More Than Maybe

by Erin Hahn

  “Right,” I bite out. “Cool.”

  “And I bet you already know your numbers. I’m sure you’re tracking them the most. If it were me—”

  “Sorry, no. I, um, muted the link. It was a misunderstanding and won’t be repeated.”

  “But surely you plan to take advantage of the fifteen minutes of fame.”

  “No, actually. As I said, it was a misunderstanding.”

  “But it’s gotten you a ton of interest in your little podcast,” Steven breaks in. “You’ve hit the top downloaded podcasts for the month on iTunes.”

  My head shoots up, looking for confirmation from Cullen, who nods, shrugging, as if to say, Welllll, you didn’t ask.

  “I wasn’t aware of that,” I say. “But it doesn’t matter. For the podcast, sure, but I’m not looking for a career in singing.”

  Clyde shakes his empty glass at my mother like she’s a bartender, and more than anything else, that irritates me. No one treats someone like that in their home. My mum’s gaze is steely, but she refills it because she’s British and fucking polite. My dad clears his throat uncomfortably.

  “Thank you, my love,” he says in a low tone.

  “Don’t mention it,” she says tightly.

  “Well, now maybe you can understand why a few well-placed plugs for the Bad Apple would go far,” Clyde says to me. “Particularly in the local community, though we’ve been tossing around the idea of global reach. Want to take advantage of a good situation, am I right?”

  “How would that work?” Cullen asks. “You plan to ship booze?”

  “More like ship swag. Take, for example, the business model used by the Hard Rock Cafe and Ron Jon Surf Shop. All locally owned and operated with global reach. The Bad Apple can become a brand for whatever we want, honestly. Whatever you want, even. We can start with some photos on T-shirts and some other swag. Famous podcast twins Luke and Cullen Greenly of the Bad Apple Inc. Obviously, we’d cut you in. We’d pay you for the rights to use your song, too, Luke.”

  And there it is. “No.”

  “No to the swag?”

  “No to all of it. No to the swag, no to the exploitive marketing, and definitely no to the song rights.”

  “No offense, Luke,” Steven says, giving a smarmy smile, “but you haven’t even heard our offer. We could make you very rich with that one song.”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  “You wouldn’t have to pay for college.”

  I look to my dad, but he’s staring into his glass, swirling the ice. “Dad,” I say, and I hate how pleading my voice is. But if ever there were a time to step in, this is it.

  He sighs heavily, putting down his glass. “Mates,” he says to his partners. “If the lad says no, he says no. It’s his song.”

  “You said he would help,” Steven reminds my dad.

  “No,” my dad says, more firmly. “I said you could ask him. It’s his music, and he’s an adult. If he doesn’t give you permission, my hands are tied.”

  “What about the plug?” Clyde says. “Forget the rest for now. Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” He laughs shortly. “You’ll have to forgive us. We’re big dreamers.”

  “This vintage is excellent, Iris. Would you mind getting some more of it? It seems I’ve used the last.” Steven digs in his wallet, pulling out a bill. My mum’s eyes grow enormous, and my dad looks a little green. “Go ahead with her, Charlie. I’d like to get to know the boys a little better and lay out more of our business plan in living color.”

  I about choke on my own tongue. This is ridiculous. They can’t dismiss my parents like that. My dad looks legitimately torn, and I want to scream.

  I glance at my brother, and this time his meaning is clear. It’s up to you. The thing is, it wouldn’t be hard to hear them out. Play along for my dad’s sake. I could even go so far as to plug the venue. We could easily work it to plug both venues in the same podcast. One at the start and one at the end.

  It’d be cake, and everyone would be happy.

  But as my mum goes to get her purse, I lose my cool. Because this stupid club has turned my family inside out in such a short time, and while I love my dad, I’m not about to go along with this. Not for these guys. Clyde and Steven and their smarmy shoes and their patronizing smiles. No one dismisses my brilliant mum.

