“Yeah, it’s real cute,” says my dad. He’s got this trapped thing going on, like he’d pay these guys a hundred bucks each to stay in the room with me. But after I say hi and make small talk with the others, including a few new players, they leave us alone.
The room goes quiet, feels suddenly hollow like someone’s clamped a lid over us.
My dad cracks open the other door, which leads out into an alleyway. A cold draft swoops into the space, stirring a stack of newspapers and knocking down a broom that stood against some metal shelves.
“It’s good to see you,” he tells me.
He takes out a pack of cigarettes, packs them against the heel of his hand, and looks out into the night. It’s all very Rock Star 101.
I don’t know where to start. “It’s good to see you, too.”
It sounds weak because it is. Still, a part of me, maybe the molecular part, the part that comes from him and is just, simply, his family, brightens around him, makes me feel this rush of warmth and good memories. Like some kind of protective instinct made to anaesthetize all the other crap.
More silence. Awkward and brittle. Then I just come out with it. “How come you didn’t tell me you were coming to LA? I thought you were off to Europe?”
He lights his cigarette, and the smell wraps around me. “It was kind of a last-minute thing,” he says. “I mean, we just got booked here.”
I feel a weird sting in my chest, like someone’s snapped a rubber band beneath my ribs. He’s lying. Why would he lie to me?
Pulling my purse around in front of me, I dig through it to the postcard with their schedule. The type looks filmy, and I realize it’s because I’m tearing up. Damn it, that’s the last thing I want to do.
“I guess last minute means you’ve known for—” I check the earliest dates on the card. “Three weeks. At least. Want to try again?”
“Skyler . . .”
“Don’t Skyler me. Mom’s losing it back home. Scotty is barely keeping it together with three kids to handle on his own. And you’re just out here, floating around. Doing whatever the hell you want. As always.”
“That’s not fair. It’s for your mom, too. For the farm.”
“Really? For the farm? You left mom with nothing. They cut off the lights.”
“I didn’t know—”
“And I had to pay three months’ back mortgage for you. For the farm you’re supposedly supporting.”
“You? How could you afford that?”
He doesn’t even know about the film. Mom didn’t tell him. It boggles my mind how they can be so separate but still keep coming back together, picking up like everything’s fine. I don’t understand either of them. I just know I want my life to be different.
“It doesn’t matter how. It just matters that I did it. That somehow, someone always steps up for you and makes it okay. Uncle Dave or Grandma K. Someone’s always filling in the missing pieces for you.”
“This is why I didn’t tell you I was coming,” he says. “I knew this is exactly how it would go. That you’d give me a hard time over some damn thing.”
That feels so unjust I don’t know what to do with it. “So, you’d rather just not see me at all? Your daughter? Because I might give you a hard time?”
“Not might, Skyler. You and your mom. Your brother. You’re all riding me all the time. Giving me shit if I so much as breathe the wrong way.”
“You make it sound like you’re the victim. Like we’re all just waiting to jump on you over any imagined issue.”
He shrugs, and for a second, I can’t find words, I’m so angry.
“I’m not imagining that Mom’s miserable and can’t keep the lights turned on,” I say, finally. “Don’t make it sound like we’re all just being unreasonable.”
“Well, don’t make it sound like I don’t do anything,” my dad says. “I’m working hard out here. My last tour bought us a brand-new roof. You know that?”
“After you got home. After you walked in the door with a wad of cash. After Mom and I spent two months on food stamps, not even knowing for sure if you’d come home or not.” I’d worked so many after-school jobs I’d lost count of them all.
“What are you talking about? I always come home.”
“Eventually.”
“When the tour ends.”
“If you don’t add a month or two. Or a European leg. Or decide to stay out and play the goddamn county fair circuit. Or get on a cruise ship for three weeks.”
“That was one time.”
“When I was graduating. When you promised you’d be there.”
“I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. And it’s not just up to me. I have a band.”
“You have a family, too.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m a kid,” he says. He flicks his cigarette out into the night and tugs the door shut behind him. “This is what I am, Skyler. I’m sorry you’ve got a problem with it. But this is who I am and what I do.”
A million words crowd my mouth, all of them wanting to come out at once. I don’t know what I expected. Pretty much this, I guess.
Suddenly, I feel like my bones are too tired to support my body. I just want to go home, climb into bed, and sleep for a decade.
“Is Evan still your manager?” I ask.
“Yeah, why?”
“Give me his number.”
“Why?”
“Because I want him to send money home to Mom.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Give me his number, Dad,” I say and it comes out choked but dead serious.
Reluctantly, he gives me the number. “Let me talk to him first. I don’t need him to think my kid’s running my life.”
As if.
I enter the number into my phone and then drop my new cell back into my purse. “Thanks,” I say.
He shrugs. “Now you’re here, you want to go get some food? I’m starving.” Like we’re buddies now.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I ate already. And I’m with my friends. I should get back to them.”
Nodding, he says, “Well, how about tomorrow afternoon? I’ve got some time. You could come by. Have some three-star hotel food with me.”
He’s trying to charm me, but I feel beyond the reaches of charm. His, anyway.
