30 | Popcorn

I was back to the life where it was as normal as it could get.

Brennan had finally explained what happened to Montana, and they were slowly going towards the healing process. Alongside with my job at the Dales, my sister had been asking me to be with her in her shows and works whenever I had time. Two weeks flew past quickly.

Also, Lawrence and Jess were nowhere near scoring a girl a girl for the former. But both Montana and I, as girls, could see that there was more behind that matchmaker-client relationship. Numerous times, I asked Lawrence what he thought about Jessica, but he constantly replied that she was nothing more than a friend.

I beg to differ, mister.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Not-so-fresh out of bed, and a frightful sight greeted me. I just wanted probably a decent breakfast left on the kitchen table, not a tormentor sitting on the couch. But too late, I was standing in front of my father, dressed in my pajamas and tired eyes.

Formal as always, and dressed in a business suit. Sunglasses rested over his face and a cup of coffee no doubt offered by Mom was held in his hand. I went in front of him and crossed my arms.

"Oliver," Dad said. Not even a smile, a 'hello' or a 'good morning'. Just a brusque mention of my name.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, walking to the kitchen to fetch myself a cup of anything. My stomach looked for one thing and one thing only in the morning.

"You know why I'm here," he told me.

You're here to threaten me and my family again. I bet you didn't even care about Montana and Brennan's split-up. I bet you were ecstatic about it. And since there was an attack towards Brennan's side, the Dales' side, you're determined more than ever to bring down Walter Dale. Through me.

"You're dating that Dale boy. I have to say it's a good style. What did you get from him?"

I wanted grab that cup of coffee from him and smash it at the wall. But one, I knew he wouldn't flinch at all and two, that would be showing him I was affected.

"Nothing," I snapped, "Nothing at all. I don't have anything with me, Dad, so get out of here. I'm dating Jackson because I want to."

"So you're assuming I could walk away here without thoughts of destroying your relationship and your own well-being?"

I tried to control my breaths. My back was turned to him, and I didn't want him to see how I felt. But I knew he knew. He knew exactly how to destroy me. "You should quit this stupid act of yours. So you and Walter lost Elise. What now? You're going to point at him forever? It's not fair, Dad."

In my peripherals, I saw that he wasn't the least bit bothered by the sudden outburst about Elise. "I am over it. Over that. I've moved on. This is purely business."

"Business. Business? Business for you is to take his advantages away from him and make it yours? Business is involving your daughter for your personal interests? Why couldn't you just make a peace contract with Walter Dale, huh?"

"I did offer him once. He declined."

"Maybe he thinks it's for his company's good!"

I slapped both hands over my face, rubbing it. I wished to go to my room, get back to sleep, and wake up with a hot meal in replacement of Dad.

"Tell me what you found out, Oliver. You will not lie to me and you will tell me everything. You know the consequences and the rewards. Don't make me worsen what's in for you if you omit anything."

My shoulders sagged. I didn't know exactly what he could do, but I had a picture in my head. I thought about Jackson and his suggestions to help me.

"What if I have the Dales help me? They could fight you back if they want to. I could ask them."

Dad scoffed, "You think you have them around your finger? I say this is the least you can do to save them. I have lots of information against Walter Dale, enough to make his partners resent him and his family go bankrupt. I'm asking again. What did you find out?"

"Then why don't you just do it? Ruin them like that? Why go all this trouble?"

"Because I don't play that way. If I bring them down, they'll only come back up. Better if I rise above them where they can't reach me."

Monster. He was a monster. Either way I go, they'll still be affected. I didn't say anything. I kept quiet, hoping this would all pass and he'd come back next week or preferably never.

Seconds went by. Then minutes.

"I'm waiting," said he, "And by the way, such as shame you lost Mitchell. Even more a shame if it goes out to the whole wide world that you and she were behind the break-up. Scandal. The press will feed on anything I give them. What more if I make up story after story about your mother's involvement with me?"

He couldn't do that! He couldn't do that to me . . . and Mom. But the stories – he'll make us look bad, he'll make people shun us away with a snap of his fingers.

"No," I said with conviction.

Dad arched an eyebrow, "No, what?"

If he and Mom didn't have a divorce, if our family was never broken apart, would he care for me like I was a real daughter to him? Will he act differently, or will he be as ignorant? A workaholic? Was there any way of changing him?

