“How can I give you money when I don’t know what you’ll do with it?” I said pleadingly.
He shook his head like he was disappointed in me. “I’m in treatment now, Serena.” Day treatment, but my parents and his counsellor didn’t believe it was enough so he was on a waiting list for an in-patient facility in Quebec — a place where they keep you for months. “The way you’re all acting, it’s like no one will ever trust me again anyway, so what’s the point in staying clean?”
I wanted so much to believe him, to see him as the person he used to be. If he’d shouted at me the way he yelled at Mom it would’ve been easy to turn him down.
The money I gave him didn’t make its way back to me, just like Morgan’s old TV didn’t make it back to his room. My mom’s car, on the other hand, arrived back in our driveway at just after nine in the morning. Honestly, I was starting to wonder if we’d ever see it again, but when Devin strolled into the kitchen he acted like it was no big thing.
“Your mother’s late for work!” my father yelled, blood rushing to his face. “I’m late for work! You know you’re not supposed to take the car. I’ve reached my limit, Devin.” Dad’s head bobbed aggressively on his shoulders. “This is it. One more incident and I’m locking you out, understand?”
Devin shut his eyes tight and exhaled noisily. “You have the car back,” he said, eyelids flying open again. “How is that even an incident?” He motioned with outstretched palms. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion. When Morgan had the car back late he’d get a slap on the wrist. When I do it it’s the end of the world.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Do you have any idea how crazy you sound? You’re all so pathologically paranoid — it’s like living inside a loony bin.”
Mom’s hands twitched. She opened and closed her mouth, no sound escaping.
I was standing against the counter, about to load my breakfast dishes into the dishwasher. Devin’s dilated pupils homed in on me. “What are you looking at?” he asked me. “Why don’t you just go on and open the cupboard there and stuff your face with some cookies — that’s what you’re good at.”
My cheeks twitched like Mom’s hands. I turned my head, my whole face stinging.
“Where are they?” Dad said, barrelling towards him. “Where are the drugs, Devin?” He reached around Devin’s back and grabbed at his jean pockets.
“Get your hands off me!” Devin shouted, pushing him backwards.
Dad stumbled backwards towards me, his gaze never leaving my brother. “You put them up here now.” Dad’s hand thumped the counter behind him. “I won’t have any more drugs in my house and I won’t have you taking things that don’t belong to you. This is the end of the line, Devin. Everyone here wants you to get the help you need, but none of us can do a thing for you if you don’t help yourself.”
Devin’s laugh sounded like a coiled sneer collapsing in on itself. “It’s that easy, is it?” He cocked his head and dragged his top teeth across his bottom lip, smiling crookedly. “I just have to want it.”
“We know it’s not easy,” Mom murmured, her eyes darting between Devin and my father. “We can’t keep going on like this if you don’t try.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Mom,” Devin said snidely. “You seem to try enough for all of us.”
Dad took three heavy steps back towards Devin and stood in front of him as if to block his way. “Empty your pockets, son,” my father instructed. “Then you can go up to your room.”
“This is bullshit,” Devin snapped, jostling by him.
Dad’s arm flew out and gripped Devin’s shoulder. They pushed back and forth against each other, knocking the nearest chair to the ground. Mom jumped. I scuttled towards the stove, as far away from them as I could get. Then Devin drew his right arm back, his fingers forming a fist. He swung at my father’s jawline and sent him reeling. Dad collapsed onto the upended chair, one of its legs breaking off under his weight.
Mom rushed to Dad’s side, kneeling beside him while Devin watched. “He wouldn’t let go of me,” Devin said flatly. “You both saw. He should’ve let go.”
I stared at my brother with my mouth gaping and my face still in flames.
“Fuck this,” Devin said to himself, both hands scratching through his hair. He turned and lurched out of the kitchen, back the way he’d come. The front door slammed as Mom and I crowded around Dad and the broken chair.
I’m numb when I think of that morning now. For a long time the image of Dad on the tile floor beside the remains of a wooden chair shocked me. It’s weird how something can shock you time and time again, even though it’s already happened. I couldn’t believe that Devin would talk to me like a dumb fat girl either. Nobody cares what you think, his spiteful tone said. No one will ever really like you. We’d been imperfect together for all of my life. I didn’t fully realize the togetherness was over with until that moment. It was almost as much of a shock as Dad broken on the ground.
Why am I even looking for Devin?, I ask myself again. Why do I care? I shuffle along the street and into Second Cup, where I sit over a steaming hot chocolate, fighting back angry tears.
That’s what you’re good at.
Jacob told me I was good at other things, but apparently Gage Cochrane doesn’t agree, and I can see with absolute clarity how the tangled mess of my former blubber, personal insecurities, and stupid need for some kind of male approval have shaped me into a person I don’t want to be.
My coat’s behind me, draped on the chair, and I wrestle my cell out of my pocket, determined to right one of my own wrongs.
“Hello?” Gage says into my ear.
“It’s Serena,” I say in a steely voice. “Would you mind telling me what I did last night that was so horrible that we had to evacuate the area?”
At first there’s no answer; I’ve stunned him silent. “I’m at work,” he tells me after a long pause. “I can’t talk right now. Can I call you back later?”
