Stacy's Dad Has Got It Going On Read online

  “Oh,” Savannah said. Had she been rude? “Sorry. Inquiring minds are always humming.”

  “No, it’s good to ask questions,” he said. “And yes, you’re right. Most fundraising dollars do go to developing countries with world majority populations, but I always like to tell people what’s going on close to home. Here, we don’t feel the government is doing a great job in supporting the First Nations and Inuit populations. In fact, they’ve really dropped the ball.”

  Savannah nodded. “Amen to that.”

  “There are reservations in this country akin to shanty towns, where clean water is not always available and disease is rampant. And those who hold the money all live in urban centres, so they never see this level of poverty first-hand. It’s out of sight, out of mind.”

  “That’s one thing about studying biology,” Savannah reflected. “You get so caught up in the internal lives of individual organisms—you know, on an organic scale—that you sometimes forget to look out into the world. What other work do you guys do?”

  “Lots,” Eric began. “Let’s try this: where are your parents from?”

  Now that she realized why he was asking, she didn’t mind telling him. “My mother was born in Laos, but her parents came here when she was little.”

  “Laos?” He looked at her in a way she couldn’t quite decipher. It wasn’t sleazy or dirty or anything along those lines, and yet his gaze warmed her in a way she couldn’t quite describe. “Our big project in Laos is bomb disposal. The Americans dropped hundreds of thousands of bombs on Laos during the Vietnams war…”

  “Yeah, I know,” Savannah replied. Unzipping her grey hoodie, she slipped it from her shoulders and tossed it over the arm of the couch. “That’s why my grandparents left the country. A lot of my relatives were killed in that senseless war.”

  Eric nodded. “And those bombs are still killing Laotians to this day. The countryside is ridden with undetonated explosives, and in the rural areas there’s a thriving black market for scrap metal. That’s a lethal combination. In poor villages, people—adults and children alike—come across old bombs and try to dig them up to sell. Quite often, the jostle reactivates the detonation device and…”

  “God. Those people could be my cousins.” Savanna fished all the change from the pocket of her jeans. “What do you guys do about the bombs?”

  “We have teams,” he told her. “Bomb disposal teams. They go into these areas and safely dispose of the explosives. Can you imagine? All these years after the war, and innocent people are still being killed.”

  Savannah took a deep breath as she considered Stacy’s father. He looked so much younger than her parents, though they must be roughly the same age. He had a vibrancy to him, as well, that seemed nothing if not youthful. She’d already forgotten the reason for his visit, but when it stormed to the forefront of her mind, she felt a surge of discomfort. She hoped he wouldn’t mention his wife’s affair to her. She’d feel really awkward hearing about it. “What about Africa?” she asked. “That’s where my father’s ancestors were from.”

  “We have a number of projects going on in Africa, as you can imagine. Right now we have a big push on promoting the rights of women and girls. This campaign’s gotten a lot of great press.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of it for sure. It’s about helping women work for themselves in sustainable industries, and encouraging families to let their girls go to school.”

  “Right!” Eric said. He seemed very pleased his message had reached all the way to his daughter’s house. “As ruefully as we may look at corporate sponsorship, it’s a necessary evil at times. Did you know we’ve teamed up with purveyors of sanitary pads, who help us by donating money and product to help keep girls attending classes?”

  Stacy crept back into the room and took a seat in her favourite chair, but neither Eric nor Savannah acknowledged her. The conversation had gotten too interesting. “Yeah, you know, I actually did hear about that,” Savannah said. “Because a lot of girls there, especially in the villages, aren’t allowed to go to school when they have their periods. They fall behind after a while, and then a lot of them drop out.”

  “What the hell are you people talking about?” Stacy asked, grabbing the remote from the coffee table.

  “One of the IHAO’s projects in Africa involves…”

  But Stacy wasn’t listening. She upped the volume on the TV to drown out her father’s voice. He looked to Savannah and shrugged. “We’ll finish this conversation some other time, I guess.”

  The guy had a really nice smile—she’d give him that much. “For sure. I have a lot of reading to do for Physiology of Neural Systems.”

