by Fields, MJ
“Got a minute?” Dad says from the open door of the shared room.
“For you?” I try to act annoyed, but he sees through my shit. “Of course. What’s up?”
“Mom said you had some ideas to add to the Christmas boxes we send our artists?”
Fuck, I think as I turn around and start putting the clothes that Mom just brought down in a box for the move. “Yeah,” I answer.
“Two grand worth of gift cards, Tricks?” he asks.
I close my eyes, really wishing maybe I mentioned it to them, but knowing damn well there was no good explanation as to why I’d buy two grand worth of gift cards to The Bean. “Everyone loves a good coffee and a burrito.”
“Little dude, how many of them frequent the Mantoloking area enough to spend fifty bucks on coffee and burritos?” He walks around and sits on the bed, his arms crossed, looking up at me. “Spill the bean.” He tries to keep a straight face and fails.
I mean, yeah, it’s funny shit, unless it’s you who is losing your mind.
I shrug and continue packing. “Just think everyone at Forever Four can appreciate a small business with epic products.”
He leans to the side, his elbow planted on a pile of folded clothes that I’m trying to pack, his head propped on his hand. “I’d like to place an order.”
“Dad, just—”
“Large black, no bullshit.”
Very rarely does he play the father role, he’s normally more like a bud. Apparently, this is one of those times.
“The girl at the drive-thru—”
“The one who couldn’t look you in the eye? The ‘date’s’ roommate?”
I nod. “She’s sick. Has mono and will probably be out of work for at least two weeks, possibly longer.”
“Continue,” he says.
“I know she needs the money. I tried to get someone to jump in her spot, like a placeholder until she gets better, and he didn’t want the responsibility. She doesn’t have people like us. Hell, she doesn’t even call anyone friend.”
“Family?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t sound like it.”
“And you’re doing all this because you want to impress her?”
I look up at him and shake my head again, even though it’s bullshit. Down deep, I wanted that since I heard her voice, caught her attitude, and then her. I mean, mostly her tits, but then it was the entire package.
“Tricks, I said no—”
“She’s a lesbian.”
Covering his face, he flops back on the bed and starts to laugh.
“The fuck, Dad,” I huff.
Still laughing, he says, “Little dude, you are supposed to avoid no-win situations, not dive into them face-first.”
“I’m not trying to tap that.” Only because she’s not having it. “I’m trying to be her friend.”
He tries to stop laughing, but he obviously can’t. “And then tap that.”
“Jesus, Dad, no.”
He pushes up and scrubs his hand over his face. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen you act like you did around any of the girls you’ve dated or hung out with like you did at The Bean.” He loses his composure again. “Then I find out you ‘had a date’ with her roommate, and now that ass isn’t just a situation to overcome, but it’s untappable.”
I cross my arms and stare down at him.
“Tricks, chill and laugh a bit.”
“Or better yet, ignore the advice from a grown man who hasn’t matured past twelve.”
I look back as Mom walks in the room and scowls at him.
“Oh, please, Irish, you love that I’m not a slippers and robe kind of guy. And you definitely love the fact that my stamina—”
She cuts him off, which today, I’m thankful for. Any other day, I give a shit less.
I love that my parents still look at each other with nothing but love … Well, and that sparks still fly, but this shit sucks.
Mom puts her hand on her hip. “I love a lot of things about you, but I deal with the heart stuff. Now go pack your shit, man child.”
“It’s not like that. Just a friend helping a friend.”
They exchange a glance.
“I’m serious. Don’t make something more out of this than it is. She needed help and—”
“Did she ask for help?” Mom asks suspiciously, knowing how many hands get held in front of you when you have more than others, and after they’re fed, you’re not shit, not even a memory. I’ve seen it a lot in the music business. We’re lucky that they’ve not signed many artists like that, but have taken on a few that left a label because it didn’t feel like home.
Home. I hope I never take for granted what that means to me.
“No, she’d probably have a fit if she knew. Hates men, apparently.”
Mom’s face tightens. I know what she’s thinking. After Noah Beckett’s life was all but ruined, she’s terrified it’ll happen to me.
“Not like—”
“Good, because I will straight up cut a hoe.”
“Damn, Mrs. Steel.” Dad pops up from the bed and walks over to her, but when he reaches out to grab her, she steps back and holds a hand up to him. “Oh, come on.” He laughs.
“You walk. I’m gonna talk to my son.”
“Seriously, I’m straight. No need to—”
Dad’s laugh stops me, and Mom and I roll our eyes at each other.
“Go, Xavier.”
He holds his hands up as he walks out the door … laughing.
Mom’s smile is almost sad as she walks over to me and begins refolding the clothes that Dad messed up.
“Not a big deal, Mom. I’ll be hanging them at the new place anyway.”
“So …” she says as she folds them anyway, “this girl?”
“Mom, I’ve had actual girlfriends, and you two weren’t tripping on them like you are one who’s, at best, just a friend.”
“An actual girlfriend, that one. And she hurt you.” Mom places two shirts in the box.