If he ever planned to get in touch with me again, my call will have changed Gage’s mind in a hurry. “Right, like that’ll happen,” I mutter bitterly. I hang up on him and drop my cell down next to my hot chocolate. Thank God I didn’t wear my magic dress to dinner last night. It would’ve been wasted on him.
And we gonna let it burn, burn, burn, burn. Ellie Goulding’s voice has such ache and strength that every time my cell rings I forget everything else for a millisecond. Inhaling the sweet smell of my hot chocolate, I pause before sweeping up my ringing phone.
“You don’t know me well enough to hang up on me,” Gage says, annoyed. “What makes you think I even need to explain?”
I rub my temples with my other hand, frustration whipping through my veins. “You jumped out of the car, sped back to my place, and barely said a word. Is that the way you normally act on a date?”
“I can’t talk now,” Gage repeats in a barbed tone. “But if you rewind the whole night and play it back in your head maybe you’ll be able to figure out what went wrong for yourself.” The annoyance he heaps on that last sentence makes me want to empty my hot chocolate onto someone’s head.
“I think I actually figured it out just now,” I snap. I’m about to tell him that he’s a first-rate asshole when a woman in tall brown boots and a red coat bends to address me. I’ve had a couple of training shifts at Total’s makeup counter and I’m pretty sure the whiff of perfume I catch is by Stella McCartney.
“Is that seat taken?” the woman whispers, motioning to the empty chair across from me.
“You can have it,” I assure her, not bothering to cover the phone. She thanks me and drags the chair towards a friend at a nearby table.
“If I thought you were the kind of person who’d freak out like this over nothing I wouldn’t have asked you out in the first place,” Gage tells me.
I thought I wanted to argue with him, but as I sit in Second Cup
watching wispy bits of white dance in the wind outside I suddenly feel drained and empty. This hasn’t been a good day, and fighting with some random guy I barely know over the phone won’t make me feel any better.
“Serena?” Gage prompts.
“What?”
“I gotta go.”
“I know. You said that before. So go.” My voice cracks on the word go. It’s not even him or what we’re talking about in particular. Everything has just backed up on me. It’s probably a good thing I haven’t been able to find Devin. If he said something cruel to me, like that day in June, I would either dissolve into tears or scream at him until both our ears bled.
“Listen.” Gage’s anger has eased up, making it obvious he heard my voice break. “If you still want me to call later … Sorry I got so —”
He’s doing that thing where he can’t stop apologizing again, but I don’t want to listen. “Look, I’m having a really shitty day here,” I say, talking over him, “so whatever you …”
Behind me somebody hiccups out a laugh. I noticed a guy with a laptop and a latte sitting at one of the tables behind me when I first grabbed my seat. Whatever he’s looking at must be hilarious because now he’s laughing so hard that it’s a wonder there’s enough oxygen getting to his brain. Someone will probably have to call an ambulance for him any second now.
“Where are you?” Gage asks, so I guess he can hear hyena guy too.
I sneak a look behind me. The guy’s bent over in his chair, his shoulders shaking. I wish he’d shut up already. His manic laugh, the smiling homeless guy on the street with his dog, Bucky, and me, out on the pavement looking for someone who doesn’t exist anymore — it’s all exhausting and wrong.
“Toronto,” I mumble, my voice still unsteady. “I was looking for someone, but it hasn’t worked out.”
“I really have to go,” Gage says. “But if you …” He doesn’t sound sure of his words. “Do you … have a ride home?”
Together, last night and my follow-up phone call have warped whatever potential Gage and I had before. I don’t know that I want to sit in his car knowing that he just feels sorry for me, the girl who never seems to have a ride.
“I’m off in thirty minutes,” he continues. “If you don’t have another way home I can come get you.”
“Why would you want to do that?” I ask, and then I’m crying.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
~
AN HOUR AND A half later Gage calls my cell and tells me he’s outside. He looks nervously over at me when I open the passenger door and sit down next to him. I guess he’s worried I might freak out on him about last night again. Instead I thank him for picking me up and lean my head against the window.
Gage has a news radio station on low and we listen to it as he heads for the highway. A report about a mid-air small plane crash that killed three people concludes that there’s too much congestion around the Toronto airport. Meanwhile, some ex-NHL player has just signed a deal to star in his first movie about a time-travelling bounty hunter, and in real life a twenty-two-year-old man was stabbed at King and Jarvis this afternoon and is in stable condition at St. Michael’s Hospital.
“That’s not too far from where I picked you up,” Gage says, mostly to himself. Then there’s more news (mostly bad) and about ten minutes later he clears his throat and goes, “Last night — it’s not that you did anything wrong — it was just really fast. It’s not …” He glances out the driver’s side window before fixing his eyes back on the road ahead. “It’s not what I’m looking for.”
I keep my head snuggled against the window and slouch down in my seat, wishing we could drive and drive and never really get anywhere. There’s something comforting about being on the road. You’re fixed in place while still in motion.
