“Maybe that’s how it came across, Grey. And I’m so sorry if it did. I never meant to push you to be something you didn’t want to be. I just wanted you to have every opportunity you could in life. I wanted to give you everything you deserve.”
“It felt like you wanted to change me.”
“No, Grey. Never. I only want you to be happy.”
“And you didn’t think I was?”
She hesitates. “It’s not that I thought you were unhappy.” She sips her wine. “It’s more that when anything happened, anything intense—happiness, fear, whatever—you’d retreat. I suppose there were times I wondered if you weren’t holding yourself back from being as happy—as comfortable and easy—as you could be.”
I nod. I swallow. I breathe in and out and have to do all of it once more. “I never thought anything that mattered was supposed to last.”
“The things that last are the things that matter.”
“I didn’t know, Mom.”
“But now do you?”
“Yes.” Jesus, I’ve missed her. “Now I know.”
We have to stop when the waiter comes and drones on about daily specials. Mom dabs at her eyes with a napkin, and we manage to get our orders in.
When we’re alone again, she jumps right back in and says, “I should have never given you Lois’s address.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay.” I grab a roll from the breadbasket and butter it, then set it back down. “I guess I’ve always known she didn’t want me.”
This is the hardest thing for me to say and, I see, for Mom to hear. We both need a few seconds to wrestle that one down. I finish my water. The busboy refills it. I’m still trying to get my breath.
It’s the truth. There’s no denying it. It’s the ugly truth of how I came to be. My dad never loved my birth mother. She was just a pretty girl he knocked up while he and Madeleine were taking a break. I came into the world completely by accident. I was a burden to Lois before I was even born. It’s possible I’ve felt that way with other people. With everyone. That I’m something you grow tired of and pawn off, like an unwanted pet.
I’ve never actually asked how much my dad bought me for. Monthly rent, it sounds like. I’m pretty sure, based on my conversation with Lois the night I saw her. But maybe it was more than that? I’d like to think he paid Lois a little more for me than that. Then my curiosity gets the better of me and I just freakin’ ask the question.
“How much was I worth?”
Mom refolds her napkin. It takes her so long to look up, I’m wondering if she’s going to hedge. But then she answers. “It was a set payment for some time. The first few years. But she . . . she was irresponsible with the money. So your father started paying the landlord and main utilities directly.”
“That was smart of him.”
“It was my idea. My suggestion.”
“That was nice of you.”
“She gave birth to you, Grey.”
“Yeah. She did. Wow. This is a lot.”
“I’m sorry, Grey. She doesn’t know what she’s missing. But it’s my gain. You are my gain. And your father’s and Adam’s. I love you. You were a surprise, and you haven’t always been easy, and I haven’t always been a perfect mother, but I love you. From the bottom of my soul, I do. I have from the start. From the very first day I learned about you. Before we even had you, I did.”
“Even though I’m not yours.”
“You are mine. I’ve always felt so.”
Eventually, I find the word I want. “Same.”
She smiles. “That’s good to hear.”
And because she means it, and deserves more, I rally some courage and tell her that I love her, too, using the actual words.
For a little while, we laugh just from the sheer lift we’re both feeling.
“I think I need another glass of this zingy, persimmony wine,” she says, and right then our food shows up, which is perfect. I can’t take anymore. I don’t think she can, either. We fall into easy conversation about how much she’s enjoying spending time with Ali’s mother, who’s going through a divorce. They’re planning a trip to Scotland together. Apparently, there’s some obscure castle they both have always wanted to see.
She’s so social, I think, as I listen. This love connection between her and Ali’s mom isn’t common—I can tell it’s something special—but I feel like I’ve been in the position of hearing about a new friend of hers a thousand times before. She and Adam are so alike, always seeing the best in everyone. It’s like there’s a party going on in their hearts all the time with wall-to-wall people in there, everyone smiling and getting along.
I’m not like that. I don’t think I have the bandwidth for it. My heart’s probably just a small gathering-type deal. Maybe a dozen people or so. Just my band, my family. A few others. But it’s a rockin’ party. Today especially.
Mom and I order dessert even though we’re stuffed. Neither one of us wants lunch to be over.
“Will you move back into Adam’s?” she asks me as she takes a spoonful of crème brûlée. “I know you’ve been staying in Venice.”
“No.” I’ve been thinking about my living situation a lot over the past week. Adam, Beth, and Skyler have all been great, but I’m tired of living at other people’s places. It’s time for me to get my own spot. Something that’s mine. I’m banking on us getting a contract after the showcase, but if it doesn’t happen, I’ve already decided I’ll break open the trust fund I’ve been sitting on since I turned eighteen. It’s money I’ve never touched. It’s never really felt like it was mine. Plus, you don’t play around with big money like that.
But the thing is, there are things I want. Things that are worthwhile. And I’m done feeling like I don’t deserve my fair share of what it means to be a Blackwood. I’ve had a few shitty breaks in my life, but it doesn’t mean I have to feel guilty for the good ones.