“I have to get ready for a trip,” I tell him. In another life, I’d rush to tell him about the movie, about leaving for the islands, where I’ll spend the next couple of weeks. In another life, I’d probably say and do a lot of things.
But in this one, I just go and give him a kiss on the cheek, because I don’t want it all to be bad. He is who he is. And whether he can’t or won’t help it, he’s the father I’ve got.
Back in the lounge, I collect the girls, who know enough to save their questions. I feel their curiosity gathering like a storm, but I need to process. To find a safe place to come apart.
That place is down at the beach, where we talk through it all and where I finally really cry, with Mia rubbing my back and Beth’s sweet, steady voice soothing me. Not for the first time, I think about the difference between the family you get and the family you choose. Sometimes, like for Mia and Ethan, it’s the best of all worlds. You’re born into something wonderful. And sometimes, like for Beth and me, maybe Grey—I can’t tell—it’s the chosen family, like Grey’s band, that keeps you going.
Back at our place, Beth offers to come up and hang with me instead of heading over to Titus’s house, but I tell her it’s okay.
“You know where to find us,” she says.
“Yep.” I give them both kisses and hugs. I do know where to find them. And somehow, they always find me when I need them.
They drive off in Mia’s car, and I head up to our apartment, dragging myself up the two flights of stairs like I’m hoisting myself up the Matterhorn. I really do just want to crawl under the blankets and sleep off this crap night.
But then I open the door and find Grey sitting on the couch, his head in his hands and f
our beer bottles clustered on the table in front of him.
He looks up when I close the door behind me. “Hey,” he says, and tries something that’s meant to be a smile. But it fails completely.
“Hey. Everything all right?”
Shrugging, he says. “Not even a little.”
I go over and sit down next to him. As rough as it is between us, it feels good to be near him. It’s like my body feeds off his warmth and strength, like a plant feeds off light.
I tilt my head to look up at him, at his solemn, beautiful face. “How about I tell you about my shitty night, and you can tell me about yours?”
Smiling, just a little, he picks up a beer bottle from the table and hands it to me. Then he taps his against mine. “Deal.”
Chapter 31
Grey
When my night started, I didn’t expect this. Skyler, curled up beside me on the couch.
I’m definitely missing something. Because didn’t she just get back from San Francisco with Brooks? Maybe what I’m missing is that she ruled me out. Brooks got the boyfriend role. I got the roommate/friend role. I glance down at her, and my throat goes raw. But I can’t lose this moment with her just because it’s not everything I want it to be.
“Ladies first,” I say.
Her long eyelashes flutter. She looks like she’s going to fall asleep. “I’ll be brief, otherwise I might start to cry again.”
“You can cry.”
She peers up and smiles. For a second, I think she’s going to say something. Then I make the mistake of looking at her mouth, and it’s pretty obvious to both of us that I want to kiss her. She looks away quickly, taking a sip of her beer, and I want to apologize and swear, because what did I do wrong? She’s curled up so close to me. Of course I’m going to want to kiss her. And more. Doesn’t mean I will.
“Thanks,” she says, “but I’d rather not get going again. Okay, here it is. I saw my dad tonight. He’s in a band. I think I told you that before. They’re here in Los Angeles, and I had no idea. I found out by chance, and that’s kind of how it is with him. It’s like he doesn’t think about us. His family. We’re an afterthought. I am.”
Jesus. What an asshole. I’d thought so already, based on what she’s told me. But I didn’t realize it was this bad. “Is his band any good?”
Skyler gasps. “What?” She play-punches me. “That’s what you want to know?”
“It’s my trade.”
“Yes. They’re pretty good.”
She leans against my arm for a second, but I drop it on the back of the couch, removing that option. Replacing it with a better one. She scoots closer and snuggles against me. Win.
“Don’t get fresh with me, okay?”
I laugh. “I’m not getting fresh with you. Anyway, you started it. Hey, speaking of which. How was the big date with Brooks? Awesome.”
“You didn’t let me answer.”
“I actually don’t want an answer. I just figured I should ask. Back to your dad. Want me to rough him up?”
“My dad?”
“Just keep it in your back pocket. I’m good with that kind of stuff.”
“Liar. You’re just a big softy.”
“Based on the evidence I presented a few nights ago in your room, I think we both know that’s not true.”
She laughs. “Pig.”
“Definitely.” It hits me that cheering her up is cheering me up, but I don’t want to make light of what she’s going through. “Seriously, Sky. I’m sorry about your dad. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
“You’re doing a lot by listening. By being here.” Skyler reaches for her beer, then sets it back down, and stifles a yawn. “What about you? What happened tonight?”
“Tomorrow,” I say. “You need to go to bed.”
She’s leaving with the traveling production crew in a few days for their location shoot in the Virgin Islands. The next few weeks are going to be even more tiring for her. She won’t be coming home at the end of the day. And the hours are even longer on location. I’m supposed to go, too, but I’m not sure I will.
“Yeah, I do. Come with me.” She peers up, and her brown eyes are sincere, warm. “I want to keep talking. I want to know what happened.”