  Eric laughed. “Sounds like fun.” And then he looked to his daughter. “Stacy, don’t you have reading to do too?”

  Rolling her eyes, she tossed the TV remote back on the coffee table. “Yes, father.”

  When Stacy marched to her room and closed the door with a little more force than was necessary, Savannah went to the kitchen to clear her plate. Through the serving gap, she watched Stacy’s dad pick up the remote, flip past documentaries and round-table news programs, and finally settle on one of those irritating fat-husband-pretty-wife sitcoms. A man as smart as Eric would really have to be suffering to fill his mind with that crap.

  “Can I get you anything?” Savannah asked him.

  “No thanks,” he said without turning around. “Stace showed me where you keep everything and…oh, I won’t eat any of the food with your name on it. She told me not to.”

  Her heart panged for the guy. “No…” she muttered. “It’s okay. Eat what you like.”

  When Savannah got to her room, she spent a good half hour scouring her bookshelf for something Eric might be interested in reading. Anything would be better than sitcoms, but she doubted he’d be interested in her old Genetics text, or even the vastly more jejune Pharmacokinetic Principles. She didn’t own many novels, but she did have the autobiography of a young Somali woman. With his international aid work, he’d surely find it as interesting as Savannah had. She set the paperback by her door to give him when she left her room for the nightly nine o’clock tea break.

  Chapter Three

  Savannah closed her eyes and listened to this week’s favourite song on the radio. She fully acknowledged her commitment issues with regard to music and bands. What she loved this week, she’d hate next week. She didn’t like anything after it became popular. Would she drop Chris so easily once she got to know him? Would she love his band for a week and then start searching for the next big thing?

  It was nine o’clock on the dot. She felt cross-eyed, glancing down at the printed words on the page of her textbook and the hand-written words in her note book. Break time hadn’t come a moment too soon.

  Picking up last night’s tea mug, she hopped up off the floor and nearly tripped on the paperback by her door. Oh yeah. Not only had she forgotten her plan to lend the book to Stacy’s dad, she’d forgotten Stacy’s dad was even at their house. Stacy spent enough evenings vegging in front of the TV—it could just as easily have been her out there.

  When Savannah stepped out of her bedroom, she very nearly jumped back in. She couldn’t stop herself from reacting audibly when she caught sight of a topless Eric in the middle of the living space. When she gasped, he looked up and met her gaze straight on. The look on his face matched the expression she figured must be painted across hers—your average ‘deer caught in the headlights’ look.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, throwing a white T-shirt over his head. “Sorry, I just wanted to get out of my suit. You’d been holed up in your room so long I thought…”

  “Nine o’clock tea break,” she interrupted. She tried to be subtle as she gazed over the back of the couch to see if he was wearing any pants. He was. “If you want, you can change in my bedroom while I put the kettle on.”

  “Uhh…” He blinked a few times, but she couldn’t read his expression. “Yeah, I can do that. Whatever makes you most comforta
ble.”

  Or least uncomfortable.

  “For sure,” she said with an organic smile. “Just watch my papers and stuff. I study on the floor.”

  He smiled too, though he gave her a teasing look as he walked by the kitchen with plaid pyjama pants in hand. Was it so strange to study on the floor? Not that she cared much what other people thought. She took her bag of chocolate chip cookies down from the cupboard and set a few out on a plate as she waited for the water to boil. What did Stacy’s dad think of her, she wondered. Did he know she’d kept her marks high enough to maintain her scholarship even into third year? Did Stacy talk about her roommate at all with her parents, or was Savannah only part of the furniture? At least being classified as ‘furniture’ was better than being seen as the roommate from hell, which she knew she wasn’t. She was quiet and kept to herself, but she was sociable too. After all, Stacy was her best friend. But there were limitations on everything, as far as Savannah was concerned. Even if you get along great with your roommate, you don’t want to spend every waking hour with her.

  And then Savannah thought about her space—her room. Eric was in there now. How long did it take to change from dress pants into pyjama pants? He must be in there perusing her bookshelf and looking at her knick-knacks. A tingle of excitement ran through her at the thought of him picking up the little stuffed dog on her pillow and feeling how soft its fur was, or finding the secret romance stashed under her bed.

