asked, cleaning off the table with a hand towel before snapping it at Buttercup, who darted out of the way just in time.
"Watch it, or you'll find yourself tied up with that towel," Buttercup threatened.
"Do tell," Butch countered, winking outrageously.
Gag. They were like horny rabbits or something.
"I need a new one," I said, not acknowledging their innuendos.
"Seems like the one from last year would still have some life in it."
I grimaced at his words. He was right. My old swimsuit did have some life left, but it was more appropriate for a sixty-year-old woman than a teenager who had just celebrated her sixteenth birthday.
"I was hoping for something that wasn't trendsetting during the Fifties," I answered dryly. "Or at least something someone in their fifties wouldn't consider the perfect suit," I added hastily before he could lecture me on styles, fads, and how they all had a way of coming back around.
"Clothes don't define a person. It's what lies beneath the skin that matters. The world would be a better place if we could all shed the clothing that binds us," Buttercup sang as she washed our plates.
"Yes, we know. Besides, you tried that and look where it got you," I muttered, remembering very well the day she decided to stroll down Main Street half naked. To cause a traffic jam in a town that only had a handful of traffic lights was quite a feat, but Buttercup rose to the occasion. For weeks afterward, the male leeches I went to school with taunted me to flash my goods like my mother had. I plastered a smile across my face, acting like their words didn't matter. It was around that time I pulled out the can of spray paint for my first prank.
"You might be able to find a kitten in the newspaper. I think I saw one or two in the driveway," Butch said, changing the subject as he slid his arms around Buttercup's waist. I averted my eyes as he placed a kiss on the back of her neck, making her giggle.
"That's a good idea," I said, leaving the kitchen before they could get too frisky in front of me.
An hour later, we piled into our empty van to run our errands. It turned out Butch was right about finding free kittens in the newspaper. I circled a few ads and we searched for the addresses after finishing up our other shopping. After a couple wrong turns and one house that appeared to be empty, we finally located a family that was all too willing to hand over one of the kittens their mama cat had delivered eight weeks ago. I was instantly drawn to the runt of the litter that seemed content to remain on the outskirts as he watched his siblings scamper around. He reminded me of myself by the way he sat back observing. When I picked him up he snuggled in my cupped hands and purred loudly, like that was his intended destination all along. I couldn't help feeling like I had been played. In that moment, I knew he was the cat for me and I named him Player since he managed to con me from the beginning.
Player quickly made himself the new boss of my room, claiming ownership of my bed, the desk, and everything else he managed to climb on. He was inquisitive and chased anything that moved. With him around I knew bugs didn't stand a chance. I decided to let him get the lay of the land while I took advantage of the sunshine and hit the beach. Pulling my new bikini out of the bag, I couldn't help admiring the hot pink suit I had picked out earlier. No saggy bottom or stretched-out bodice with this suit. My granny days were over. Slipping it on, I felt like a different person. Clothes weren't supposed to define us, but seriously, hot pink was better than my drab navy blue granny suit any day. Back in Kansas, my friend Trina had pushed me to steal a new swimsuit since my parents wouldn't buy me one. I was big on my pranks, but two things I loathed were ratting on your friends and stealing. Not that I held shoplifting against Trina. That was her thing. It just wasn't for me. Each of my friends had vices, but that didn't mean we judged each other for them.
I pulled on a pair of cutoff jean shorts from my limited wardrobe and a white tank top. The last items I scooped up before heading out were an old beach chair I found in the garage and an oversized towel I had conned out of Butch and Buttercup. I double-checked to make sure the door was tightly closed before leaving, not wanting Player to get out.
The beach was crowded with swimmers and sunbathers scattered about. Scooting around a family that looked like they had brought everything but their television set with them, I walked several yards before finding a clear spot that gave me a little breathing space. Opening my chair, I covered it with my towel before removing my shorts and tank top and sank down while noticing that I had become the object of attention for a group of guys tossing around a Frisbee.
It wasn't like I hadn't grown accustomed to being stared at, but this was different. They weren't giggling and pointing at freako-parents girl like kids did when I was younger. And they weren't watching to see what grand prank I had planned next. The guys throwing around the Frisbee were staring appreciatively without mocking or negativity.
I considered standing up to talk to them as part of my turning-over-a-new-leaf plan for life, but by the time I worked through my inner monologue, the guys had moved down the shoreline. Well, attempt number one to introduce myself as normal was a failure. I sighed as I stood up and walked past sunbathers and kids chasing each other with half-filled buckets of water until I reached the incoming waves. The shallow water at my ankles was warmer than I expected, which explained why a lot of the smaller kids had chosen to dig and play there. Each time the waves rolled in, the water uncovered what looked like millions of seashells in the sand. I became enthralled with the different types of shells in various colors and sizes. Never having been to the beach before, I wasn't sure if collecting them was allowed, but my thought was they would look great packed inside a clear vase to decorate my room.
The strong pull of the waves rolling back into the ocean dragged me forward until I was in up to my knees. Peering down into the water, I noticed tiny fish darting between my legs as my feet stirred up the sand with each step I took. Over to my right, a kid who couldn't have been much older than eight or nine lay flat on a styrofoam boogie board riding a small wave that carried him all the way to shore. Watching the way he high-fived his friends when he stood up reminded me of the fun my friends and I would have at the pond that bordered our property back in Kansas. We would go swimming and launch ourselves into the water from the rope swing that was attached to a large tree.