When It's Real

by Erin Watt

  “It’s seventy.”

  “It gets chilly at night,” she protests.

  “You look great,” I tell her and then grab Oak’s hand again, this time to pinch the tender skin between his fingers. He shuts up and I almost regret that more.

  Fortunately, Paisley calls for us to come over because dinner is done. The kitchen table has been carried out the patio doors so we have enough seating for everyone. My sister refuses to eat until everyone is seated, even the bodyguards and the assistant.

  Katrina sits between the twins, who take turns staring at her in confused adoration and shoveling steak into their mouths.

  “Be nice,” I mutter under my breath to Oak, who’s decided he needs to sit so close to me that we’re practically on top of each other. I’m not going to examine why I don’t move away even though there’s enough space for another family between me and Paisley.

  “My mom makes me crazy.”

  “You’ll miss her when she’s gone.”

  Oak’s face grows somber. His hand skates up my back to rub lightly along my neck. “I know you’re right. I’ll try harder for you.”

  “Do it for yourself.”

  I have to give Oak credit. He tries. During dinner, he asks how her renovation is going and the two laugh about the number of times she’s redone her Malibu home, although there’s an underlying thread of sadness there, as if they both know she’s trying to rebuild something in her life but never achieves any satisfaction in it.

  “Maybe I should put a slide in it? I saw the other day where someone had put in a slide for their kids.”

  “We like slides,” Spencer says.

  Both Paisley’s and my mouth drop open, because our twelve-year-old brothers would rather be dropped in acid than be caught on a playset.

  “You do not,” Paisley accuses.

  “Do, too.” Spencer glares. Shane nods in fierce agreement.

  “Since when do you like slides? I asked if you wanted to go the park last weekend and you said it was for babies.”

  “We do like them,” Spencer insists. “We just didn’t want to go to that shi—stupid one over on Fifth Street. It smells like a Dumpster.”

  “That’s the nicest park in El Segundo,” she protests.

  “Then El Segundo smells like a Dumpster.”

  “Oh, well, I don’t need to put a slide in,” Katrina interjects. Her head bobs back and forth between Paisley and the twins.

  “No. Slides are awesome. Paise doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  Shane chimes in. “She’s getting old. She might need a hearing aid soon.”

  “Shane Bennett, what are you talking about? I’m not even twenty-three!” Paisley cries. She looks to me for help, but I’m too busy giggling into my napkin.

  Oak buries his face in my neck, trying to muffle his gales of laughter. “I love your family,” he says between gasps.

  Me, too. Me, too.

  After dinner, we all clear the table with Oak muttering something under his breath about how he hasn’t seen his mother lift a plate outside a movie since he was five. But Katrina helps as much as anyone else. Maybe one of her roles has helped her interact, but she comes off as sincere and sweet.

  In the garage, Big D finds the ladder game, which he drags out into the backyard.

  “What’s your point system?” Big D asks Paisley as he swings the tethered golf ball in his hand.

  She shrugs. “One point for the bottom pipe, two for the middle and three for the top.”

  Ty frowns. “No. You count how many bolas are left on the steps. Each one is a point.”

  “What’s a bola?” Katrina asks nervously beside me. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “The bola is the string with the two golf balls on either end,” I explain. “The goal is to get as many of the strings as possible to wrap around the three posts.”

  “If we were at your house, you could set the rules, but you’re at mine so we’re keeping score the Bennett way.” Paisley juts out her chin.

  “I recognize that look,” Oak says on the opposite side of me. “It’s the look that says we’re doing it this way and no other.” He cups his hands around his mouth. “Give in now, Ty. I can tell you from experience that there’s no point in arguing.”

  I turn and punch Oak in the shoulder.

  “Ow!” he fake cries. “Don’t damage the goods.”

  “Your dad make this?” Big D asks, interrupting before I can punch Oak again.