  Eric emerged from Savannah’s bedroom just as the electric kettle clicked off. She nearly poured boiling water all over herself when he walked by holding his suit pants in one hand and dark grey jockey-boxers in the other. It wasn’t just the fact that she could see his underwear, it was also the fact that if his underwear was in his hand, that meant he wasn’t wearing it.

  “Thanks,” Eric said to her, nodding as he folded his pants over the back of Stacy’s chair. “Nice to have a moment of privacy.”

  “No probs. I made you a cup of tea. How do you take it?”

  He sat down heavily on the couch in his plain flannel pants and white T-shirt—and probably no underwear! “Oh, thanks. That’s sweet of you. I just take a little milk if you have it.”

  “For sure,” she replied, still watching him as she opened the fridge door. She was surprised that he wasn’t getting up to fetch his own mug. If he turned out to be one of those men who expected any woman who happened to be in the room to wait on him hand and foot, she would soon be lobbying for his expulsion.

  When she brought him his cup of tea, she understood. His eyes looked red, like his two minutes of solitude had brought every sore thought surging into the foreground of his mind. He must have darted by her so quickly because he didn’t want her to see him like this. She would have done the same thing. She hated when people asked that dreaded question, “What’s wrong?” If she said, “Nothing,” they only pushed harder. And if she told them what was wrong, she spent half the night crying.

  Savannah piled her book on top of her plate of cookies, and carried her tea into the living room. “I thought you might like this,” she said.

  He offered a weak smile in return. “The book or the cookies?”

  “Well, both. I was just thinking no sense watching stupid TV shows all night, right? I read this autobiography a few years ago, and I really liked it. There’s a part in it that you reminded me of when we were talking…” Was she really going to bring this up again with her roommate’s dad? “…uh, talking about sanitary napkins and all that, because she writes about going to a job interview in the city and leaving blood all over the chair. In her village, they just bled out and didn’t worry about it. So, not to spoil it for you, but the man interviewing her takes her to the store and buys her a box of pads and, like, takes one out and tells her how to use it.”

  She couldn’t believe she was going on and on about periods, and Eric wasn’t even squirming. Before she studied biology, she felt uncomfortable talking about these things, even with other girls. Now, with everything they discussed in lectures and everything she encountered in labs, she wasn’t so squeamish or so bashful.

  “I’ll certainly give it a look,” Eric said, flipping the book over and gazing at the photo on the back cover. “And I’ll get right on these cookies too.”

  Stacy came out of her room with fresh linens and an ear for conversation. They probably wanted some time to discuss family affairs. Happy to have made him smile, even if it took a chocolate chip bribe, Savannah picked up her tea, took three cookies in hand, and left them to it.

  * * * *

  After falling asleep in a book, Savannah sprang up from the floor, rolled the kink out of her neck, and surged into the morning kitchen. It must be late—Stacy was back from her run, and already busy juicing colourful produce.

  “Will you cut that out?” her father called from the couch.

  “No!” Stacy snapped. “You drink my booze, you suffer the consequences.”

  As much as Savannah didn’t want to get involved, she couldn’t help asking, “What?”

  Stacy nodded toward the couch. “My father got into the rum that what’s-his-face brought me back from the Dominican. He was up drinking all night, and he called in sick to work. How’s that for setting a good example for your daughter?” She only stopped juicing because her glass was filled to the brim. “No wonder mom had an affair,” Stacy muttered.

  Frozen to the kitchen tile, Savannah stared at the art cards on the fridge. How could she possibly reply to a statement like that? Though the tension hurt her heart, she stayed in Stacy’s and Eric’s midst just long enough to fill up the kettle and stick a tea bag in her travel mug.

  “Are we taking the bus together?” Stacy asked.

  Savannah nodded as she raced to the bathroom. “I’ll be quick in the shower.”

  “Good,” Stacy said, “because I have Invertebrate Zoology first thing, and my T.A. already hates me.”