"Think about your lovely boyfriend," he taunted, "you don't want to let him down."

I turned to him, head bowed low. What could he do if I shared everything I could? What would he do with that?

"Another chance. Tell me everything. This program you said before? What's it about?" he said.

"The . . ." I released a breath, "The program is a big thing for Walter Studios. For the shows his staff are producing and directing, there will be a higher fund. He already has famous crew and actors on his side. He'll have other companies support and invest in it so he has some help with it."

"He has new partnerships ready and just getting these empires with him, it will be a big opportunity for the company. In honor of the anniversary, they're launching albums, records, stations all funded by his benefactors. Then, auditions, searches for talents to be part of the company."

"He knows what to choose. He's got the best people on his side and there is no way you're going to top that."

Dad was thinking. He was tapping his fingers against his knee as he sat silently.

"You didn't get documents from him?" he asked.

"No! Of course not – "

A slow smile spread on his face, "No matter. I'll get them myself."

"What are you going to do . . .?" my voice faltered, betraying me.

"Further research," he stood up and dusted his clothes. He removed his sunglasses and started to polish them, "Now, that wasn't too hard, was it?"

I scowled at him.

No goodbye, no 'thank you' and without even finishing his damn coffee, he went out of the house and began to step down the stairs. I put my hands against my forehead. I had let him win. This was the information he wanted and he had all he needed on standby. This was the go signal. He was going to start a nonexistent war for himself which affected lots of people.

What would I need to do now? Go and warn Walter? Just drop it on him that his month-long plans were now in Grant Reynolds' hands?

After taking a bath, changing and eating feeling guilty, I went down to the shop to receive Mom's orders for today. And maybe get mad at her for not warning me Dad was here beforehand. I spotted her mopping up a spilt smoothie in the shop.

"Mom," I stood behind her, hands on my hips. "Mom, you can't let him do whatever plan he has with that information."

She looked back at me once and sighed, "It's his way, Ollie. I can't do much about it."

"So, that's it? You're letting him run away? Didn't you throw a microwave at him before?"

"Go help out Douglas in the kitchen," she dismissed me with a wave of her hand. I slumped, frowning. This was her manner of being hopeless. Even Mom couldn't stand up against her ex-husband.

Nevertheless, I left her alone and trudged to the kitchen. For the anger to seep out, I began mixing a bowl of dough furiously. When I set the bowl down with a clatter, the others stared at me in confusion.

Jackson assured me that Dad wouldn't get to me. That I'll be working it out. But that was the opposite of what was happening right now. And how could I bring myself to tell Jackson?

I'd never.

I'll wait? It didn't seem like the best idea right now, but I was out of options.

My attention was snagged by a familiar car pulling up at the front of the shop. As Jackson stepped out, I dashed out the kitchen to meet him at the door. He looked crappy as always, clad in an old shirt and jeans. My kind of guy.

I pressed my lips against his, "You didn't tell me you were coming."

He snaked an arm around my waist and led me out of the shop. We stood beside his car, with him leaning against it. "This one is actually last-minute. I'm taking you out."

My eyebrows rose. "Out of the shop and to your bedroom? Or out, out?"

"Out. In the city," he was explaining it like he didn't want to do it either.

I moved forwards to hug him. Right now, I needed his comfort although he wouldn't know why. "You know that's not my date. A date means a spontaneous sleepover at yours with Netflix and food. And Destiel."

"Yes, but it's Mom who want us to really go out. They have extra two extra spots for reservation at a restaurant and they want us to take it. I argued with her – no use." He set his head on top of mine. I liked it when he did that. His chin tickled my hair.

"We can't let them down, can we? We'll go. It could be fun."

"Fun," he repeated monotonously.

"It's a restaurant. Food is always fun. Now come on," I took his hand and went to open the car door. But he pulled me back.

"You're – you're wearing that?" he asked me. I looked down and tugged at my plain sweatshirt. No, no stain. Wore it yesterday but it wasn't smelly. It was decent.

"Why?" I asked consciously, "What's wrong with it? Are my nipples showing? I'm not wearing a bra right now, but I didn't think it was obvious . . ." I pulled and stretched the cloth here and there, checking it.

