Hothouse

By Natalie Brink

For the fourth time since Andi sat down, the front door to the diner swung open, the bell
above it ringing happily, and brought in new customers and a stinging wave of cold air. She
nuzzled down into her jacket. Maybe the next time her waiter came by, she would request to sit somewhere else. She would claim a sensitivity to the cold because of her sucky autoimmune system. But her waiter had already come by twice to refill her water (she hydrated like a freak when she was anxious) and all she could get past her lips were tiny smiles and a quiet, “Thank you.”

What could she say? She didn’t get ‘most talkative’ for senior superlatives in her high
school yearbook. She wasn’t even in the senior superlatives.

Lady Gaga played over the crackly speakers. Andi hummed along to her in a poor
attempt to calm her nerves. She twisted the ring around her left ring finger, focusing on the sharp edges of the jade digging into her thumb and forefinger. After a brief hesitation that morning while she got herself ready, Andi decided to not wear her other rings. Today, it would just be her engagement ring and nothing else. She went as far as to leave off any other jewelry as well, despite her collection that took up an entire dresser drawer.

She may not have been very loud, but she, on occasion, had her ‘main character’
moments.

Her knee bobbed up and down beneath the sticky laminate table. Every few minutes, she
glanced outside the window beside her booth, past the raindrops trickling down the glass and out into the small parking lot. Beyond, cars sped by on the highway, furiously pushing through the rain. Her own car was parked up against the building. Even though her fingers had long since frozen over in the thirty or so minutes since she had sat down, she was somewhat grateful to sit near the front so that she could keep an eye on both her car and the service road, which would eventually bring an old work truck into the diner’s parking lot.

The longer the minutes stretched, the more Andi fidgeted.

What was she even doing here? She could’ve spent her Sunday relaxing, not driving two
hours north just to have lunch at a three-star diner (at best) with someone who curled his lip
whenever she did something that wasn’t to his standards.

She could’ve lied in bed all morning with her fiancée and two dogs, watching a movie or
maybe two, before taking a hot bath together and then going out for brunch and mimosas to their favorite place on East 7th Street. But instead she was here, sitting on a booth bench with so many cracks and peels in its pleather that it would’ve been every dermatologist’s nightmare had it been skin. Instead she was here, where the water tasted like metal and half the customers wore cowboy hats and boots and spoke in slow, thick accents and the waitresses called everyone “honey” and “darling” (which, before Andi met her partner, used to make her blush in her undergrad days).

In hindsight, she should have blocked her parents from her social media forever ago and
lied that she deleted all of them if they asked. Then she would have had her pleasant Sunday.

Or you could have at least told them you were engaged instead of letting them find out
through a series of photos on Facebook. That’s what normal people do.

Shut up, guilty conscious. She didn’t owe them anything.

Her mother had FaceTimed them immediately and congratulated them, but she had been
alone on the screen. When she got the text from her father last Monday asking to meet for lunch, there had been no mention of the engagement announcement, nothing about their trip to the mountains over a month ago where Camila sprung the question, just a simple text ending in an ominous period. But Andi knew what it was about.

With a sigh, she pulled her phone out of the pocket in her jeans and called the first
number on her recents, dialed just an hour and a half ago.

The recipient picked up after two rings, answering with the most angelic raspy voice on
the planet.
“Babe? What’s wrong?”

