31. Leo
Throughout dinner, though she managed to be perfectly polite, Mari carried a tightness around her eyes that told me if she didn’t vent soon, she would burst at the seams. The stilted conversations with forced smiles were not made easier by Cath’s short, evasive responses to everybody’s questions. The student carried a heaviness like a secret burden. Having just spoken to Vander, I understood why.
The Burnouts had asked Cath to tour with them over the summer. Vander tried to wait until after her audition, but they needed her decision as soon as possible.
Instead of going the collegiate route, Cath would tour the country with one of her favorite bands, living out her wildest dreams—or rather, somebody’s wildest dreams. She was impossible to read, and talking to nobody.
With that amount of talent, the expectations were high. That put a lot of pressure on her young shoulders. How could she make such a choice? How was Mari going to react to the news? College had always been the plan, but there was no doubt this was an incredible opportunity. Mari needed to know as soon as the time was right. And this wasn’t it.
With every passing minute, Cath retreated more into herself. I wished I could pull her aside and talk to her, but she hadn’t mentioned the offer, and I wasn’t sure if she had spoken to her parents yet. Her parents, for their part, tried to encourage and reassure her about the audition at dinner, but it only caused her shoulders to move higher as she sank farther into her sweatshirt.
The whole meal couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours, but time had crawled with painful awkwardness. By the time we left that night, I felt exhausted from trying to carry the conversation. I wasn’t a big talker, but everybody else was so introspective that I didn’t want Cath’s parents to think we weren’t grateful or give potentially unnecessary implications that something might be wrong. I felt put in the middle of everything, and it wasn’t a place I was comfortable sitting.
We agreed to head back to my house for the night. As soon as I parked, I went to Mari’s car to lift her out of her driver’s seat to hug her.
She squeezed me back, and I inhaled her. I didn’t want to have a hard conversation, but I knew that she would want the truth more than keeping the peace.
When she pulled back, she smiled up at me. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” I brushed my thumb along her cheek. We’d been sitting next to each other all night, but it felt like this was the first time I’d seen her all day. I wished she’d just move in with us. I planned to ask her after the audition. I’d been patiently waiting for her to catch the hints, but again, best to be direct with her. Things might seem fast, but to me, every moment we weren’t together was a moment wasted.
“Better?” I asked.
“Getting there.” She looped her arms around me and squeezed until I made a groan from the pressure. “My thoughts are spinning out. I’m jumping to conclusions.”
“Tell me about your day.” I used my thumb to tilt up her chin and meet her gaze.
She shook her head lightly. “No. I just want to put it behind me. Focus on Cath and tomorrow. But I can’t do any of that until you tell me what Vander said.”
I frowned down at her. I had hoped to gently ease her into the news, not jump straight in. Mari would always put Cath’s happiness first, but this offer could come as a shock after months of preparation, and we didn’t even know which direction Cath would go.
“I can see your wheels turning. Every second you don’t tell me, the worse my thoughts,” she said.
“No. No.” I gripped her shoulders. “It’s good news. Nothing to worry about.”
Her gaze moved over my face; if I wasn’t mistaken, her eyes were gleaming. She took a steadying breath in and out. “I know it’s about The Burnouts tour. Just tell me.” Her voice shook slightly.
I held her gaze a moment longer, my own confusion growing. “Vander asked Cath to tour with him and the band this summer,” I said simply.
There. I put it out there.
“Oh,” she said. Her breath whooshed out, a hand to her chest. “So you’re not—wait.” She shook her head. “Cath?”
Any momentary softening of her features was quickly overtaken by pinched disbelief. “Cath is barely eighteen. She’s starting college. She can’t?—”
“Nothing is official yet,” I said carefully.
She pulled away, a hand to her temple. I stepped forward, but she retreated. “I’m processing this.”
I crossed my arms over my body, desperate to reach for her but giving her space.
“Why didn’t you tell me this right away? All night, I’ve been assuming what I thought was the worst. I didn’t even...I couldn’t even fathom.” She paced in a circle, her movement growing more agitated. “How could you not tell me?” she repeated.
“I only just found out,” I said carefully. “You have to admit, the atmosphere at dinner wasn’t conducive to that sort of news.”
“But you could have told me.”
Her implication was that we were a we, and I owed that to her. But this was where it got tricky being Cath’s mentor and Mari’s...whatever I was to her. She never clearly said. I knew that I loved her and had for some time, but did that mean I should have told her about this right away? Maybe she was right.
I pulled at my hair. “It’s complicated. I haven’t even talked to Cath. This is her decision. This is band stuff.”
