Chapter 40
A few days later, Nicky comes home from UConn for winter break.
Mara is coming to stay with us for a few days before continuing on to New Haven, and I’m practically pacing by the front door
watching Nicky’s dot get closer and closer to Glenridge, waiting for them to get here.
When I finally hear the crunch of tires on our icy driveway, I throw open the front door and run out in my socks. Thisbe waits
in the doorway, a stuffed candy cane in her mouth, crying with excitement.
“Quite the welcoming committee,” Mara says as Nicky gets their bags from the trunk. She makes her way up the front steps and
gives me a kiss on the cheek before turning her attention to Thisbe.
Nicky slams the trunk. He’s got their duffels in one hand and a bottle of sparkling apple cider in the other, the kind we
used to drink as kids on New Year’s Eve to feel fancy. “Are you done with your homework?”
“Yes. I’m not saying it’s good, but it’s done.”
“Good.” He wiggles the bottle. “Because we’re celebrating. I wanted champagne, but we got carded. Fuck, it’s cold. Is Mom home yet?”
“No, she’s working tonight. Celebrating what?”
We’re inside now. Mara and Nicky are shedding shoes and layers, and Thisbe keeps ping-ponging between the two of them in a
frenzy. Nicky nods at Mara. “Tell her.”
“You got into Tisch, so there’s that,” Mara says.
“That’s not why I was trying to buy champagne,” Nicky says. “No offense, Gus.”
“So then what?” I say. “Tell me!”
“Have you heard of Blacksmoke?” Mara asks.
“The band?”
She nods.
They’re pretty under the radar, but one of their songs recently went viral online. “Yeah. They’re great. Why?”
“They’re playing a few shows in the city over the next week or two, and one of their openers had to cancel. So . . .” She
motions at herself.
“No,” I gasp. “You’re going to open for Blacksmoke? Seriously?”
She grins. “Only for one night. But yes.”
“Holy shit, Mara! Congratulations. How did this happen?”
“Luke, actually,” she says, to my surprise. “After you guys visited UConn, he connected me with their lead guitarist.” She
pauses. “That’s not weird for you, is it?”
“No. Not at all.” I would never begrudge her this.
We’ve made our way into the kitchen, and Nicky’s working on twisting off the cork. “That’s what I told her you’d say.”
The cork pops off. “I’m just surprised Luke knows who Blacksmoke is.”
To be fair, I only know about them because Eddie listens to them, but still. It hurts my heart in a funny way, because they’re
the kind of cool, funky band that I would be otherwise positive Luke knows nothing about, so there’s some irony to the connection.
Nicky pours the sparkling apple cider into three coffee mugs—I guess he couldn’t be bothered to go get the champagne flutes
from the cabinet—and hands one to Mara and one to me. Nicky holds his mug in the air. “First, to Gus, for getting into Tisch.
I guess you aren’t as dumb as you look.”
“Gee, thanks.” I air cheers him back.
He turns to Mara. “And to Mara. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
I sip my cider as they kiss, and their energy is so intense that I immediately feel like a third wheel. I put my mug down,
make an excuse for why I need to go, and head to my bedroom so they can have some time to hang out alone before Mom gets home.
My own winter break begins on the eighteenth, and I try to throw myself into the holiday cheer of it all.
I stay up late making hot cocoa from scratch.
I watch a YouTube instructional video series trying to teach myself to knit but give up on it pretty quickly.
I wrap presents for Mom and Evie and Nicky and Johnny using hand-stamped wrapping paper that I make myself.
I even go for some wintry runs with Nicky in the preserve but stop once I remember how annoying Nicky is to work out with.
So when Natalie texts the evening of the twenty-first, saying she knows it’s last-minute, but do I have any interest in joining them in going to New York City tomorrow to see The Nutcracker and stay the night at the Plaza, I jump at the offer.
It works out perfectly, because Mara’s concert with Blacksmoke is in
two days, on the twenty-third.
YES, I text Natalie. Then I call Evie immediately.
“Do you think your parents will let you stay the night in the city?” I ask Evie. “For the concert?”
“For the performing arts? Where I know the musician? Obviously yes,” she says. “Do you want me to ask Kat if we can stay with
her in Brooklyn?”
“My mom offered to get us a hotel room as an early Christmas present,” I say. My phone buzzes with a text, but I don’t check
who it’s from.
“Even better,” Evie says. “No offense to Kat. I just hate sleeping on her air mattress. It never fills up all the way.”