  “I’ve been abundantly clear about my view on this. Never once have I encouraged your enterprise in town, and most definitely not at the cost of my own privacy. Now you’ve come into our home, insulted my mum, and taken advantage of my dad. I’m not interested in plugging your club. Furthermore, I will most assuredly be plugging competing clubs every chance I get. And I wouldn’t be so sure the Loud Lizard is going down so easy. Things are really rolling for their fund-raiser concert, and the talent they’ve booked is out of this world. (Not) Warren? Ever heard of them? Behind the Music predicted them to be the next big thing.”

  By their stony expressions, they have, and it sends a thrill of pride through me that Vada got to them first. Genius girl.

  I turn to my dad. “I’m sorry, Dad. This isn’t about you or your club. I’m just not here for exploitation.”

  I turn on my heel, grab my board, and leave.

  * * *

  The following morning, I find my dad sitting at the table, drinking his coffee. The rest of the house is quiet. My mum is probably on her run, and Cullen’s in bed. Of the two of us, I’m the early riser.

  “Morning,” I say.

  My dad holds out his mug, and I top him off before pouring myself a cup. I’m a weekend coffee drinker, with the rare exception. I like it enough when I’m sitting with my parents, reading the paper, and I can drink it superhot. To me, coffee is only any good if it’s burning my tongue.

  Plus, my slurping annoys the shit out of Cullen. It’s a twofer in that way.

  I sit across from my dad. “Look, Dad, I’m really sorry about last night.”

  He sips his coffee, raising his brows over the rim of his mug. Then he places it down in front of him. “Are you apologizing for saying no or for losing your temper like a child?”

  I grimace. “Um, the second part.”

  He waves me away, exhaling with loaded patience. “Luke, you are a child, and Steven and Clyde are first-rate pricks.”

  I smile at his cussing. His habit of swearing at the breakfast table is probably the most punk rock thing about my dad these days. “Then why’re you working for them?”

  “I’m working with them, not for them, and after last night, I’m not even sure if I’m doing that.”

  “Are they mad at you?”

  “Mad? This is business, son. No one gets mad. That’s where you went wrong last night. You gave in to your emotions. Not that I blame you. I was ready to dump your mother’s glass of wine on their heads. She’s a saint, she is. I owe her a million and a half back rubs after that disaster.”

  “Okay, well, did I mess things up for you?”

  He’s already shaking his head, his eyes crinkling in the early-morning sun that streams into our kitchen. “No. I should be the one apologizing. I’m the one who let them ask you. I knew you were going to say no, but I was so tired of their harping. Figured it was best to show them, once and for all.”

  “I think I did that,” I say.

  He belts out a laugh. “Sure as shit, you did.”

  “Are you going to have to deal with what I did?”

  “If I do, it’s fine. It’s my job as your dad. Speaking of, we need to talk about your song.”

  I groan. “Dad, I told you—”

  “I know, I know. But Steven’s remark made me think. Your song is out there on the internet, and anyone can steal it. You need to copyright the lyrics.”

  “Oh.”

  My dad grins. “Yeah. Oh. Unless you don’t care if other people steal your grand gesture.”

  “I don’t—wait. Grand gesture?”

  He rolls his eyes. “You still pretending that wasn’t about a girl?”

  �
��Oh, he’s admitting it now. I got it out of him,” Cullen says, groggily slumping into the chair across from us and stealing my coffee.

  My dad leans back, narrowing his eyes. “Hm, who could it be about? Ginger?”

  Cullen snorts into the mug.

  “Dad,” I start. The screen door slams, and my mum comes in, panting, heading straight for the sink to fill a tall glass with water. She turns and rests against the counter, facing us.

  “What’d I miss?”

  “Luke’s grand gesture,” Cullen says. “Dad’s trying to guess who the lucky girl is.”

  My mum smiles. “Oh, I know.”

  “You do not,” I insist.

  “Redhead?” she asks.

  I huff and steal my coffee back, sloshing a little on my brother. “You deserve that,” I say.

  “I’m so daft,” my dad says. “It’s that Vada bird he’s always going on about, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not always going on about her,” I say. Waspish.

  My mum pretends to be texting and giggles like a little girl. She looks up, shrugs, and says in a fake deep voice, “Oh, just something Vada said.”

  “Vada said you sang better than Morrissey, Dad,” my dad pipes in.