  “Yeah. It’s just PVC pipe.” The simple structure is about five feet high and consists of three rows of pipe on a stand. The goal is to get your two golf balls glued to the ends of a piece of rope, or bolas, wrapped around the pipes.

  “And a lot of glue!” Spence adds. The twins exchange high fives.

  I grin happily, glad that the memory of them putting the game together is a good one instead of a sad one.

  “They were silly on a glue high for a day,” I explain to Oak and his mom.

  Ty and Paisley are still arguing about the rules when Big D separates us into teams. We decide it’s going to be the Bennetts against the Fords. Ty plays with us while Big D and Katrina’s bodyguards stand over on the Ford side.

  Amanda offers to keep score, the Bennett way.

  Halfway into the game, the Bennetts are kicking ass. Ty mutters it’s because we’re cheating.

  “You’re on our team, Ty,” Paisley points out.

  “It’s no fun winning when you’re cheating,” he grumbles.

  “Throw the damn—darn bola,” Oak yells. “You’re holding the game up. You should get penalized for that.”

  “See, you’re going to make us lose,” Paisley says, then pulls the bola from Ty’s hand and whips it across the lawn with perfect aim.

  The bola knocks off one of Oak’s balls, which means we win again. The twins run around, high-fiving everyone while Paisley and I slap hands. We grew up playing this with our parents. There’s no way the Fords are going to beat us, no matter which way the game is scored.

  “Come on, Mom, you got this,” Oak encourages when Kat steps up and swings her bola.

  Oak’s behind her, so he doesn’t see her face tighten with emotion and her eyes flutter closed. She shuts her eyes as if to make a perfect mental imprint of this moment. When her son called her Mom, when he cheered for her, when they were in perfect harmony.

  “Go, Katrina,” I yell.

  “She’s on the other team.” Paisley scowls at me. “Between you and Ty, it’s like you want us to lose.”

  I merely grin. I’m too happy to care about the outcome of this game because, as corny as it sounds, the day is a win.

  After we defeat Team Ford three times in a row, the twins drag Katrina’s bodyguards inside to show off their gaming rig. Paisley and Ty bicker as they stow away the game. Big D trails behind them. Amanda has disappeared, leaving Oak, his mom and me out on the lawn.

  Katrina and I settle into a couple of deck chairs, but Oak decides he’d rather sit on the ground, leaning against my leg.

  “How’s everything going?” Katrina asks. The friendliness of the game has burned off a little, showing that the underlying tension between mother and son isn’t going to be erased with one game of ladder golf.

  “Good,” Oak replies. He leans his head against the side of my leg, his soft hair rubbing against my bare leg. I reach down and smooth some of the hair out of his eyes. “You?”

  She shrugs. “You know how it is. I’m old now so I’m only getting scraps, but there are a few things that interest me.”

  “That sucks,” I say.

  “What projects?” Oak wants to know.

  “A couple small side roles in a few upcoming films. I just signed on for Weisenberg’s latest thriller. The others are mos
tly dramas and I’d be playing someone much older than myself.” She glances at her hands, almost in embarrassment. “I’m vain, dear. You know that.”

  “They’d be lucky to have you,” Oak replies gruffly. The two speak to the ground, afraid to look at each other.

  “Thank you. But enough about me. What are you working on?”

  Silently, Oak makes circles with his finger on the stone pavers. When Katrina looks disappointed by his lack of response, I blurt out, “He’s working on new music.”

  His mother’s eyes widen. “You are? That’s fantastic.”

  He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m trying out a new sound. Don’t know if it’s going to go anywhere. It will probably suck.”

  “It does not suck. It’s awesome. I had shivers,” I proclaim.

  He twists around to peer up at me. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “You don’t need to get a bigger head. Your ego is threatening to take over the entire southern coast.” I squeeze his shoulder to let him know I’m joking before turning back to Katrina. “It’s wonderful. More of Oakley and less of everything else.”