  After showering and dressing in tight brown cords and a T-shirt, Savannah fixed her tea while Eric snored on the couch. She felt strangely disappointed in him. More than she should have been, all things considered. She’d never been cheated on, or been married for twenty-something years, for that matter. She was in no position to judge his response.

  On the bus to campus, Savannah tried to avoid the topic, but Stacy was the kind of person who liked to talk things through. “In a way, I can’t believe she did it. I mean, if dad hadn’t caught her red-handed, I would have said he was paranoid.”

  “But?” Savannah asked.

  Stacy leaned against the bus window. “I guess she hasn’t seemed really happy for a while. But it’s hard for me to know what goes on between them. I don’t even live there anymore.”

  Though she hated to pose the question yet again, Savannah asked, “Do you know how long he’s staying with us?”

  “He’ll be out on his ass soon if he keeps drinking my liquor!”

  Savannah laughed. “Oh, I didn’t get to tell you! Chris asked me to Kingsley’s tomorrow night.”

  Stacy nearly did a spit take on that one. “No way! He did?”

  “Yeah, to see his band.” Savannah took a self-satisfied sip of tea while Stacy looked on, slack-jawed. “Why are you so surprised? I’m an eligible bachelorette,” she laughed.

  “Yeah, no, I know that,” Stacy said. “Just, Chris is so…I mean, he’s…”

  “He’s cool.” Savannah offered a decisive nod. “I know. That’s why I like him. Our classes are full of geeks like us…”

  Stacy poked her in the side. “Hey, speak for yourself missy.”

  “Well, you know what I mean.” Taking a long sip of soothing hot tea, Savannah watched their familiar route pass by out the window. “I just want something a little different. Every day is so much the same.” She pictured Chris with his relaxed sense of style leaning back in his high lab chair while their T.A. talked about this and that. His expression always seemed so carefree. To watch him, he seemed like he wasn’t paying even the slightest bit of at
tention to the lesson. He never seemed to listen, but he always got A’s on his lab reports, so what did that say? He went home every night and did his readings just like her. He was naturally brilliant. She and Chris were the same, but different. Chris was cool. She was not.

  * * * *

  Cool was such an elusive quality, Savannah reflected as she dragged her book bag behind her. She ascended the stairs to her apartment slowly this afternoon, lost in deep contemplation. What did it take to come off as cool? Clothes. “Cool” clothes. Savannah had cool clothes, didn’t she? Well, they were cool when she bought them. At least, she thought they were. Chris wore children’s T-shirts from the 1980’s. Who would ever have anticipated thirty years ago that those tops would be cool again? Dang, Super Mario Brothers? That came out before she was born! But, if memory served, she still had her favourite Sailor Moon top packed away in the back of her closet. It would be nice and tight now, and her boobs would look kick-ass in it. Would she look cool in a T-shirt from her childhood? That’s what seemed to be in, so she’d give it a try.

  Stacy’s shoes weren’t at the front door and her father wasn’t strewn across the couch, so she must have taken him out for a cheerful dinner. Kicking off her cross-trainers, Savannah slid down the waxed wood hallway and opened the door to her room.

  “Oh, Jesus!”

  Savannah gasped as Stacy’s dad shrieked like a five-year old and shielded his penis with his hands. He was naked. Totally naked. Why was he naked? Hell, besides that, why was he in her room? Oh, because she’d told him he could change there if he wanted some privacy. So he’d done just that, or, at least, he was in the middle of doing it when she walked in on him. Naked. And…good naked. Wow! Eric was fit. Dang, he had nice abs. Great chest. Hardly any hair—that’s just the way a chest ought to look, she figured. Not all thick with a carpet of fuzz, but smooth and just a little gleaming, like he’d been out in the sun and worked up a bit of a sweat.

  As Eric grasped for his jockey-boxers laid out on her bed, Savannah thought to herself, I should say “Ooops!” and “I’m sorry,” then shut the door and leave him to change. But for some reason, she didn’t do any of those things. She stood in the door frame watching as he fought with his underwear. He was obviously distressed by her presence because he hopped around the room, jabbing his foot at the leg holes between black cotton, and always missing.