A smile flashed across Andi’s lips. Camila had that effect on her, even after four years
together.
“Nothing. Did you fall back asleep? I can let you go.”
“Absolutely not,” Camila protested, sounding slightly more awake now. Andi heard
shuffling in the background; she was probably getting out of bed. “Just resting with Benji.”
Andi leaned her head into her phone, as if that could bring her closer to the woman and
labrador on the other side.
“Hi, Benji-boo, my sweet baby boy,” she crooned, not caring that she was in public.
“…He’s licking his crotch. Benjamin Michael Silva-Martinez, say hi to your mother.”
God, what Andi would give to be at home right now.
“So disrespectful,” she said with a mock scoff.
A beat of silence passed over the phone. Andi pictured Camila sitting up in bed, the
covers rumpled around her and Benji pressed against her, begging for a belly rub that she happily gave.
When she left earlier that morning, Camila had woken up to kiss her goodbye, but didn’t
bother changing out of her sweatshirt and plaid pajama shorts. Andi imagined that she curled back up the second the front door shut behind her and had fallen back asleep until Andi woke her again just now.
Her hair was probably a mess, short black curls going in every direction on her head. She
no doubt had indents on her face from creases in her pillow, maybe even a dried spot of spit on her chin that, if Andi were there, she would have lovingly wiped away with her thumb.
“Is your dad there, yet?” Camila asked through a yawn,
“Not yet.” Once again, Andi glanced out the window for a familiar truck, but no one entered the parking lot. “He probably decided he didn’t want to make the drive in this weather. You know how he is.”
“He’s probably just running late. Give him some more time.”
“Sounds like you don’t want me to come home,” Andi joked lightly.
“Quite the opposite,” Camila responded with a small hum, and Andi believed her instantly. “Don’t forget to ask him.”
Andi rested a tired elbow on the sticky table. “I won’t,” she promised.
“…You hesitated.”
“Did not!”
“It’s going to be okay. I highly doubt he’ll say no,” Camila reassured. Andi was convinced that the best and worst part about having a partner was that they knew you more than you knew yourself sometimes. Camila wasn’t even there with her, but she could still somehow feel Andi’s anxiety over the phone.
“It’s not him declining that I worry about.”
When the front door opened for the fifth time since Andi’s arrival, Andi ducked her head down into her jacket once again, closed her eyes, and breathed out warm air through her mouth, just to regain some feeling in her nose.
Andi tried to rub some warmth back into her hands, resisting the urge to stick them under her jacket and sweater right into her armpit. She used to do that all the time growing up, until her
parents told her to stop because it wasn’t ‘ladylike’.
“They placed me right by the front door, Cam,” she said, teeth chattering. “I’m so fucking
cold right now.”
“Aw, poor baby.” Camila’s tone grew teasing at the subject change. She had always run warm, so she clearly didn’t understand Andi’s pain. “Do you want me to come up there and give you a hug?”
“You have no idea how much I would love that. Like, I would marry you right here if you
did that.”
“How romantic,” Camila drawled. “In ten years when our kids ask about our wedding, we can say we made it official over a rootbeer float.”
Andi snorted. “I don’t think they serve those here. It would have to be over a greasy hamburger and french fries.”
“You really know what a girl wants.”
Before Andi could retort, a large shadow cast over her table.
“Andrea?”
It had been a while since she heard that name, only uttered on holidays (where she couldn’t make the excuse that she was working because she had the day off) and birthdays (painstakingly long phone calls she couldn’t avoid). No matter how many times growing up she pressed for ‘Andi,’ it went unheard or just forgotten, or a lecture followed about how she was
named after some old important family member she never met and she should have shown more respect for them.
Andi looked up. A man stood awkwardly in front of her booth, gray hair buzzed short to hide the grayness and dressed in old jeans and a navy sweatshirt with her college’s logo centered on his chest. She had gifted it to him on Christmas her freshman year. She was pretty sure he
only wore it in her presence, as though to prove it didn’t just sit in the bottom of his dresser year-round.
“Babe?” she said into the phone, losing the humor in her voice. “I gotta go.”
“Hey, I love you, okay? Whatever happens, you have a family here, but I hope it goes
well and you enjoy your lunch.”
Andi managed to smile. Camila had already given her a similar speech that morning,
knowing how Andi would have preferred to pull out her own teeth than be here right now.
“Thank you. I love you, too.”
She hung up, sticking her phone back into her pocket, and stood. Her smile felt strained all of a sudden. “Hey, Dad.”
“Sorry I’m late,” he replied shortly as they hugged. She turned her head and pressed her
cheek to his chest. The sweatshirt smelled like the wood inside of a dresser when clothes weren’t worn frequently. “Traffic. You know how it is.”
“No worries.” Andi pulled back and gestured for them to sit. “I’ve just been enjoying the
lovely view.” She nodded toward the wet window, at the cracked parking lot and faded highway just beyond.
Her father didn’t laugh. He never did, even though he was often the one telling her she
needed to smile more and learn to take a joke.
“So…” Andi tapped her fingers on the table. “How’s Mom and everyone doing?”
“They’re good, everyone’s good.” Her father picked up a menu crammed in the organizer
against the wall. “They miss you, of course. Your mom wanted to come today, but she had to
work.”
He sounded like a weatherman giving her the weekly forecast. For all she knew, he
could’ve practiced exactly what he was going to say on the drive here. She could just imagine the silence in the truck for over two hours, no music or podcasts or anything to fill the space.
“Yeah, she told me this morning,” Andi said. She flipped through her own menu even
though she had already decided what she was going to get. it just gave her something to do. Her and her mother texted more frequently than Andi did with her father or siblings. It was mostly sharing pictures of their pets and recipes on Pinterest, but they occasionally exchanged actual conversation.
“Did you already order?” he asked, and Andi glanced up.
“No. I was waiting for you.”
“Oh.” A pause. “What are you thinking about having?”
“Probably the club sandwich.” It was the only thing on the menu that Andi kind of liked.
“Still eating meat, then?” Her father raised his eyebrows as if preparing himself to judge
her.
“Yes,” Andi replied cautiously. She could sense where this was headed. “Not often, but I
still do.”

