Sixteen
It had been a full week since I’d seen or heard from Gabe. Each day that went by without word or sight of him, I found myself on the verge of screaming. Last week I couldn’t seem to shake him; he seemed to turn up around every corner. But something happened on the street last Thursday, and whatever it was, it kept him from making any more of his unannounced trips to Sugar Creek. The school’s RI team had hosted three events already this week, and he hadn’t bothered showing up for a single one.
He’d basically disappeared, and I didn’t care what his excuse was, I still felt like he owed me something. I knew he’d been upset the last time I saw him, and I understood better than anyone that he needed space. But how could he flip like that without any kind of explanation? He’d driven all the way down here to see me one evening, and we spent the entirety of the following day together. Things were going so great, and then he just turns around and blows me off for no apparent reason? It didn’t make sense. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t!
The more I let myself think about it, the more I got into my own head. I overanalyzed every word, every, tiny thing he’d ever said to me. I played every scenario over and over in my mind, and I kept digging for answers. What happened? I thought we were headed in a good direction. The longer I thought, the harder I was on myself, the more I began to actually believe that maybe I hadn’t interpreted his last words in the way he’d meant.
Now’s not the time for either of us, Mandy. You need to go. Please.
Had that been Gabe’s way of saying that, in spite of the fact that he didn’t want us to miss out on time together, he really believed that we weren’t in the right time or place to actually be together? All that time, walking away from that conversation, I’d been thinking of it in a completely different way. I thought his sudden need to push me away was only a ploy to get me to go back to my sister at the soup kitchen. But when I didn’t hear from him, each day it became clearer to me that was not what he’d meant. He hadn’t just meant for that night, he’d meant for good.
“All right, girls, change of plans,” Dad said, sticking his head through my bedroom door.
“It’s just me,” I said, looking up from my English essay. “Bailey’s down at the soup kitchen covering my spot. She finished her homework already. I have to finish this paper by tomorrow, so she let me hang back.”
“Bailey’s out volunteering?” he asked, his eyes widening.
“Crazy, huh? She doesn’t seem to hate it,” I said, just as impressed as my father. “She’s made some new friends, and she seems quite—wait a minute,” I said, finally meeting his cold, gray stare. “What did you mean by that?”
“Hmm?”
“When you came in here just now,” I said, pushing my books aside and giving him my full attention. “You said, all right girls, change of plans. What did you mean? Change of plans for what?”
Dad took in a long breath. He looked up to the ceiling for a minute as if to say a prayer, and for my father, that was a huge deal. He’d never been the most religious or spiritual type, but if he was about say what I thought he was about to say, the only person who could save him from my wrath was God himself.
“If I don’t accept the offer by Sunday,” he said, “the deal is off the table.”
“What?”
“The writers want to get the ball rolling on Deacon’s return, and they need my commitment to move forward,” he said, stepping into the room. “I have to give them a straight answer now, Mandy.”
“And then what?” I asked. “You have to give them an answer, but if you say yes, how long do we have? We still have our six weeks, right?”
He lifted his head again and rubbed the back of his neck.
“If I say yes,” he said through jagged breaths, “taping will begin two weeks from tomorrow.”
“Two weeks?” I yelled, jumping up from my bed. “You can’t be serious!”
“It’s just one of those things, Mandy,” he said. “These kinds of opportunities don’t stick around forever. When the platform’s there, you gotta jump.”
“I’m not moving to California, Dad,” I yelled. “We had a deal!”
“That was before I knew my deal in LA had an expiration date.”
“So what?” I asked. “In your tier of priorities, keeping a promise to your agent and a stupid soap is more important that keeping a promise to your own daughters?”
Of course, he didn’t have to answer the question. I already knew the answer. I’d known the answer for a long, long time.
“It’s not like that at all, Mandy,” he said, taking a step closer to me. “You’ll understand some day when you have a real dream of your own. Right now it doesn’t make sense to you, and I understand that. You think I’m trying to hurt you, but I’m not.”
“Dad, I have a ‘real’ dream,” I said. “You know that! I want to stay here in Sugar Creek. I want to win the RI scholarship and go to Desden U. I want to write books. I want to tell stories. I’m—a—writer!”
“Like your mother,” he said under his breath, and it was the first time he’d ever admitted it out loud. All along we’d known, but Dad had never said it out loud. He always came up with a million reasons to steer me away from writing, but he never blatantly told me why it bothered him, even if it had been clear from the beginning—and it’d been very clear.
He didn’t want me to be independent. He needed me—us, both Bailey and me—to need him. He needed to be needed. With Bailey, she’d always turn to him for guidance. She’d lean on him for acting advice, for financial help. She’d always cling to his support. But somehow, Dad had led himself to believe that being a writer meant that I’d magically turn into Mom. Turning into Mom meant no longer needing him, and no longer needing him might as well be the end of the world.
“So let me get this straight. It’s okay for Bailey to follow in your footsteps and be an actor, but I can’t have the same dream Mom had?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
“You can write in LA, Mandy,” he said, pretending, but only for a second, that he supported my decision. I didn’t bite. I didn’t believe for one second that he’d change his mind about my career options whether we were in Sugar Creek or California. He was just going to say whatever he had to say to get me there. He’d fight one battle at a time. “There are more opportunities out there for you.”
“I don’t want to write screenplays and sitcoms, Dad. I want to write novels, and I want to do it here!”
“Well, that’s just too damn bad, Amanda,” he said. “I’m calling Ripken tonight, and I’m taking the job. We’re leaving next week, so you can start packing your bags. We’re not discussing this any longer.”
“Dad, no,” I begged, but he threw his hands in the air.
“End of conversation.”
Breaking Rules Page 20
