Prologue #3
“Surprisingly, I do,” he said, twirling the napkin beneath his glass in a slow circle, making the amber liquid swirl and slosh.
It collided with the walls of the glass, like the angry waves of the sea crashing against rocks on the shore.
He lifted it and quickly knocked back a big gulp, and I watched what the motion did to his throat, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed and the muscles surrounding it flexed when he swallowed.
But then he spoke again, and I focused on his eyes as I lifted the napkin beneath my glass and began to fold it this way and that.
“He was… My brother was older than me. I looked up to him my whole life.”
I smiled, imagining my own brother again. I admired him too.
But then a look descended over Van’s face. A dark look. “But maybe I shouldn’t have.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He wasn’t the man I believed him to be. And now he’s gone, I dunno what to do with that.”
It was clear to me that Van didn’t want to go into detail.
I could understand that. Maybe what he needed was just someone to listen as he remembered the good things about his brother.
I could do that. And because I was someone entirely different than the person I had been expected to become, maybe I could understand.
In a general sense. I mean, it was Christmas, in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming, and we were strangers, but we were both people.
There had to be some commonality we could find between us, even if we lived entirely different lives, which was evident if someone had been looking in from the outside at us.
Van with his scuffed and worn work boots and cowboy hat, and me with my really expensive brand-new leather knee-highs.
They had been a gift from my father, but he’d tasked his secretary to find out what I wanted for Christmas.
I knew because she’d called Amy, and of course Amy told me.
My father knew nothing about me, not the kind of boots I liked, the songs I listened to, or what my dreams really were.
Just the fact that I referred to him as my “father” instead of my “dad” said it all. He hadn’t been a “dad” to me since the day Mama died.
And all I knew about Van was that he was sad and beautiful, and that the sound of his voice soothed the part of me I’d been trying to run from for months.
The burning ache in my stomach. The part of me that wanted something my family couldn’t understand.
The part that was lonely and afraid. The part that was unsure.
I’d never felt so scared about a decision before. But then again, I’d never made a more important decision like the one I’d just informed my family I had made and would not change, no matter how angry they were at me. Or how disappointed.
Because I knew myself. I knew what would make me happy. What would fulfill me. It had taken me a very long time to come to the realization, but now that I had, my future was clear to me, even if the how-to hadn’t hit me yet.
I refocused on Van. “Then tell me the good things you remember, and maybe the bad things will make more sense.”
He remembered then, and he spoke to me like we were old friends, about throwing baseballs in empty fields, chasing moose through the dense forest, and hand-built river rafts that never actually floated.
That niggling feeling I’d had when I’d first heard Van’s voice was still there, stronger than before, but I was quite lost in his stories.
His brother had been larger than life and always up for an adventure.
Unfortunately, Van’s brother’s last adventure had been the misfortune that had gotten him killed.
We barely touched our drinks. I was too absorbed in Van’s stories to remember my glass was still full.
He didn’t seem to want to say his brother’s name, but he told me about how his brother had been a straight-A student and a mama’s and a daddy’s boy.
So it had been a shock to everyone who knew him when they found out he had lied and stolen and manipulated himself into a situation he couldn’t find his way out of.
And now, Van said his only brother was dead because of it.
But that was all he said. He didn’t go into details.
Normally, my brain would take off on a quest to figure out the secrets he wasn’t willing to spill, but tonight, I let them go. He needed that. Somehow I knew that for sure.
“Thanks for not askin’ me for details. I’m not sure I can say any of that out loud yet.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. I understand.”
He took a slow pull from his whiskey glass, looking at my face, his gaze carefully caressing my skin. It felt intimate and kind of like he was trying to make sense of something. Finally, he asked, “What about you? You said this is the worst day ever. What happened?”
Twisting my lips to the side, I studied him too.
The vulnerability in his expression and the sad and defeated way he held his body made me want to tell him everything.
But as he removed his hat and ran his fingers through his wavy, dark hair, I had to admit to myself that even though I’d promised my family I was confident about my decision, I wasn’t.