“Good. You don’t need to be going vegan like all those damn city people these days just
trying to be trendy. You need to remember your roots.”
“Y’all raised us in the suburbs, Dad.” Andi knew he was referring to his own upbringing
in the literal middle of nowhere, but, like many things, the same did not apply to her.
“Not the point. The point is, you need protein. Can’t get that from a salad.”
“Vegans get plenty of protein. They don’t just eat salads.”
“You know what I mean,” he answered in a strict tone that brought Andi back to her
childhood. Back to when she knew it was time to shut the fuck up.
But Andi wasn’t nine, or thirteen, or, hell, even eighteen, anymore.
“What are you getting?” she asked, changing the subject. It was better than falling into
silence.
“Cheeseburger.” He flipped to the appetizers page. “You want anything else? Cheese
fries? Chips? I’m treating today, so we can have whatever you like.”
“You don’t have to do that, Dad. I can pay for my portion.”
“I want to. Soon enough, you’re going to want nothing to do with your parents, and I
won’t get to pay for your meals anymore. You’ll understand when you have kids.”
That was perhaps his favorite phrase, and every time, Andi had to bite back from saying, If I have kids. She learned not to repeat it after she was lectured about how awful he and her
mother must have been if she didn’t want to have kids in the future.
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. Maybe, he would forget by the time the check came by. She considered ordering too much food just to make the bill high and her father’s eyes bug out far enough to make him regret offering to pay, but she bit her tongue.
They were silent until their waiter came back to take their order, flashing a charming smile to both of them that neither cared about. Once he was gone, her father whipped out his phone and started scrolling. Andi guessed he was on Facebook or Twitter, looking for something to complain about. That’s the only reason why he joined social media.
Andi shifted in her booth, the cracked leather groaning. She opened her mouth to say
something about driving two hours to see him, not see him on the phone, but then her father
shook his head at something and turned the phone off, shoving it to the side a little.
“Have y’all settled on a date yet?” he asked.
Despite his casual bluntness, Andi hadn’t expected him to bring up the reason they were
meeting in the first place. She almost sarcastically applauded him for being able to talk so easily about it.
Instead she flushed and twisted her engagement ring. She caught his eyes dropping to it, lips puckering for a brief moment like he had a sour lemon in his mouth.
“No.” She shook her head. “But we’re thinking about a spring wedding before it gets too hot. You know, maybe around March or April when the temperature is just right.”
“This spring?” he pressed with raised eyebrows.
“Next spring, at the earliest” she corrected, laughing awkwardly. “Three months isn’t a whole lot of time to plan a wedding.”
“And I take it that you’re going to have it outdoors? Not in a church?”
Andi stopped following religions altogether four years ago, but she used another excuse. “In a garden, maybe. Somewhere with lots of greenery. We both love the outdoors.”
“Weddings should be in churches. It’s about a relationship between you two and God.”