I tell my mom about a house up in the Hollywood Hills. “It’s just a little bungalow I saw online, but it used to belong to a guy who mixed sound on films, so it has a full studio in the basement. It’d be a great place for the band to practice. And the house also has a detached garage with enough space for a person to build a Cobra from a kit.”
Mom smiles. “Is someone going to build a Cobra from a kit?”
“If someone’s dad wants his Cobra replaced, and his brother agrees to help him, since someone doesn’t know the first thing about building cars, then yes.” I still have to talk to Dad about it, but it’s the right thing to do.
“I’d love to see this place,” Mom says.
That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. No one sees potential like she does.
I pay the bill. As we walk out into the sunshine, we make plans to meet at the house in the morning. We hug and say goodbye, and when I’m finally in my truck, the lightness inside me is so intense, it feels like my seat belt is the only thing tethering me to this planet.
Chapter 38
Skyler
How many actors does it take to change a lightbulb?” Garrett asks me.
It’s 10 p.m. We’re on take eleven of some complicated nighttime scene where the camera tracks around us as we dance under white lights strung from the beams of a waterfront bar.
I have to admit, the set looks absolutely magical. Votives flicker at every table; the water has this incredible phosphorescent glimmer; and all around us, extras act like they’re having the most romantic night of their lives. I’m freezing and exhausted but trying so hard to be game.
“How many?” I ask.
We’re going again, so Garrett repositions his arms around me. “Ten. One to change the lightbulb and nine others to bitch that they could have done it better.”
I laugh and rest my cheek against Garrett’s chest for a moment. The breeze stirs against my silk dress, and I shiver.
Rubbing his arms over my back, he asks, “You okay?”
I nod against his pale blue linen shirt. “Fine.”
Garrett pu
shes me away, just a bit, so he can fix those laser-blue eyes on me. “You don’t look so hot there, beautiful. What do you need? Should we ask for a break?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. Really.”
“Want some water? A handful of almonds or something?” He signals for the runner, Laurel, to come over, but I wave her off.
“I’m fine,” I insist. The thought of eating or drinking anything nauseates me. “Let’s just keep going.”
“I know you want to make everyone happy, sweetness, but you have to take care of yourself, too.”
“I know.” It’s just that some days making other people happy is the only thing that makes me happy.
“Five more minutes, guys,” Mia calls. She wanders over. “You need anything?”
“This one needs to get off her feet,” Garrett tells her, nodding in my direction. “And I wouldn’t mind calling it a night soon, myself. What’re the odds?”
“They’re good,” Mia tells us. “I promise. We’re just losing the light in part of the shot and want to make some adjustments.”
The ocean roars in my ear, and for a second, I feel that weird shifting feeling I felt earlier, like the whole world just tilted about forty degrees and then righted itself. I clutch on to Garrett, steadying myself.
“What’s wrong?”
I shake my head and swallow. “Just got a little light-headed for a second.”
Brooks comes over, and I want to cry, because if everyone is talking to us, no one is getting things rolling, and I’m going to have to keep standing here, shivering and weak-limbed, for another God-knows-how-long.
“Everything okay?” he asks, smiling down at me. “What do you need?”
“Just to shoot the scene already,” Garrett says. His tone is honey, light as air, but there’s a whole lot of steel in it. “I’m freezing my giblets off out here, and my darling Skyler has to get off her feet.”
Brooks looks at me, and it kills me to feel like I’m letting him down. Like I need to be pampered in any way.
“I’m okay,” I protest. “Just a little tired, but it’s no problem.”
“Okay, we’ll be ready to go again in five.”
A groan escapes me, but it’s swept up by the stirring of the tide.
Brooks and Mia head off, and Garrett wraps his arms around me to rub my back briskly, trying to work his own plentiful body heat into me. He’s like some kind of self-contained sun. Always warm, radiating this perfect assuredness.
“I’m worried about you,” he tells me. “And young Greyson will kick my ass six ways to Sunday if I don’t take care of you down here.”
Just the sound of Grey’s name makes me miss him more.
“I promise, I’m okay. I just need some sleep.”
Again, I feel that weird shifting, and for just a second, my eyesight goes red, like someone slammed a shutter in front of my face. As quick as it came, it recedes, but I feel a little flare of panic, not knowing when it will return, if I should, actually, be worried.
“Okay,” Garrett says. “I’ll stop being a father hen. But you tell me what you need, okay?”
I nod. Everyone keeps asking that, but the answers feel way too big to put into words. “I will. I just don’t want to be a problem.”
“Honey, you have no idea what a problem is.” He grins. “I could tell you some stories.”
“Really?”
“God, yes. Get me a few virgin Mai Tais at the wrap party, and I will talk your ear off.”
“I’m looking forward to that.” Not just the party, I realize, but the wrap. The downtime again, even though Parker has me primed for a ton of auditions the second I get back, and Jane has me doing some feature about “Hip New Hollywood” for Entertainment Weekly.
We’re about to get going again, but this time Garrett stops everything and asks for some touch-ups. While his forehead is being powdered, he gets a big grin on his face and asks again, “How many actors does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
“How many?”