  “Of course you would remember that.”

  “I think I’m just gonna pick up this Springsteen book for Vada.”

  “For her blog,” I say.

  “Point being,” my mum says, “you talk about Vada enough that we’ve noticed.”

  “Fine. He’ll tell you anyway,” I say, gesturing to Cullen. “I wrote the song about Vada Carsewell. I really like her.”

  “Just like?” My dad presses.

  “I don’t know. For now. Probably.”

  “Uh-huh,” my mum says, straightening from the sink and dumping the rest of her water out. “I’m getting in the shower.” She waggles her hips at my dad. “Wanna join me?”

  “Ugh. Stop,” I say.

  Cullen grimaces. “Gross, Mum.”

  “Absolutely,” says my dad. “Be right there.”

  My mum shuffles off, and my dad watches her go. I suppose it could be worse. My parents could hate each other.

  “So, the copyright, Luke. Want me to look into it for you?”

  “S-sure.”

  He holds out his hands, placating. “Nothing more. No calls into contacts, no demo tapes, no nothing. This is purely to protect your interests. One day down the line, you may want to sell it or produce it or whatever, fine. That’s your choice. Scout’s honor.” He holds up his hand. “Mum made me swear.”

  “Okay,” I say. Relieved for once that my dad knows about these things.

  “Excellent. All right, lads. Don’t come up for at least twenty minutes.” He winks at me and slaps Cullen’s back. “Your old man’s not as good as he once was, but he’s as good once as he ever was.”

  I pound my head on the table as Cullen makes gagging noises.

  28

  VADA

  I’ve never been to a wedding before, so I can’t really draw a comparison, but I can tell you that a courthouse jam, with a giant fancy dinner afterward, feels right, particularly when you close out the night in a dive bar, and the couple has their first dance to a song played on a jukebox.

  I can’t imagine anything better.

  Well, except that we get to keep Phil now.

  That’s pretty wonderful.

  If I thought I was picky about songs for significant moments, Phil took it to another level. He literally loaded the entire jukebox with preapproved tunes, and “not a single drop of Stevie Nicks to be found.”

  (There’re even three Britney Spears songs on tap: “Lucky,” “Baby One More Time,” and “Toxic.”)

  It’s late, and Phil and my mom have been swaying slowly around the dance floor with eyes only for each other. Ben is manning the bar, but only casually. Aside from a champagne toast, no one’s drinking. I have a cupful of cherries and lemonade in front of me.

  Phil doesn’t have a lot of family. His mom’s still bedridden in Ohio, so she couldn’t come. Mom and Phil have been talking about moving her into our place and setting her up in the downstairs guest room.

  They aren’t traveling for their honeymoon, but they are planning to make a trip to Mackinaw tomorrow. Mom wants to tour the island and eat at the Grand Hotel.

  Phil wants fudge.

  I told him to bring me home some of the peanut butter kind. It has these swirls of melty peanut butter in every square. Yummmm.

  Anyway, everything is low-key and perfect.

  Well, almost perfect.

  Luke’s been over at the bar talking to Ben for the last twenty minutes, and I want to dance. And sure, it’s great to see him talking with Ben like old friends. Ben’s awesome, and it’s good for Luke to have a friend he doesn’t have to share with his brother all the time … but Luke’s been smiling my way, and while I’m not super great at picking up cues, I’m pretty sure he’s giving me the signal.

  The signal for what? That part is less obvious.

  So, I need to choose my selection very carefully.

  “Hold Me Now” by the Thompson Twins? Ugh. Stalker vibes, much?

  “Do You Want to Dance” by Bobby Freeman is pretty on the nose. And adorable, but only in that teenybopper, bobby socks, french fries served by a girl in roller skates kind of way. So, that’s probably not good. Plus, fast music. I have two kinds of dancing: frantic contemporary and slow and swoony. Pass.

  “I’ll Make Love to You” Boyz II Men. Ew, Phil. Gross.

  “Lazaretto” by Jack White. WTF, Phil. How is that wedding appropriate? Like, “I Think We’re Going to Be Friends” would have been adorable given their past of growing up together. But mother-loving “Lazaretto”?