“God created nature, not churches. Why would it be so bad to have a wedding outside?”

Her father sighed. Andi: One. John Silva: Zero. “What about location? You’re not thinking about going out-of-state, are you? Or one of those destination weddings?”
“Something small and in-state, most likely,” Andi replied hesitantly. “We don’t want something big, and we don’t have much saved anyway.”
“Good, good.” He nodded approvingly. “And your wedding party? Any family going to
be in it?”
Andi bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something rude. “Dad, we just got
engaged. We’ve hardly done any planning, just talked a little. We’re not in a rush right now.”
“Just don’t hold things off until the last minute,” he warned. “Weddings, they take time. You saw how much effort Jessica put into her wedding, and it was very small.”
Jessica, her cousin, had recently gotten married to a man thirteen years her senior despite only being twenty two years old. She also shouldered most of the wedding planning weight while her now-husband went out to the bars and made a permanent dent in his recliner.
“Okay, I get it.” Andi watched a condensation droplet roll down her water glass and gather around the bottom. “Camila’s doing fine, by the way. She sends her love.”
“I’m sorry for asking so many questions,” her father said in a way that he wasn’t sorry at all, that he only wanted to make Andi feel bad for not giving him the responses he wanted. He seemed to miss or simply ignore the comment about her fiancée. “I’ll just keep my mouth shut and my head out of y’alls’ business. Just send an invitation and we’ll show up.”
“Dad,” Andi began, holding back an impatient sigh, “I’m not trying to upset you. We genuinely don’t know a whole lot yet. We kind of just want to enjoy the engagement for a little while before we start planning. We have a couple married friends, and they all say how time consuming and exhausting the process is.”
“A father worries, is all. It’s popular to not be traditional these days. Your mother and I don’t want to see you having some courthouse wedding in a skimpy dress. Some tradition and modesty would be nice.”
Andi couldn’t help it, she laughed. And with it came tumbling the first brick of the wall she built around her countless frustrations concerning her father. “Are you serious? Do y’all actually think so little of me?”
“We’re not sure what to think anymore,” her father defended while gesturing with his large, red hands. “You never call home, you get engaged without telling us you were planning to beforehand, you mention wanting to move to California—”
It was Oregon, but the whole west coast was just California to him.
“—without even asking for our opinions, you miss Thanksgiving…” he trailed off the way someone did when they had nothing more to argue.
“Well, if you don’t agree with the choices I make for my life, then you don’t have to go to the wedding. No one’s going to force you,” Andi said, crossing her arms to hide her shaking hands.
It was rare to see her father struggle to speak. The man never knew when to shut his mouth, always going on about something or other. Andi sometimes joked to her mother that he liked to talk to people, not with them. But now, his jaw opened and closed, like a gasping fish out of water. It would have been comical if Andi’s face wasn’t burning from what she just said.
“Dad—”
“Alright, I have one turkey club and a cheeseburger, both with a side of fries.” Andi looked up as their waiter returned, smiling brightly. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen or eighteen, given the messy brown hair and the mountain range of acne across his forehead.
Give it a couple months, and he would either be out of this place and doing something better with his time, or stuck here for the rest of his life. Andi had been in that situation once, and she got out before something could pull her back in.
They took their plates and thanked the waiter, who didn’t seem to notice the string pulled thin between the two of them, ready to snap. He asked, oblivious, if Andi needed a refill of her water, which was more ice than water now, but she declined out of desperation for him to leave.
The lettuce on her turkey club was wilted, and the bread had already started to grow soggy from the sauce. But Andi picked up one half of the sandwich and took a huge bite from it as if it were something advertised on Diners, Drive Ins, and Dives.
It was mediocre at best. She was far from a food critic—Camila was the cook between
the two of them, as she burned everything she touched and didn’t know what tasted good
together—but she could tell whether or not she liked something. The sandwich wasn’t bad, just
somehow too dry and too soggy at the same time. But it was better than trying to continue their conversation.
Her father didn’t look like he wanted to talk either. He had reclined back into his seat,
which he only ever did when he was upset about something. He preached perfect posture until something messed up the perfect little bubble he constructed around himself.
They finished quickly, and Andi let her father take the bill without argument. While he
muttered to himself over the cost and the tip, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and shot her fiancée a quick text.

finishing up. be home in a few hours

drive safe. love you<3
how did it go???