Like a switch, Jackson shone bright red. "Uh, you're not wearing . . . uh," he momentarily glanced at my chest, and then cleared his throat, "We're kind of going to a fine dining restaurant."

What about him? His shirt wasn't screaming 'fancy'.

". . . and I have my suit inside the car. So . . ." he trailed off.

Boldly, even with the people on the street, I fished out my bra from inside my sweatshirt pocket and waved it in front of him. "I'm going to wear it inside."

As he laughed, I crawled inside the car – the backseat – and he soon took the driver's seat. He was still chuckling in amusement as he put the key in. I eyed his formal attire hooked on a hanger – it looked looser than what he wore before, but it was still acceptable.

And no way in hell was I letting him wear that. If I was going to wear my sweatshirt, then he might as well follow the trend.

"I've heard girls can remove their bras without taking off their shirts, so does it apply to getting it on, too?" he asked me as he drove.

"I don't know. That'll be hard. I'm taking off my shirt. Don't look," I turned around on my seat with slight difficulty. As I lifted my shirt, Jackson spoke.

"What if I peek?"

"I don't care. I've seen your abs. You see my boobs. Fair trade." I began undressing and putting on my bra. When Jackson went silent, I imagined he was red again. And like the Tom Hiddleston gentleman he was, I knew he wouldn't be looking.

"Done," I said when I was finished and leaned to the front to kiss him on the cheek.

"You're not letting me wearing the suit, are you?" he snickered.

"Unless you plan on pouring glitter on it, no I'm not letting you," I crossed my arms, "You dragged me into this, and I'm making it weird."

"Have you any idea of a date besides staying in?"

"Comic con?"

"Shut up."

Minutes of meaningless conversation later, we pulled up in front of a restaurant. And I had to say, it did look extremely fancy. But I wasn't wearing a tight blouse again – they wouldn't kick me out for wearing this, will they?

Oh well. If they did, I'd gladly eat takeout with Jackson on the sidewalk. Again.

Like the fake he was, Jackson got out of his seat and opened the car door for me. I examined the interior of the restaurant. There were actually people in there. And they all looked fancy.

"I didn't know these things were open during the day," I whispered to Jackson.

"Me neither," he kissed me before we went in together.

The waiter who greeted us did a double take upon seeing us. That was how gorgeous we were, I know. While I raked my eyes around the area, Jackson spoke to the man and we were led to a table. Fortunately, people weren't staring but I haven't shattered a wine bottle yet . . .

"I thought you'd ditch us," Maira was on the table with Walter. As we sat, she made no comment about how we looked.

"Ollie wasn't too excited; she threatened to jump off the car," Jackson shrugged.

The atmosphere was quite lovely. Waiters and waitresses appeared here and there and most of the people seemed preoccupied with chattering and wine. Everything looked so expensive that the tablecloth might have cost a hundred burgers from McDonald's.

I watched as Walter received a leather bound menu from a waiter and handed it to Jackson so we could pick out things from it. The menu was a thick thing, and I wondered which choices were most worth it.

However, I had to lean back when Jackson opened it.

"Chocolate cakes," I said, "What do they do to the food in here? Grate golden bars as a topping? Serve them on top of bills? I – I think I'll order whatever's cheapest." The prices were so big that if I had that much money, I'd buy myself a lifetime's supply of candy.

Jackson laughed at my astonishment, "It's all paid for, sweets. Whatever you order, it's under Dad's bill."

My heart sank. Not two hours ago, I was disclosing precious information to Dad and now I was here, unworthy of getting free food from Walter Dale.

"A – Are you sure?" I said hesitantly, "I mean Taco Bell would be nicer – "

Walter chortled in the middle of our doubts. I couldn't see his face, though – it was blocked by the tall menu. "I know. I suggested it before, but apparently that's not ideal for a meet-up."

Peeking from the menu, I saw Maira elbow her husband, "Shut your mouth." She started to explain, "We were supposed to meet two friends here but they cancelled yesterday. The reservation spot was open, and we decided you should come with us instead. It was Walter who drove them away, I'm sorry."

Walter groaned, "I told you, his Pokémon game is weak!"

While the couple bantered, Jackson tapped me on the shoulder. Because of some kind of magic, he miraculously understood the food listed in the menu despite the lack of pictures. "You see anything you like?" Jackson whispered.