I stare into space, processing what Gage has just told me. “I thought you wanted to go to that place after the movie,” I say evenly. Less than two hours ago I wanted to pour my hot chocolate over his head and now it feels like we’re well past yesterday’s drama, like it happened a long time ago and can be discussed rationally.
“I did. It just got out of hand.”
The thought that I was the one who made things get out of hand comes as a surprise. There was a moment in the parking lot when I thought he was losing interest, but it never occurred to me that it had anything to do with me overstepping boundaries. Maybe he only really lost interest when he started seeing me as slutty. Gage could be the religious type that wants any girl he’s with to be one hundred per cent pure. It’s not like I’d normally go down on a guy during a first date, but if I explain that to him it will only sound like I feel bad about having done it in the first place.
“I wish you’d said something instead of jumping out of the car,” I tell him. I actually do feel bad about it now, but mostly because it turns out I was almost forcing myself on him. It’s not that I think a blow job is a dirty thing by definition, but the truth is that I’m not really happy that I did it just to get his attention either.
“Yeah.” Gage’s grey eyes gaze at me as he nods. “I can see how that would’ve been a good idea now. You made me nervous. I don’t know …” He shrugs, his light leather jacket hanging open so that I can see the striped zip top he has on under it.
It’s hard for me to believe that I could make anyone as gorgeous as Gage nervous, and I feel a measure of annoyance creep in under my calm. Why do I insist on judging people based on their looks?
“I didn’t realize I was doing that,” I admit. “I know you said you were nervous that night, but I just thought you didn’t like first dates. I didn’t realize it was me putting you on edge.”
“It was both, I guess.” He frowns. “This might sound weird to you, but I just want to stay away from sex stuff for a while.”
I laugh into my coat collar. He’s got me so wrong.
Gage shoots me an uneasy look, frown cementing on his face. “I’m not laughing at you,” I say. “It’s just, you make me sound like some kind of sex addict and I’ve never actually done it. I’ve barely even … I mean, there’s only been one other guy that I’ve done that with.” I fight a blush.
The surprise shows in Gage’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you sound like a sex addict.” He smiles ruefully. “I guess we didn’t get a clear picture of each other last night.”
“I guess not.” I shift my head away from the window and sit up in my seat.
“I told you I wasn’t great at first dates,” he says.
“I didn’t believe you.” I’m kind of teasing and kind of not.
“I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or what,” Gage says, but he smiles wider so I guess he’s flattered.
I hope having this conversation will make things less weird the next time he comes in to Total. Jacob’s still giving off hostile vibes every time he sees me; I don’t need any more guy tension in my life. “At least we’ve had a chance to clear things up,” I say and thank him again for picking me up. Most guys wouldn’t do that if you’d gone off on them over the phone after only having been out with them once to begin with.
“No problem,” he tells me. “You seemed pretty upset so —”
“Yeah,” I cut in. I don’t want him to think the crying was because of him; I’m not that pathetic. “Going downtown today was a waste — I went looking for my brother. No one has seen him in months.” I briefly explain about Tuesday night and Devin’s drug problem. Not the details of what happened the morning he left, just the bare facts of him walking out on us.
“Devin LeBlanc?” Gage’s expression turns curious. “That’s your brother?”
“You know him?”
Gage scratches his chin. “Not personally, but we went to school together. I was a freshman when he was a senior. I remember him getting some math award near the end of second semester. Wasn’t he practically a genius?”
“He was.
I don’t know how many brain cells he’s got left.” I feel guilty as soon as I say it, like being negative will invite more bad things into Devin’s life. “I didn’t know you went to Laurier.”
“It feels like ancient history,” Gage declares, and I remember him saying something similar last night. “I don’t know if this is a good time to ask this, but depending on your answer, there could be something I should tell you.” He goes quiet and points his sombre grey eyes at me.
I stare back, suspense rising until I have to ask, “What’s your question?”
Gage blinks, shifting his weight a little in his seat. “Do you think we’ll be hanging out in the future at all?”
“I don’t know.” I’m definitely not mad at him anymore but after this bizarre beginning I can’t picture how things would go with us. “Do you still want to?”
Gage tries to smile, but he looks like he’s about to break out in a sweat. “That’s what I’m asking you. Okay, look, I’m just going to come out with it anyway.” He motions over his shoulder. “You see the car seat?”
I peer into the back seat at the blue child’s car seat. It wasn’t there when we went out last night and when I climbed into the car a few minutes ago I was too upset to notice it.
“It’s not for a little brother or sister,” he continues, his cheekbones flaring and his eyes focused doggedly on the highway. “It’s my daughter’s.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
~
I’m conscious of taking too long to answer him, but in my mind I’m doing math — that’s not a baby’s car seat, just how old is his daughter, and how old would that have made Gage when she was born? My brain splutters with questions about his daughter’s mother — is she still in the picture and if so what does he think he’s doing asking me to hang out — as Gage glances at me from the corner of his eye with a resigned expression.
“Her mother and I aren’t together,” he says, like he can read my mind.
The honesty in his face and tone makes me nod that I believe him. Someone who wants to have a fling with me behind his girlfriend’s back would hardly tell me he wanted to stay away from sex. But the truth is a shock.
The Sweetest Thing You Can Sing Page 12