Camila’s response was immediate. Andi’s mood lightened a little as she circled her
thumbs over the keyboard. How did it go? She could lie and say it went fine, just leave it at that
until she was home and could vent her frustrations while her future wife gave her a back rub and their sweet dog rested his head in her lap. That way, Cam wouldn’t have to worry about it while she drove and Andi could avoid the inevitable barrage of concerned texts clawing for more information.
But her father stood before she could decide on a response, pocketing his phone and
gripping the check between his fingers.
“You ready?” he asked, eyeing her phone.
Andi turned it off and slid out of the booth.
“Yeah.”
She waited behind him at the front while he paid, hugging herself. Part of the carpet had pulled up just in front of her, curling backward to reveal the wood underneath. She toed its outline with her boot.
“Any plans for the rest of the day?”
Andi raised her head. Her father had paid and now waited for Andi so they could leave.
She turned around and walked to the front door. Of course, he beat her to it and opened it
before she could, holding it for her.
Thanking him quietly, she stepped out into the cold afternoon. The rain had decided to
take a break for now, but Andi could feel the ghosts of tiny droplets hitting her cheeks.
“No,” she said. “Just getting ready for the week.”
Her father grunted with a short nod. He fished out his car keys from his pocket unceremoniously.

“What about y’all?”
“Nothing much. Probably see if there’s a game on, or something.”
Andi nodded and surveyed the parking lot. They had parked on opposite sides of the
building. This was where they parted.
“Well, thanks for inviting me to lunch today. I…enjoyed seeing you.” It wasn’t like she could’ve said she had a good time, because then she would just be lying and he would know it.
“You, too.” Simultaneously, they stepped away from each other, her father unlocking his truck and Andi reaching into her purse for her own keys.
But she paused, halfway turned away from him, and swiveled back around.
“Dad?”
He had already turned and was a good distance away from her, but straightened at her
voice and looked over his shoulder expectantly.
“Um,” Andi fiddled with her purse straps. “About my wedding…I’m sorry for not telling you and mom about the engagement.” After a moment’s pause, he said nothing, only looked at her as if waiting for her to say more. Andi swallowed thickly. “I also, uh, wanted to ask if you would walk me down the aisle? Both you and mom, I just haven’t had a chance to talk to her about it yet.”
A fat raindrop splattered on the bridge of her nose and slid down to her jaw before her father finally answered.
“I would like that very much.”
For a moment, just a brief moment, he sounded like the man who would give her piggyback rides as a kid so she could see her surroundings better and who taught her how to take care of her car so no mechanic would take advantage of her. He sounded like her dad, and not just the man who—based on the dictionary definition—raised her.
It tugged Andi’s feet forward, moving her closer to her dad until there was no more distance and she wrapped one arm around his neck and the other around his back.

He tensed at first, then pulled her in tightly. Andi dug her nose into his shoulder, catching
a whiff of his teakwood cologne. She felt a pressure on the top of her head—he gave her a short kiss.
When they pulled back at the same time, Andi almost laughed. She got her awkwardness surrounding affection from him, she supposed. They could only take so much at once.
“Drive safe,” he said with a gentle pat on her cheek before pulling back entirely.
“You as well.”
The break from the rain ended as they turned from each other and went to their cars. Andi
ducked inside her hatchback and shut the door at the same time a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. Fifteen seconds later, thunder sounded.
She turned her car on and pulled her phone out from her pocket. Cam’s text still had no
response.
Biting the bottom of her lip, Andi typed out a quick answer and pressed send before
pulling up her maps and plugging in her home address, saved to her favorites. She didn’t need it, but with the rain, it would probably be helpful.
As she pulled out of the parking lot, right behind her dad’s truck, she received a text
notification from her fiancée.
Cam<3 loved “it went fine. love you too. leaving now xoxo”

Andi smiled, pressed PLAY on one of her playlists, and headed home.