"I don't know, I don't speak fine dining. I didn't even know what a soufflé was!" I whispered back.

He chuckled before kissing the side of my head, "I'm ordering for you."

"The amount of food should exceed the size of my palm, you hear me?"

Jackson returned the menu as he uttered our orders to the waiter. I only caught a few comprehensible words. He better know what he was doing.

"You might want to sit back. The food takes a little long," Jackson told me. I stared at the table. By 'little long', what did he mean? Three hours? I turned my gaze to him as he took out his phone and started going through social media.

Maira had a disapproving look on her son. "There's a reason they don't call this 'fast food'," Walter consoled.

I leaned back and turned my attention to the silverware on the table. I had no idea what all these were for. There were spoons, forks and knives of various shapes and sizes. Also different classes of glasses. In the middle of my observing, I diverted my eyes to Jackson, hoping he might explain to me but he remained sucked by his phone.

I knew we should've stuck with Netflix and chill.

"Walter, Walter, no don't do that – oh no, too late," Maira said to Walter. He was laying out his Pokémon cards, unbelievably crease-free. Wow, so his game must be strong. I wondered how he did at Pokémon Go.

"Who will judge me, Maira? It's hella boring in here," Walter drawled on. Maira's lip curled in annoyance.

"Like father, like son, huh?" I glimpsed back and forth between the two boys.

"Jackson?" Maira laughed, "Not at all. Walter's more like Brennan, regrettably."

"So does that mean Brennan still has a chance in love?"

She laughed again, "Yes, yes I suppose."

She rested her arms on the table and leaned closer to me. A dreamy glint sparkled in her eye, and I knew she was thinking of Walter back in the day. I asked the question she was probably waiting for me to ask, "How did you two meet?"

"College," she began, "Walter was this charming boy everybody loved. But he was conceited. He knew everybody kissed the ground he walked on and he took advantage of it. He was perfect – grades wise, looks, flirting abilities. But no girl ever scored a night in his bed. No girl earned his care."

"And at long last, you're the girl who kicked him on the crotch?" I continued eagerly. At my words, Walter snorted.

Maira shook her head, "Ah, no. I was one of the girls who was smitten with him. Head over heels. I didn't know what I was thinking back then. I must've been drunk all throughout my college years, but you know how college is . . ."

If that was how it was for Maira and Walter, I was scared to find out how it would be for Brennan.

"We started off simple," she gazed lovingly at Walter, who was gazing lovingly at Pikachu, "Friendship based type. But soon, he opened up. He said it was all an act."

"An act?"

"Just a barrier to keep people away. He didn't want them to get close after what happened with Elise. He refused to get attached to someone else. But one drunken night, he spilled it all to me and that was when I decided I didn't like him much."

"He took you back?" I asked.

"No, no. I went after him. I was the one who wooed him. But he wouldn't turn me down. I took him on special dates as much as what my allowance took me. And on our 69th date, he took charge of the night out."

I grinned, "And he took you to . . ."

And it was the most anticlimactic response when she said, "The portable potty."

I didn't know whether Jackson was listening. Walter definitely was, but he made no reaction to the recount. "That's cool. Did you make out in there?" I said carefully.

"No. We spent an hour and a half inside it, not doing anything, so he could prove it was the 'most fun' I'll ever have in one hour and thirty minutes," Maira deadpanned.

"Um," my eyebrows furrowed, "Was it?"

"Eh, not really. But it was certainly more fun than our honeymoon night."

That blew up things. I laughed loudly that everyone was staring. Walter choked on his spit and held a card to his chest, frowning at Maira. Jackson laughed alongside me, and he held my hand and squeezed it.

You better take a hint out of this, I tried to mentally message him.

"From there a special relationship formed," Maira took a sip from her wine, "and we got married. It was beautiful." She held out her hand to twist the ring on her finger – a silver band gleaming brightly.

When Maira and I ran out of things to talk about, I resorted to leaning against Jackson's side and taking a peek at his phone. Mine was drained of its battery, plus Jackson's newsfeed was more amusing.

The food arrived in a cart and they were all laid one by one in front of us. After ogling at the others' choice of breakfast, I looked at mine. The brown meat looked recognizable as steak, with a special sauce. Beside it were greens and baked potatoes. There was also a bowl of appetizers.

