Off Her Rocker. Jennifer Archer
She giggles.
I lift my gaze to the ceiling. “You know what I meant. Where did you go?”
“We flew to Dallas and stayed at the Mansion.”
Carl blurts a laugh. “I guess sweeping up sawdust at Home Depot pays more than I thought. Or has Mooney changed jobs again? I can’t keep up.”
“He’s a musician.” Another hair flip. “The other jobs are only temporary. Until the band breaks out. Code Freak will have plenty of gigs then, and Mooney will rake it in. They already have lots of fans who follow them everywhere.”
“Tomorrow’s gigs don’t pay for the Mansion today,” Carl says from the back seat.
Taylor’s eyelashes flutter ever so slightly, a movement only a mother would detect. And decipher.
I squint at her. “You paid for the honeymoon, didn’t you. For the hotel and the flight.”
“My money is his now. Just like his is mine.”
“Your money?” Carl sputters. He sticks his head up front between us. “Did you land a job we don’t know about?”
Since graduating in May, Taylor has worked hard on perfecting her tan; that’s the only work she’s done.
“Taylor…” I sigh. “The money in your account is for you to live on while you’re getting your master’s at Tech.”
“We didn’t blow that much.”
“Don’t the other members of Mooney’s band live here? How are they going to practice if he’s living with you in Lubbock while you’re going to school?”
“I’ll apply for the program at WT instead.”
“Isn’t it too late?”
“I’ll apply for the spring semester.”
I glance at Carl. “Do we know anyone at WT I could call?”
Taylor lifts her chin. “I don’t need you to get me in.” She sounds offended.
“Do you know someone?” I ask her.
She glares at me, and I immediately regret my implication. But she knows as well as anyone that her grades are subpar.
I try to find a positive side to all this. If, by some miracle, she does get in at WT, at least she’ll be closer to home. West Texas A&M is twenty minutes away from Amarillo, as opposed to the two hours it takes to drive to Lubbock.
“Please don’t spend any more of the money in that account on extravagances,” I say to her. “It’s for tuition and books. Things like that.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
“Just so you’re not tempted,” Carl says, “I’ll call the bank tomorrow and have you taken off the account.”
“Dad-dy. Don’t you trust me?”
The question elicits a wry chuckle from Carl. “Where do the two of you plan to set up house?”
“In Mooney’s aunt’s garage apartment.”
“That place he lives now?” My stomach drops. I went there with Taylor once when we were shopping and she found Mooney’s cell phone in her purse. He needed it, so we dropped by. The sight of that apartment made me wonder what on earth Mooney had done to brainwash my daughter. Before meeting him, she wouldn’t have stepped foot in such a place. Peeling paint. A dangling shutter. A swamp cooler in the window. A thorny, weedy patch of yard. The inside was worse. Stained, threadbare carpet. Musty, stale beer scent. Dark stuffy rooms—three of them; a living room/kitchen combo, one bedroom and a tiny bath. Completely depressing. I can’t imagine Taylor happy there.
“The two of you should move in with us,” I blurt in desperation. “We have plenty of space. Too much for two people.”
“Dana.” Carl groans, and Taylor looks as if she’s been slapped.
I know what’s going through his mind. He can’t stand being in the same room with Mooney for more than a couple of hours. How would he manage to share a house with the boy for who knows how long? But I know Taylor. As soon as her love-induced, or lust-induced, stupor wears off, that garage apartment will horrify her. She likes pretty things: flowers, hardwood floors, landscaped backyard pools. Comfortable things: thick carpets, modern appliances, central heat and air.
She pushes the gas pedal harder. The needle jumps to eighty. “Relax, Daddy. We wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you. Besides, I like the apartment.” She never could lie convincingly. Her marital status may have changed, but that hasn’t.
As Taylor turns on screeching tires into our neighborhood, I stare out the window. Goodbye, red roses…mistletoe…red velvet cake…string quartet. Goodbye, my reason for getting out of bed in the morning for the next few months. “Why, Taylor?” I ask quietly. “I was planning such a beautiful wedding for—”
“That’s why, Mom.” She whips into our driveway. “You were planning. I knew that’s what would happen. No matter how hard I’d try to stand my ground, you’d turn it into your wedding, not mine.”
“Young lady…” Carl says, but his voice trails off and he doesn’t finish the sentence.
“It’s true,” Taylor huffs. “She doesn’t think I can do anything right without her input. Even plan my own wedding. It would’ve ended up being all about what she wanted, not Mooney and me.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I’m too stunned, too hurt, to speak. Carl remains silent, and I can’t help wondering if he agrees with her.
Taylor hits the button on the garage opener hooked over the visor. The door glides up. She pulls inside. As she helps us carry our bags into the house, nobody speaks.
Carl scratches his head. “I need a shower.” He kisses Taylor’s cheek. “Are you happy, punkin?”
She blinks her big blue eyes at him and smiles. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Well, then…” Carl sighs and hugs her. “Congratulations, baby.” He doesn’t sound any more excited than he looks, but Taylor either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
She beams. “Thank you, Daddy.”
Pulling his suitcase behind him, he leaves us alone in the living room.
I kick off my shoes and collapse on the couch. Taylor slouches beside me, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was a little hard on you in the car. I know you’re disappointed about the wedding.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetie.” Ignoring my aching bruised feelings, I smile at her.
“I know you and Daddy don’t like Mooney.”
“It’s just—he’s not—” I hesitate. “Daddy and I wanted you to have—”
She narrows her eyes. Her nostrils flare.
“I need to get to know Mooney better, sweetie, that’s all. I’m sure he’s a wonderful person.” At least I hope he is. Somewhere beneath all the hair and rock-jock attitude.
“He is.” Taylor’s eyes dare me to doubt that.
I take her hand. “The truth is, I’m a little worried about how the two of you will get by and—” Her fingers tense; I give up. “I guess I should be thinking about a wedding gift. Is there anything in particular you want?”
“I’ve been talking to Mooney about that.” She pops upright beside me. “We would absolutely love to go to Hawaii for our real honeymoon.”
I lift my brows and start to tell her no. No way in hell. Not a chance. She didn’t consult with us before she spent her college money on a rushed elopement. She deprived her parents of watching their only daughter wed. Deprived me of the experience of planning a wedding with her. It will