Over the next half an hour, we finish making our plans, including what items of clothing we’ll each pack, and what hotel looks best for under three hundred dollars a night, which is Mom’s limit.
After we hang up, my home screen shows that I have a text notification.
I click into my messages—and it’s from Luke.
My heart starts pounding. I’m trying to figure out how this came through when I remember—I unblocked him.
There’s one text, and below that, a link.
LUKE:
Not sure if this’ll come through. But just in case it does, I wanted you to know.
I click the link, which sends me to Entertainment Weekly. The headline says:
Lucas Cordova Talks Filming “Our Sweet Boy,” Taking an “Indefinite Hiatus” from Acting (Exclusive)
My eyes scan the headline over and over again before I read the rest of the article.
For Lucas Cordova, a new adventure is calling.
The actor confirmed to EW that he is taking a step back from Hollywood—for now. While he mentioned to EW’s Drake Williams that he “wasn’t certain” how long this break might be, Cordova noted he’s set to fulfill commitments on
two upcoming films before he takes an “indefinite hiatus.”
“I’ve been acting since I was nine years old,” Cordova added. “I’ve never taken the time to see what else there might be for me out there. Someone important to me gave me the good advice that I could at least try.”
The announcement comes on the heels of wrapping filming for his newest project, Our Sweet Boy, as well as news that Cordova has split not only from girlfriend Ana?s Labrie but also from his longtime manager, Cal Jacobs,
of LBI Entertainment.
I scan the rest of the article before I sit down hard on my bed. Wow. He actually did it. I reread it once, then twice. I
don’t know what his goal is in sharing this with me. I also know I don’t have to respond, but I want to say something. It doesn’t have to mean anything, but this was a big step for him, and I don’t know if many people in his life recognize
how big.
ME:
If this is what you really want, I’m so happy for you
Luke texts back immediately.
LUKE:
Is it okay if I call you?
I am at war with myself. On one hand, yes, of course I want to talk to him. It’s Luke. But on the other hand, I already made
the decision to move on. It was a real decision, too, not a half-hearted one filled with what-ifs and maybes. After sitting with it for a minute, I settle on:
ME:
Sure, but I don’t have long to talk
Luke calls, and I pick up on the third ring.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey.” He pauses before he says, “Sorry—are you sure this is okay? That I’m calling you?”
I pause, too. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
“Listen, I’m sorry for sending you a link to an article about me. I feel stupid about that,” Luke begins. “But I didn’t know
how to tell you what happened without texting you a whole long brick of words. And I didn’t send this to you to get you back,”
he adds. “I just wanted you to know. I wanted you to know how much I thought about what you said. And thanks to you, I’ve
done some serious soul-searching over the past month and a half.”
“I’m happy for you,” I say again. “How are you feeling about it?”
“Terrified,” he says. “But so exhilarated. I feel like I can do anything now.”
“So what will you do?”
“Don’t laugh,” he starts.
“I would never.”
“But I started studying for the ACTs.”
“Oh, Luke,” I say. “That’s amazing.”
“My practice scores aren’t,” he jokes.
“Don’t,” I tell him. “You’ll get there.”
We talk a little bit more. We talk about his parents and how they reacted to the news, how the rest of filming went; I tell
him about getting into Tisch, Mara’s upcoming gig with Blacksmoke, thanks to him. I tell him that not only have I stopped
answering my dad’s calls, but I’ve blocked his number.
“You’re blocking with abandon,” he says. “Good for you.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” he says. “I deserved it.”
Both of us hesitate, and the silence is charged. The big thing is right there. But I’m not sure I have the stomach to get into it. Things are good for me right now. Even trending toward true stability.
And while I’m proud of him, it still hurts that he didn’t fight for me. Even now, he’s not really fighting for me.
“Cee,” Luke begins.
Before he can say anything else, I say, “Listen, I should go. It’s getting late here, and I have to get up early tomorrow.”
There’s a pause on his end. Then he says, “Of course. I’m so glad I caught you. Thank you.”
“Thank you for what?” I ask.
“For everything.”
My heart aches. In the same way I always thought it’s depressing to marry someone because you’re lonely, I also used to think that love conquers all.
That no matter the obstacles or the hurt or the practicality, if you love someone, you can find a way to make it work.
But that isn’t true, is it? I guess I really am growing up.
“Take care, Luke,” I tell him.
“You too.”