I hovered my palm over it just to make sure Jackson ordered the right amount.

I grabbed a random fork and spoon from the pile and I was about to dig in when Jackson stopped me. "Ollie," he called out. I dropped the utensils.

"Put it on first," he pointed at the cloth next to my plate.

I unfolded the cloth which could've passed as a dish towel and started to tie it around my neck. Maira and Walter were already eating, and I didn't want to feel left out. But Jackson had to stop me again, "No, Ollie. On your lap. It goes on your lap."

I glared at him, "This is stupid! I'll just pick off the crumbs on my legs but what happens if I stain my sweatshirt? Do they have protection for that? And why is this blanket white anyway? How do they wash these?"

A chuckle sounded from Walter. Jackson sighed, "Just put it on your lap. And I guess I'll have to tell you how to use your spoons and forks, right?"

"That's a relief, I thought I'll end up brushing my hair with them," I said sarcastically, my eyes shooting skyward.

He started pointing at the tools and lecturing me. "This spoon is for soups, that small one is for desserts. There's a fork for every type of dish, and the number of prongs are important for that. This here is a knife for cutting, there's a knife for spreading things on bread, and this one, and I'm not that sure how this works."

"This is ridiculous! I can plan a mass murder with all of that!" And as I said this, a few people from the other tables glanced my way warily.

Jackson gave me the right utensils and I started eating away. Sometimes, when I was down in my Mind Palace as I ate, I'd be cutting through the meat and slicing the plate already. Jackson would stop to help me every now and then.

Finally, when we were all finished – and I was last to clear my plate – dessert was calling.

"Walter, you better have ordered something good for dessert," Maira warned.

"No worries. The waiter was ready to pass out when I mentioned it." Walter looked so damned pleased with himself.

"Of excitement or of horror?" I asked. Walter merely grinned.

And the dessert arrived. Lo and behold, a bowl of popcorn was laid in the middle of the table. It was once giant bucket, the height of my forearm. I leaned closer to squint at it.

"Caramel popcorn," I smirked, "Cool."

And Maira didn't even have time to smack Walter as he dived onto the bucket, shoving handfuls of popcorn into his mouth. Jackson and I did the same and I wondered if this came from the movie theaters around the block. Maira also gave in, and we all feasted on the popcorn as others watched in envy.

I had to admit I was full once the bill was paid and we were strolling out of the restaurant – full of food and of guilt. I hadn't even told Jackson what I told my father. Damn it, I didn't deserve this.

"You sure you don't want to come with us?" Maira asked a second time when we were out the doors. The popcorn bucket around one arm, Walter headed to their car.

"We're sure. Thank you for breakfast again," I waved goodbye. Maira smiled back and slipped into the driver's seat. I stared at the car as it drove off. Their relationship was admirable. And I used to think couples lost their 'spark' during marriage.

I felt Jackson's hand on my shoulder. I turned around and kissed him, not caring if we were in front of that restaurant in the middle of the sidewalk. I kissed him deeply and he didn't pull away.

"I still think staying in will beat this anytime," I looked into his eyes.

"I'm scared that I agree," he laughed.

"Wow."

"Wow, what?" he frowned.

"Your eyes," I marveled, "They're so . . . so brown. Chocolate? No, darker than that. Dark Chocolate. Your eyes . . . they look like – like the shade of . . ."

"Of what?"

"Of poop."

"How romantic," he kissed me. "Your eyes are so green."

"Ass, what are you on? My eyes are gray. You know, like the book."

"No," he kissed me again, "There's a hint of green around your eyes. Gray is so boring, but the fact that it's your eye color makes it meaningful. So when I look at gray – except for that book – I think about chocolate rainbow hair and a snarky mouth."

"And you know why else I love your eyes?" Jackson asked.

"Why?"

He whispered, "Because I can see my reflection in them."

I pinched his waist and he jumped a little. "Jerk. Now I really want to headbutt you. Not kiss. Headbutt."

"Ooh, kinky."

I did a sound somewhere near an angry growl and pulled away from his arms. I looked at his car beside us and got inside impatiently. "You drive. I'm going to stay with you the whole day," I told him sternly.

♫ ♫ ♫

Okay, sorry. I don't really know how fine dining works. But I did my best to write it according to research.