“That wasn’t hurt; that was pissed off. The shit she did because she was jealous of my damn cousins, unacceptable.”
“You weren’t trying to be her friend, and that’s the part that worries me.”
“You know damn well I have charm.” I nudge her. “She hasn’t a chance.”
Smiling, she picks up another shirt and messes with it. “If she can’t see what a good friend you are, then she doesn’t deserve you.”
“That’s just it, Mom; I don’t think she believes she deserves friends.”
“I trust you, Patrick Jonathon Steel. Just be careful. I don’t want you to get taken advantage of and end up in a Noah situation.”
“You know I’m careful. Hell, you all made us take a sexual harassment class together, and we know what he went through. None of us will fall prey to that kind of shit.”
She nods, putting the last shirt in the box. “So, are you ready to hit our new home?”
“Yeah, about that … I’m good with you and Dad taking the first night to yourselves.”
“He put you up to that?” she asks, trying her best to look annoyed, but she’s not. She’s totally fucking in love with him.
Someday, I want that.
“Well, let us at least take these couple of boxes,” she says, her face turning a bit pink.
* * *
Once I’ve said goodbye to Mom and Dad for the night, I flop down on the couch next to the girls. “So, what are we up to tonight?”
They all look up from their phones.
“Lemme guess … Tris, you’re messaging with Marcello. Kiki’s stalking baby daddy via social media—”
“She doesn’t have to stalk anymore.” Truth wags her brows. “She’s branded for life.”
“Oh my God, shut up.” Kiki’s face turns beet red.
“He really is dreamy.” Brisa hugs herself.
All my female cousins are bad ass and cute as shit. Brisa, however, needs to step up her game. Her bad ass growth seems to be delayed. She ac
ts like she lives in some seventies sitcom.
“He better be.” I nudge Kiki. “If not—”
“You’ll give him another black eye?” Kiki interrupts me.
Truth laughs. “I thought Uncle Jase did that.”
Jase walks by and clamps his hand over her head. “He’s lucky Tricks got to him first. I would have put a daddy-sized whoop-ass on him.”
Aunt Carly calls from the kitchen, “Jase, gross.”
He smirks then looks back at her like he’s in shock. “I was talking about—”
She laughs. “Don’t you dare.”
She walks in, carrying a sheet-sized cake. “Week one at the new school is down; let’s eat cake.”
And all the Steels throughout the house come crawling out like roaches.
“Is it cannoli?” Max asks.
She nods. “It is.”
“You rock, Mom!”
* * *
I spend my last night in what seems like an upside-down version of our annual end of summer Steel family vacations, in the bedroom all us boys have shared every summer as far back as I can remember.
We moved here quickly after Truth and Kiki got kicked out of our private Catholic school. We were all ecstatic at finally being able to leave the small-ass school, run by Nazi-ass nuns, surrounded by the same kids we’d known since preschool.
I remember Dad saying we lucked out that it wasn’t rented. But who rents oceanfront property in November on the Jersey Shore?
JT is quiet, almost like he’s contemplating something, Amias and Max aren’t asking a million questions anymore or doing stupid shit to make us all bitch and moan, and then laugh.
Lying in bed, I check my messenger app and see—gasp—I was left on read … again before tossing the phone on the charging pad beside my bed.
“It’s too fucking quiet.”
“Quiet’s not a bad thing,” JT says through a yawn.
“You’re going to the city tomorrow to work with Bella and Tags?” Max asks him.
“Yeah,” he yawns out again.
And then we all do, and Max and Amias bust up laughing like it’s hilarious.
Amias sits up. “I thought things would be hopping around here, that life was gonna change, and here we are, on a Friday night, having a slumber party, no ass in sight.”
“There’s a couple parties tonight. Got an invite on The Sound app,” Max says as he sits up.
“And you’re just telling us that because …?” Amias is pissed.
“Because it’s the asshole, Harrison Reeves, the one who gave Kiki shit.”
“Harrison Reeves invited you, then you don’t want to go, My,” Justice growls, using Amias’s nickname.
“Nah, it was his party. Nina invited me.” Max shrugs.
“Nina?” My asks.
Max shakes his head. “One of Gabrielle’s crew.”
“The one being a bitch to Kiki?” Amias asks.
“And Truth. Fuck. That,” JT says. “Stay away from bitches and hos.”
I see Max and Amias exchange a glance and make a mental note to ask what the hell that was about.
Amias chucks a pillow at him. “Not all of us get to head into the city to work with hot, tattooed babes who know how to fuck.”
“My”—JT throws the pillow back at him—“you’re a sophomore; Max is a junior—focus on sports.”
Amias looks up. “We’re all playing baseball in the spring again, right?”
“Nice try, dick.” Max flops down on his bed and chuckles. “You all play with your balls. I’m joining the surf team.”
I look at Justice, and we exchange wordlessly that we’ll divide up, one with each of them.
“I’ll join surf, too.”
“Looks like it’s you and me playing with our balls, My.” Justice chuckles.
Chapter 11
“Women, if the soul of the nation is to be saved,
I believe you must become its soul.”