  “That does sound wonderful. I can’t believe Oak is letting you hear it as he creates it. He never does that. What does Jim think?” Katrina asks.

  “I haven’t shared any of it with Jim,” Oak admits, rubbing his cheek against my hand.

  Katrina’s eyes, so like Oak’s, miss nothing. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s marvelous.”

  “I know you and Dad never wanted me to sign that contract,” he mutters.

  “Oh, Oak. Your father was just concerned that you’d be taken advantage of and you were so young. There are so many people who wanted to exploit you.”

  “We both know that’s not why Dad was against it.” There’s bitterness in his tone.

  She bites her lip. “We just wanted what was best for you.”

  “Really? Because both of you basically stopped talking to me after I signed it.” This time he does raise accusing eyes to Katrina.

  “You filed those emancipation papers!” she cried. “What were we supposed to think? You didn’t want us as parents anymore.”

  “No, I wanted to make my own decisions about my music and my career.”

  At first, Katrina opens her mouth to protest, but then she wilts, her desire to reconnect with her son overcoming any feelings of self-righteousness. “Then we didn’t do right by you. I don’t think either of us quite realized what happened until our little boy had become Oakley Ford—a man in his own right at the tender age of sixteen. We didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry for that. We love you and I miss you, Oak. I want to spend more time with you. Can we do that? Maybe a little?”

  Her plea is so heartfelt that my throat thickens. I’d give anything to have another day with my parents. Oak tilts his head to look at me and I know he sees my envy and grief because he reaches out to clasp my hand in comfort. It’s not Katrina he gives his answer to. “Okay, because I know it’s important to you.”

  32

  HER

  Wanna come to a party? Justin’s parents are gone.

  I show the phone screen to Oakley. He’s leaning against the counter, eating a piece of chocolate cake, which was what was in the big white box that Katrina brought. She left about thirty minutes ago, and Oak has been hanging around ever since. He doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave.

  “Yeah, can we?”

  “I don’t know. Do you need to check with Ty or Big D?” This earns me a frown, but I don’t back down. “What if they go all nuts on you?”

  “These are the people who came to Maverick’s show with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They seemed cool.”

  He clearly wants to go, so I text Kiki back.

  I’m w/ Oak. How bad do u think everyone will freak?

  OMG. Seriously? I’m freaking right now. Does he have any friends w him?

  Yeah, dummy, me.

  Ha ha.

  If we come, everyone has to act normal. No asking him to sing. No trying to get in his pants. Do not make a big deal out of this.

  Treat him like a normal guy from TJ?

  Exactly.

  He’s Oakley Ford, V. U R asking the impossible!

  Then we’re not coming.

  “I still want to go,” Oak says, peering over my shoulder.

  “Does the word private mean anything to you?”

  He rinses his plate off in the sink. “Yeah, it means that the stuff you and I do isn’t anyone else’s business.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.” He kisses me on my temple. “But that’s my definition. Let’s go.”

  “She hasn’t agreed to my terms,” I balk.

  “We’re going to a party, not negotiating a hostage release.”

  “Fine.” I call out to my sister, who’s at the dining table across the room. “Paisley, we’re going to Justin’s tonight. His parents are gone and he’s having a party.”

  Ty starts to get up, but Oak waves him off. “No, not tonight, Ty. We’re just going to a friend’s house.”

  Ty looks worried. “I dunno, man. I don’t think Jim would like it.”

  “It’s fine. Vaughn’s friends are good people. They’ll drink but no one will drive and it won’t be superbig. Maybe twenty kids, tops,” Paisley reassures him. Weirdly, Paisley’s completely cool about Oak and me dating for real.

  Ty settles back in his chair. He doesn’t want to leave Paisley. Oak and I exchange another smirk before I find my keys to the car.

  “No singing?” he asks as he climbs into the passenger seat.

  “Justin’s friend Matt likes to pretend he’s a musician. Kiki and Carrie are going to have to sit on him so he doesn’t attack you with his uploaded YouTube videos.”