She flinched back. “Right. This has nothing to do with me. I’m just her teacher.”
I stepped forward again only to receive a palm to stay me. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m sorry if I hurt you, but we don’t even know how Cath feels.”
“I knew she seemed off all day. I knew it. I tried to get her to talk.” She spoke out loud, but it didn’t feel directed at me.
I shrugged, feeling helpless. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my news to share.”
“I thought you were leaving,” she said, looking up at me suddenly.
Is that what had her so panicked? She thought I would leave her? After these last few weeks, I was here getting ready to ask her to move in with us, and she thought I was about to leave without another look back. The tension of the day was starting to get to me too. I steadied myself before I spoke. “I told you that life wasn’t for me.”
She shook her head. “But on the call to Vander. You said you’d talk to me.”
My eyes closed as I put the pieces together. “I said I’d talk to Cath. They leave tomorrow. They need her answer as soon as possible.”
When I opened them again, Mari had paled. “This can’t be happening.” Mari shook her head. “How could this happen?”
“We don’t know what she’s planning to do.”
“Join the rock band of her dreams or go to college? What would you do at her age?” She balled her fists.
“I know it is big news, but it’s exciting. You helped a student who has two incredible choices.”
Her arms went around her stomach. “I’m never gonna be allowed to teach after this. Pin Dick is gonna fire me for this somehow. I know it.”
The comment came from nowhere. She was spiraling out. Her worries shooting in every direction like fireworks. I reached for her. “He can’t do that because Cath joined a band.” This time, she let me hold her.
“You don’t understand.” Her balled fists went to her eyes. “If he can, he will. All the money I raised, how hard I worked. It’s all going to be for nothing.”
“I have to go back there. I have to talk to her.” She was already starting for her car.
I held on to her elbow. “And tell her to do what?” I asked gently. “This is between her and the band. I’m sorry.”
She stared at me like she wasn’t seeing me. “Am I already forgotten? Removed from the decision-making process?” She tossed out her arms. Hurt filled her eyes, and it felt like my chest was caving in on itself. “Everybody got what they wanted, and I’m no longer needed, right? Not pushy, Mari. Too needy, too loud. Let’s not tell her because she’ll just try to make us stay. That’s why you didn’t want to tell me, right? I’m just some ticking time bomb, so better to avoid me altogether.”
“I waited to tell you because I know Cath. You do too. After everything, she isn’t going to just skip town tomorrow. Have faith. She won’t leave without saying goodbye.”
Something about that made her go stock-still. She sucked in her lips but nodded. There was something on the tip of her tongue that she wasn’t saying.
“Let’s go in. Have some tea and just try to get some sleep before tomorrow,” I suggested.
“I’m sorry.” She stepped closer to her car. “I need to get to my place.” Her voice was robotic, distant.
I didn’t want to let her go. I wanted to get her to talk about whatever made her go so cold. But Mari was an immovable force. If she didn’t want to stay, then she wouldn’t. She needed time and space, and I could give her that. After tomorrow, it would all be okay.
Mari
My body felt numb as I sat in my car, waiting for Leo to go in. He was waiting for me to drive away first, watching me with this sad, pitiful face.
It was every hurt that I’d protected myself from unfolding in front of me. A long road of lonely nights and canceled plans.
This was just the beginning of the end. I never thought it would be different for us. I just wanted to deny the inevitable as long as possible. I should have ended things at Christmas. Let our relationship stay in that snow globe of perfection. That would have been the smart thing to do, but even thinking of Leo not tangled in every part of my life like we found our bodies tangled most mornings caused a sensation like a sharp hollowing out of my stomach.
I would always prefer the angry, quick breakup to the subtle fading away of love and of being forgotten.
I pulled out of Leo’s driveway. I didn’t make it far before Clara waved me down. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, but maybe it would help. I still didn’t get to bitch about Pin Dick, and maybe just having someone on my side to end this horrible day would help.
I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone yet, even if it was my choice.
I glanced back to make sure Leo had gone inside. His house looked as dark and cold as our final words had been.
“Hey,” I said to her after I’d gotten to the porch.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“How much did you hear?”
“Not much. But the body language spoke volumes,” she said.
Venting was exactly what I needed. I spent five straight minutes detailing the shit day, from the conversation about the bands to the revelation about Cath.
“Now Cath is going to go on tour. Pin Dick is going to cut band or worse. And Leo has no reason to be around me anymore.” I slumped into her swing.
“That’s a lot of terrible assumptions,” she said.
“Are they assumptions if based on facts? Is it catastrophic thinking when so often I’m proved right?”
