Drop The Needle #7

[Sabrina, 14, has just been told to set the table for three by her father on her first visit with him since the divorce. The doorbell rang before Sabrina could ask who was joining them and she speculates it must be a relative]

The door opened. Steam obscured Dad’s face as he carried in a rectangular platter heaped with sticky rice and spiced vegetables. Behind him came a petite, brunette girl in jeans and a black silk blouse that hugged her assets.

It sure as hell wasn’t Aunt Nicole.

My hands knotted under the table. This was a joke, right? I bet she still had to show ID when she went to the liquor store. This had to be something other than what I thought it was. It had to be!

“Sabrina, I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Suzanne.”

My heart turned to stone. A friend. A girl. It didn’t take a genius.

"It’s great to finally meet you, Sabrina,” Suzanne said as dad held a chair out for her. “Mark’s told me so much about you.”

I sat there, frozen—the great Snow Girl. My first night with Dad and I get this thrown at me?

“How do you know Dad?” I asked at last.

Suzanne’s gaze flicked to Dad, who answered for her.

“At work.” He began dishing out rice.

Oh my God. What kind of happy crap was this? I schooled my face, keeping my white hot anger hidden inside. I was ice…ice with a molten core.

“Oh, an intern.” I smiled sweetly. “Work experience for college, I guess?”

Dad coughed, his voice carefully controlled. He shot me a warning look. “No, she isn’t a student. Suzanne is part of the firm’s administration staff.”

I wanted to laugh. Dad springs his new girlfriend on me and he expects me to play nice?

“Administration.” I held my plate up for Dad to fill. “So now that Mom and I have moved out, you’re starting to bring work home with you, Dad?”

Dad’s hand clenched and his silver serving tongs lost their load of vegetables onto the tablecloth. “Sabrina!”

Suzanne shifted in her seat, not knowing where to look. A part of me felt sorry for her, so the larger, angrier part of me stomped on the weak pang like it was a skittering cockroach.

I glared up at Dad. “Does she know that Mom and I left two weeks ago? TWO weeks.”

Dad’s eyelid began to twitch. “Now listen here, young lady—”

“Young lady?” I repeated, cutting him off. Then I leaned toward Suzanne and whispered, “I think he means you.”

The doorbell rang.

Jemmi, I love you. Seriously, your timing couldn’t be better. I stood up.

“I’ll get it. I wouldn’t want you to have to neglect your special company.”

I ran from the room before Dad could say anything. Angry tears blurred in my eyes. I yanked the door open and threw my arms around Jemmi.

[the emotions here are shock anger and betrayal]