  “Hey, plenty of stars got discovered that way. Don’t knock the internet hit-making machine.” Oak moves the seat all the way to the back before buckling in. It reminds me a little of Dad and his long legs.

  “I’m not. I’m knocking Matt. He doesn’t do it because he loves music but because he thinks it makes girls want to drop their panties.” Something that probably does happen far too often for Oak.

  “What if I want to sing?”

  I roll my eyes. “Knock yourself out, champ.”

  He smirks and falls silent, tapping his fingers against his knees. Justin doesn’t live far away, only about a mile. When we arrive, there are a few people outside the house. Oak flips his hood up and tugs his baseball cap low, but no one even glances twice at us.

  Before I can get my hand up to knock, the door flies open.

  “Oh, God, it’s you. You’re in my boyfriend’s house!” Kiki exclaims. Then she slaps a hand over her mouth. “I’m trying to be cool. As cool as I can be. Can I touch your cross tat?”

  “No,” I say rudely and push by her. “No touching. No saying ‘oh, God.’ No staring.”

  “I can’t stop staring. He’s so gorgeous.” She trails behind us as I drag Oak inside.

  “Oak, you remember Carrie, Justin and Kiki. This is Colin, Matt, Tracy.” I reel off a bunch of names.

  Oak takes the initiative and shakes everyone’s hands or slaps their palms. It takes a moment for everyone to settle down, but someone, probably Carrie, cranks up the music and shoves a beer into Oakley’s hand.

  “Red Solo cup,” Oak murmurs with delight.

  “This is as normal as it gets,” I tell him as I accept the bottle of water Carrie hands me. I’m not drinking tonight, not after what happened at Oakley’s house.

  We rest our butts against the side of the dining room table, just off the kitchen. He takes a cautious sip and then another. After drinking half the cup, he leans over. “This is ter
rible.”

  I take the cup from him and indulge in a tiny sip of the keg beer. “Oh, man. It really is.”

  “I love it.”

  “So Oak, you a Rams fan now?” Justin asks.

  “Christ, I guess so? I haven’t been to a game yet. You?”

  “I went to a preseason game with my dad and brother but we haven’t pulled the trigger on the game tickets. Damn expensive.”

  Oak nods as if he understands. His hand slips around my waist. “My dad was a huge LA Rams fan but they moved before I was born. Dad was so pissed they left that he refused to cheer for them again.”

  “Same with my dad,” Matt interjects. “When they got the okay to move back, I thought he’d be happy. Instead he told me that he’d cheer for the Rams when hell froze over.”

  A few more people drift over to join the football talk. Since sports bore me more than anything, I drift away to find Kiki and Carrie out on the deck.

  “Straight up, is it weird dating Oakley Ford?” Carrie offers me her cigarette.

  I shake my head in refusal and boost myself onto the top of the deck railing.

  “At first, it was weird, but now, he’s just...Oak.”

  “Oak, huh?” Kiki wiggles her eyebrows. “Aren’t you worried about when he goes on tour and there’re all these girls throwing themselves at him?”

  I hadn’t given it a lot of thought, but something in my bones tells me that I don’t need to worry. “Oak’s not the type to cheat. He’d tell me if he fell for another girl.”

  This is a guy who doesn’t like being touched, and in all the time I’ve been with him, there’s never been another girl on his radar.

  “Really? I don’t think I could deal with that.” Carrie taps the cigarette over the side of the deck. “I’d be too stressed out and superjealous all the time.”

  “Vaughn’s always been chill,” Kiki says.

  “It’s not me.” I laugh. “It’s Oak. He’s not that kind of guy.” Unlike with W, I’ve never found a group of strange girls hanging out at Oak’s house or the studio. And he has access to hundreds of them if he wanted to. Plus, he doesn’t even make offhand comments about how different celebs are hot or how he’d like to tap that—W used to do that all the time.