“Right about what?”
“People leave. People forget me,” I said, unable to meet her eyes. Every breath caused a sharp pain in my chest.
“Man, your family sucks,” she said.
“What?” I blinked at her.
“Not our branch of the tree. Obviously. But your parents? Your brothers? They suck.”
“What does this have to do with anything?” I asked, looking for paralleled anger, not an analysis of my family dynamic.
“You don’t think this is related? Come on. You make plans. They cancel. They make no effort. It’s always you. That’s shitty, and it hurts.”
“They’re just busy. They have real families.” They were hard to coordinate with, but that didn’t mean they were bad people. Even thinking that made me feel like a bad daughter and sister.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“I-I have nothing here to offer them.”
“Mari, this isn’t about you. You are a badass. You get shit done. They just suck. Look at my family. They come in all shapes and sizes but are there for me. They love me in spite of it all. But family isn’t always blood. Sometimes the family you’re born into just plain sucks. So you find the family that doesn’t. You keep looking until you find people who fight as hard for you as you do for them.”
A tight pain clenched my throat closed. If it wasn’t about them being busy, then it just meant I wasn’t worth the effort. I wasn’t worth sticking around for, not even to my own blood. And if they wouldn’t choose me, nobody would.
“What’s wrong with me that I’m not worth the effort?” I asked, voice small and pathetic.
She squeezed my hands. “It’s not you. Some people are just broken. Too in their own way or concerned about themselves.”
“But—”
“No buts.” She poked my arm. “Some family is made in an instant of meeting. You know they are meant to be a part of your life. Some family grows naturally.”
I thought of Janice and Leo. Their relationship was beautiful, and their unconditional love never ceased to astound me. “I see your point.”
“Do you? Because if family is people showing up for you time and time again, who is that in your life?”
“Leo. Time and time again.”
“Exactly. You want to be chosen, but you never let yourself get picked. If you look at things in a different light, maybe one not so tinged by the hurts of your past, I think you’ll see that Leo has made you his family. When have you chosen him?”
“I—” I flushed with shame. “I don’t need to. I’m with him every day. I have completely opened every part of my life to him. I feel like I’m some cold, distant planet, unable to be explored.”
“You aren’t cold or distant, but sometimes you have to say things out loud. Have you flat-out told him how you feel about him? Have you told him how much your family has hurt you?”
“I don’t like to talk about it. It’s humiliating to admit that I can’t keep anybody around. I don’t want him to realize something is wrong with me.” Saying it out loud made it seem so juvenile.
“Pretty sure Leo has seen all sides of you. Remember the Fall Festival? Or when he pulled you from a biker? It’s not like you are only showing your most flattering angles.”
I snorted.
“When you first started hooking up, did you not make it clear that you didn’t want a relationship?” She was being lawyer-like, and I didn’t appreciate when the defense was against me.
I winced. “No. But. He should have felt it.”
“Maybe he did. But he might also need to hear it. Like you need to hear it. You often talk about having hard conversations, but here’s one coming at you. I love you, obviously, but sometimes you are all talk. You say that you want honesty over everything else. You just wish that people would speak their mind, but what about the fact that you don’t tell your family you wish you saw them more? What about Leo? You act like you aren’t anything serious, but things couldn’t be more serious. That man is deeply in love with you. He has turned his whole weird recluse life inside out for you. Yet you’re so sure that if you told him your feelings, he would still leave.”
Boom, mic drop.
The cold night sent a shiver through me. Not her incredibly chilling words.
“Mari, I’m not trying to be hurtful. I want you to be happy. I think you’re pushing Leo away because you like him so much. I think he’s the best thing that has ever happened to you, and you’re freaking out a little. It’s totally understandable. You fight for everyone, making you fearsome in the most kick-ass way. But it’s time you fought for yourself too.”
She was right. My feelings for Leo were unlike anything I’d ever felt. The fact that he continued to show up was terrifying because it felt too good. It’s easier not to have the fear, but not necessarily better.
“And what about Cath’s audition?” I asked after a minute of swirling thoughts.
“Give her the chance to talk to you. Regardless, I hate to say it, but Leo is right. She’s an adult. It’s her choice. You can’t control this. Trust that she will show up. Don’t push people away before they can even show up for you. You aren’t forgettable. There is nothing wrong with you. You found your people. Let them help.”
Truth washed over me in a painful wave, but in that pain was a sort of relief. What if I did trust that somebody could return the love I felt for them? What if I could be brave in this part of my life too?
I would go to the audition as planned tomorrow. I would trust in the people I loved.
And that was terrifying.