“Just one. He stands there, and the world revolves around him.”
It’s 1 a.m. by the time I drag back to my room, and I have to hold on to the corridor walls to keep from toppling over. My stomach feels like it’s trying to chew its way out of my body, I’ve got a headache, and I’m truly not sure how much longer my limbs are going to hold my body upright.
In my room, I topple into the bed and feel that crazy dizziness again, and this weird pressure in my ears, like I’m plugging them with my fingers. I want to get up and get myself some water; I feel like I could drink for days. But I’m too tired. I need to sleep and sleep and sleep. Except I have to be on set again at 8 a.m., which means makeup at 6:30.
I pick up my phone and find about twenty messages from Grey, Beth, and my mom. I ignore my mother’s but thumb through Beth’s. It’s looking good for that pilot. And she met Shane and Nora’s cat, Thor, and now wants a kitten.
She and Titus also seem to be going strong, judging from the endless number of band shots she’s sent, including one of Grey asleep in a chair in the studio, head back, mouth open, and one hand resting in the V of his t-shirt. He looks like a kid, though he dwarfs the chair, and his long, long legs sprawl completely out of frame. Somehow, it looks like his hair has grown an inch in the couple of weeks I’ve been gone. It’s sticking up a little on top, a bit punky, but still short on the sides. He looks good. Really good.
I zoom in on the hand inside his shirt, resting against his heart, and think of the night we spent lying together in my bed and talking, my ear up pressed against his chest, listening to the slow steady drum of his heartbeat.
Before I know it, I’m calling him, pushing away my worry that it’s already late, that he’s working so hard and might be asleep. I just want to hear his voice, even just his voicemail message.
He picks up right away. “Wow, I was just thinking about you.”
Immediately, I start to cry. It’s like a tornado, blowing up out of nowhere, shocking me. It’s his voice, so warm and right here but not here at all. And I know I’m tired. My feelings are all over the place and can’t seem to settle anywhere.
For a second, I can’t say anything. I even think about disconnecting. I don’t want him to hear me like this. Being weak.
“Hey,” I manage, finally. “I was just thinking about . . . everyone there.”
I can’t bring myself to say that I’m thinking about him, that I’ve been thinking about him so much, missing him. It sounds so pathetic, and I’m with someone. Grey’s nineteen and a musician who just wants to eat and breathe and live music. I just can’t have that in my life. Can’t sign up for the path my mom took, even though I know I’m not her. Even though I know Grey’s not my dad.
“What’s going on?” he asks. “It’s late there, right?”
“Yeah, we had a long day.”
“You’re just finishing? Jesus.” I hear the telltale groan of springs and know he’s climbing onto Mia’s bed.
“Is it okay? Were you going to sleep?”
“Nah,” he says. “I just got back myself. We finished the album today. I’m totally wired.”
“You did?”
Again, tears come. I feel like I’m missing everything. Which is ridiculous. I’m in this paradise, making an actual feature film. I’m so lucky, and I know it. I just didn’t expect to miss him so much. To miss Beth. And home. The people at Maxi’s. All of it. My life. My old life.
“Yeah, we did. Sky, it’s so good. I can’t wait for you to hear it.”
“I can’t wait, too.”
He’s sent me a few songs, and they’ve been amazing. The arrangements are so much tighter, the lyrics punched up. And Grey’s voice: it’s just perfect.
Again, the sound of bedsprings and then I hear his heavy footsteps on the wood floor, the sound of the window sliding open. I smile, thinking about how many times he’s had to pry open my own bedroom window for me.
He won’t be there for much longer, I realize.
He’s found a place to buy—not so far away but still. He’s made up with his mother. Things are coming together for him, and while he tells me all about the band’s last few days of recording, I can feel the difference it’s all made in him. This buoyancy seeps through the phone to wrap around me. I feel his happiness, and for a second, it feels like I’ve got no place in it, and that makes me start crying again, hard, and this time I know he hears me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. And when I don’t answer, he says quietly, so sweetly, “Talk to me, Sky. What’s going on there?”
I wish I knew. But I don’t, exactly. It’s like something in my peripheral vision. I know it’s there, but every time I try to turn and look at it, it slips away. I’m just tired, I tell myself. And I don’t feel well. I’m running on coffee and adrenaline, and I know it’s not great for me, but I can’t make myself stop.
“I’m okay,” I say, finally. “Just a little worn out. It’ll be good to be back.”
“It’ll be great to have you back,” he says. “Just one more week, right?”
“Right.”
“Seriously, though. You need to tell me if something’s wrong. Did Brooks—”
“No.” I drag myself back out of the bed, though it feels like pushing through quicksand. I go into the bathroom and find some tissues to dab at my eyes and nose. I’ve got this sharp pain in my throat, like a sob’s caught there. It’s making it hard to speak or breathe. “Brooks is great. It’s all good down here. Just working really hard. It’s okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“When you get home, I’m making sure you take the whole week off, and I will personally punch Parker and Jane in their throats if they schedule anything for you.”
Bounce Page 22