  Long, artistic fingers reach over me and punch in a request before I can see it. Luke holds out his hand.

  “Dance with me?”

  It’s not a slow song, or a fast one, but it’s perfection. “Just Like Heaven” by the Cure. Well done, Phil, I think. Luke pulls me to the center of the floor and bounces a little with the music, swinging me so my floaty tulle skirt twists around my knees. He’s singing along, and this is my new favorite song because of how seriously cute he is. His cheeks flushed, his wavy blond hair falling across the frames outlining his stellar gray-blue eyes. I’m on the balls of my toes as he spins me out once, and pulls me in, closer than before, and his breath brushes my face, and it’s all cinnamon gum and whispered singing.

  Next to us, Mom and Phil are dancing like maniacs, and Cullen and Zack have just walked in, straight from the prom and still in their tuxes. Luke wasn’t kidding. He really didn’t care about missing the prom. They join us on the floor, and Meg hops off a stool, dragging Ben over, and they start jerking around, singing at the tops of their lungs.

  All my favorite people are in one contained space. I take it in, my cheeks aching from smiling so widely. My eyes are teary, watering from laughter or sweetness, I can’t tell. But everything at this moment is so lovely I want to preserve it just … like … this … in my mind. The music bouncing off the rafters and echoing off the concrete floors. The smell of the stack of pizzas Cullen and Zack brought to share. The way the lights sparkle off Phil’s glasses, so I can’t see how he’s looking at my mom, but Jesus, I can feel it.

  I exchange looks with my mom, and she holds out her arms and I move into her embrace. She pulls me in and whispers, “I’m so lucky, baby.”

  I kiss her cheek and whisper back, “You both are.”

  We all are.

  * * *

  After the party wraps, Ben and Kazi offer to clean up, and Luke drives me home in Phil’s shitty truck. “Hungry?” I ask.

  He smiles. “We just ate pizza.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I guess I’m not really ready to go home. I feel too … electric, or something.”

  Luke purses his lips and pulls into a small public lot. We’re still downtown, and the warmer weather has people out and about. “I know a spot, if you wan
t.”

  “Sure,” I say. My voice is too eager, but I’m wearing a glittery gold dress and I’m with a cute boy with a British accent and my parents just got married. Eager is par for the course tonight.

  He opens the door for me and immediately reaches for my hand. “Warm enough?” he asks, gesturing to my cropped jean jacket.

  Holding his hand has my face extra flushed. Like, yeah, I’m good. Just hold my hand forever and winters should be a breeze. But I play it cool-ish and nod. Enthusiastically.

  Like, my head is swimming and ready to bob right off my shoulders and roll down the sidewalk.

  He squeezes my hand and leads me down the road a few blocks, stopping in front of a softly lit all-night coffee shop with quiet guitar music strumming through its speakers. He tugs me inside and orders two hot chocolates with extra marshmallows. After we have them in hand, we sit at a small table outside. The shop blocks the wind, and twinkle lights zigzag across the large awning. We sip our drinks, staring out into the street, people watching, until Luke says, “So. Your boss is your stepdad.”

  I blow on the top of my drink and watch as Luke’s eyes follow the action, feeling a little thrill. “He is.”

  “Weird?”

  “A little. But only because he’s moved into our house. It’s been Mom and me for so long that having a guy live with us is strange. He’s always been like a dad, though, so it’s not a huge stretch.”

  He blinks and shakes his head a tiny bit, and I tilt my head in question. His cheeks flame. “Sorry. I told you. You’re very distracting.”

  This boy. Gah.

  “Let’s walk,” I say, finding it hard to sit still under his gaze. “The breeze is warm.”

  This time, I take his hand. He seems uncertain after my abrupt change, and I want to reassure him. And I just want to.

  We walk for what seems like forever. We weave up one block and down another. Loud college students barhopping breaking through the silence, but dulling as I lean closer to him. At one point, he slows, looking up, and drags me to a stop.

  “What?”

  “This is it.”

  I look up. It’s a darkened warehouse with cardboard up in the windows, but the unlit sign clearly reads The Bad Apple.