This idea sounds potentially risky, but I’m sure as hell not going to say no, so we go through a routine that feels new but familiar, of brushing our teeth, getting into pajamas for her, and sweatpants and a t-shirt for me. Separately, unfortunately. Skyler dead-bolts the front door. I hit the lights in the kitchen. Then we deviate from the norm and climb into her bed together.
“So you know. I’m going to burn up in about five minutes. I usually only sleep in shorts.”
“I know. Why are you in sweatpants?”
“Safety measure. I triple-knotted the drawstring. Actually I tried to do a Double Carrick Bend knot, but it’s been a long time since Boy Scouts.”
I can’t see her smiling, but I know she is. “I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I do.”
We fall quiet for a moment, and I’m trying not to be turned on, but she smells amazing and she’s snuggled up right next to me, and we’re on a bed. It’s a hell of a lot to ask, to ignore all of that.
Then Skyler says, “Is what happened tonight related to your mom?” And that completely kills the mood.
“Yeah . . . I learned some things today I didn’t like. You know the showcase that’s coming up? I guess she was the one who set that up. My parents are kind of . . . connected.”
“Okay,” Skyler says, carefully. “And you didn’t want her help?”
“No.” I want to succeed on my own merit. I feel like the success won’t be worth it if it’s just another thing lined up for me because I’m a Blackwood. I mean, how many freakin’ things are going to come to me, just because my parents made some arrangements? How fucking spoiled is that? How could I ever feel like I achieved anything if I didn’t earn it outright? I want to shape my own life. “I don’t want any charity from her.”
I’m getting angry, and Skyler must sense it. She sits up. Her expression is all concern, all worry. “Grey, it’s your family. It’s not charity. I wish my family helped me more.”
“She’s not my family. Not really. And she’s just trying to make up for always trying to make me be like her real son.” Aw, shit. My voice is starting to crack, and the world’s going a little blurry. I reach over and shut the bedside lamp off.
Skyler doesn’t move. She stays still, sitting beside me. Staring down at me like she can see in the dark.
I can’t take it. I sit up and rub my face. I hear myself swearing. I want to leave, sprint out of this room. But I can’t get past Skyler. I don’t want to get past her.
“Grey,” she asks, softly. “What’s this really about?”
“Everything.”
“Okay.” Her cool hand takes mine. “Tell me everything.”
I don’t even think about it. I just start in. But there’s so much to say, and I’ve never said any of it before, so I make a mess of it. I tell her about how Adam and I have the same dad. How Dad came and got me from my birth mom when I was five and took me home to a big house, a huge house, close to the ocean. I had a Spider-Man lunchbox. It was my proudest possession. Really. The only thing I was proud of. But then I got something a million times better. A brother. I’d never had one before. I loved him instantly. Adam looked out for me. He was . . . he was the best. Older. Just . . . like, my hero.
“I got a dad that day, too. He was busy a lot. But when he was around, he didn’t push. He let me come to him. And he was just so damn sure of himself. So cocky and funny. You gotta meet my dad someday, Sky. There’s no one like him.
“Madeleine, though. I don’t know what the hell happened. She . . . she came on stronger. She wanted to be my mother. Except, I had a mother. I had a mother who smoked and drank and partied. Who forgot to feed me half the time. I’m not going to get into
that right now. She didn’t beat me. A few of her boyfriends did. I’m not going to get into that, either. What I’ll say is this: I had a mother. And didn’t really want another one—not like the one I had.
“That’s all I saw when I looked at Madeleine. For a long time, that’s all I saw. So we didn’t get off to a good start. But then I started to see that she was different than my birth mom. Madeleine had expectations of me. She demanded manners, respect. She had standards for everything, how to dress and keep my room. What kinds of grades I should get. She wanted top effort in all things. For a kid who’d lived in and out of cars, in and out of crowded apartments, for a kid who’d been yelled at and thrashed a few times, for a kid who’d seen his mom drunk too many times, whose mom dated a new man every other month—for that kid, Madeleine, with all her expectations, with her perfect house with its polished wood floors and high ceilings; Madeleine, with her planned-out days and gourmet meals, and her perfect son who did everything right; Madeleine, with her charity functions for kids like me, who were just like me, well . . . she was terrifying.”
“Terrifying how?” Skyler asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Grey . . . you do know. How?”
“Maybe I thought she wouldn’t care unless I measured up. Maybe . . . Maybe I thought she looked at me like I was just some mistake of my dad’s that she’d inherited. A piece of trash that had been dragged into her life. White trash.”
I can’t even believe what I’m saying. I haven’t even admitted this stuff to myself. Is this what I really think? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know. But it’s definitely what I thought. For a long, long time. I see that now.
“Has she ever said anything to make you believe that’s true?” Sky asks.
“She’s, um . . . told me I’m difficult. She’s said that a couple of times over the years. I was. And the night we fought, the night I left home, she told me I make it hard for her to love me. It’s the truth. I’ve been such a fucking nightmare. I’ve given her so much grief. I haven’t made it easy. And that night everything blew up, it was the culmination of—Jesus, where is my filter?”
“You don’t need a filter. We’re trading family misery stories.”
Bounce Page 18