Like at all. Not on the inside. Inside I was terrified, and I truly had no idea about where to start to live this life I proclaimed to have been born to live.
I confirmed, “No details?”
Van nodded and set his stained and well-worn hat on the table between us.
“So, saying that today is ‘the worst day ever’ is a tad melodramatic. I get that,” I said, inwardly rolling my eyes at myself.
“But it’s been a really cruddy day because I told my family today that I wouldn’t be taking the job they all want me to take.
My father is such a hypocrite. Working for my— Sorry.
Details.” I’d almost given myself away. Squeezing my napkin between my fingers, I twisted and pulled until I realized the origami swan I thought I’d been crafting during our conversation looked more like papier-maché mashed potatoes.
I dropped it on the tabletop. “I’ll just say that the family business is beneath my father, but he wants me to work it until I can get a job working with him in California.
But the problem is that I don’t want to be in the family business.
I thought I did. We’ve planned my whole life for me to follow in my father’s footsteps. But I can’t do it. Is that so bad?”
Van shook his head.
In the grand scheme of the world, how was me wanting to change the course of my future such a big deal? It wasn’t. My father was just an asshole.
“I mean, isn’t it a good thing that I realized this now instead of twenty years down the line, when I’d have a prac— Anyway, it would just be impossible then, to do what I really want to do. It would be too late.”
“Whatcha wanna do?”
“I want to sing,” I said.
To say it so brashly— I felt confident for a second, like I really could give up my whole life and do this thing I felt inside me, battering and burning the edges of my soul like wildfire.
The look in Van’s eyes was similar to the look in my father’s and brother’s eyes when I’d told them the same thing.
Nobody believed me. Nobody thought I could make a career out of this dream of mine.
Grandma and Grandpa Whitley had been silent throughout the family argument my father, brother, and I had staged in their dining room.
I would deal with Grandpa later. He’d call me at some point, and we’d hash out the pros and cons.
It wouldn’t make a difference. My mind was made up, but that was what we had always done with big life decisions.
And then Grandma would get the details from Grandpa, and then she’d call me, too, and she’d probably suggest we go shopping.
If I was changing my career path, I’d need a new wardrobe and probably my nails done.
That had always been her way. Everything could be solved by a new outfit or hairstyle, and every woman needed to pamper themselves now and again with a manicure or a spa day.
Those things couldn’t fix the mess I currently found myself in with my family, but connecting with my grandma the way I always had in the past would be comforting, and I could really use some of that comfort right about now.
My dream was unrealistic. I knew that. I’d probably sounded like some delulu American Idol contestant when I announced over honey-glazed ham and sweet potatoes that I had dropped out of med school and would be leaving UCLA to pursue music.
The timing had clearly been a mistake. I felt really bad that I’d blurted it during Christmas Eve dinner, the one time of year we all got to be together.
It didn’t happen often with my father’s and brother’s schedules, not since Mama died and they’d both drowned themselves in school and work.
But you know what? It was my dream to realize or fail at.
They could both fuck right off.
“You any good?” Van asked, dragging me from my memories and watching me as I straightened my shoulders and sat taller.
I didn’t look away from him, not once as I said, “Yeah. I’ve been singing my whole life.
My mama and me…” My shoulders dropped. God, how I missed her.
“Before she died, we used to sing together. In church, around the house. I was a kid then, but she knew how much I loved music, and she believed in me.”
“And now she’s gone, you got no one in your corner?”
I nodded. That about summed it up.
Reaching over the table, Van grabbed my hand this time, and the roughened calluses on his palm somehow felt soft against my skin. “Count me in your corner then,” he said, and his mouth softened. His lips looked so full and inviting. I couldn’t look away from them. “Will you sing for me?”
Wh-what? My eyes jumped back up to his. I hadn’t been expecting that. “Um, no, absolutely not.”
Teasing danced in his kaleidoscope eyes. “Why not?”