~Coretta Scott King
Patrick
Dad and Mom are waiting on the front porch when I pull up. He points left, and I see a sign that says:
Reserved Parking for Patrick Steel.
All Others will be Towed.
I park my Jeep, grab my duffle bag, and seriously want to roll my eyes, but I can’t help getting sucked into his excitement. He’s emotions on zoom; it’s Mom who has the more logical brain. He knows it, and she loves it.
When I step out, he starts, “You’re standing in front of ten thousand square feet of mine.”
Mom elbows him.
“Fine, ours. But, Irish, you’re mine. You mentioned that a few times last—”
She shakes her head, but she’s still smiling. “Do you have to ruin a perfectly good family moment, Xavier?”
“Like I ruined you?” he whispers and, fuck yes, I pretend I don’t hear him.
“You do know I’ve seen it a few times, right?” I laugh as I’m walking toward them.
Dad shakes his head. “It was someone else’s then. Now it’s home.” He opens the door, and I see a banner hanging in the entryway that says, “Welcome Home.”
I follow him and Mom inside. “Nice.”
“Built in 1997, this pad is …”
Mom gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “Just go with it.”
And Dad keeps giving what sounds like a sales pitch. “It’s built with hosting family gatherings and entertainment in mind. Imagine the parties we can throw here.”
Mom laughs. “We’re rarely even home.”
“But when we are … Fuck, Irish, we did good. We did this.” He grabs her and spins her in a circle. “And we did Patrick. Stage or no stage, we’re fucking rock stars.”
Laughing, she says, “Okay, rock star, let’s show him his room.”
Setting her down, he grabs her face and kisses her. “And the—”
She kisses him back to shut him up. “Yes, and the.”
“The what?” I ask.
“Follow us.” Dad smiles big as hell, his eyes lit up like Christmas morning. “This view is ours, Tricks, ours.”
“It’s stunning, Dad.”
It is. The vacation house overlooks the same ocean, the same beach, but this place is much closer.
Dad opens the door leading out to the massive concrete stamped patio that leads to the pool and points to the pool house. “Epic shit, Tricks, epic.”
My head goes right to, This is mine, as he swings the door open.
“Home studio.”
Well … shit.
“Joking, little dude. That’s inside. This is for when you come home from college, need a break, feel like—”
“What he means is he doesn’t want you to go away to ‘find yourself’ like he did and avoid being part of the family business, also like he did.” Mom nudges him. “Until graduation, you want your cousins and friends to come crash, it’s yours, as long as you follow the rules. No one drinks and drives, no one does drugs and drives. No trashing the place. We trust you, always have. It’s—”
“Others you don’t trust,” I finish for her.
“It’s like your treehouse, but cooler.” Dad looks around. “Pool table, old-school video games—”
“I love it. Thanks.”
“Still gotta hang with us, though, Tricks.” Dad nods once, his eyes narrowed a bit. “You’re our favorite Steel.”
Mom rubs his back.
“Of course.”
* * *
Our old place was nothing to scoff at, like not at all. But this place … is balls. All grays and whites. All raw materials. All brand new updates before they sold. This place is tits.
We spent the entire day unpacking boxes that the movers unloaded. I threw a lot of shit out that I no longer wanted, or that I didn’t even know I still had. Felt good to purge, really good. I’m edging past the need for the material things, which doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate what money can buy. I do. But what I’m learning at this damn school is money doesn’t buy you the things that matter the
most.
I’m pretty sure when Mom Marie Kondo’d our life right before the move, I shouldn’t have hid shit that didn’t seem to matter anymore.
Lying in my king-sized bed, in a room that could house twenty, I feel queasy as I think about what this Ivy League of high schools has taught me.
“What a bunch of assholes,” I sigh as I think about the shit that mostly Kiki and Truth are dealing with. Half the time, I want to lose my chill and step in and all over that shit, but my philosophy is not to do that. Except it seems to be wavering when it comes to the little badass who would rather scare people off than open up and accept people who want to be her friends. And those of us who feel that pull, people talk about, to a girl who wants nothing to do with me.
Not to toot my own horn, but I’m a fucking catch. And not to call bullshit on her liking girls—I mean, she’s got mono because she and Chloe, who I know damn well isn’t a lesbian, but she certainly doesn’t look at me like she’s not seeing me. She’s either pissed off or checking me out like she wants to see what I’m all about.
I grab my phone and reread days’ worth of messages, from the first day she didn’t show up to class until last night. I skipped this morning, because I felt a little like a fucking clinger.
Day One
9:00 a.m. – What up, Savannah?
12:21 p.m. - Why aren’t you here?
5:07 p.m. - Hope all is chill. See you tomorrow.
12:01 a.m. - Do you ever read your messages?
Day Two
9:10 a.m. - SAVVY!!!! What up?
1:21 p.m. - Gym class blew without you being the greatest source of amusement.
5:40 p.m. - Hitting a girl isn’t something I’ll ever do, so if they’re being snatches, I know four pretty badass chicks who would do it if needs be.
