33. Garrett
33
Garrett
I t's a bit past four when we pull up the driveway to Evelyn’s place. Quinn turns off the engine then exits the car so fast she might set a new world record. Everyone is notably more on edge than when we left this morning.
“Lana and I are going to head to town,” I say before she can weasel into making more plans. “Are you guys going to be okay with bringing the wine to the festival practice tomorrow? It’s at the high school. I can send directions.”
“Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Oliver says.
“All right.” I turn to Lana. “My truck is parked at Alina’s. We’re getting coffee.”
Lana starts walking down the drive and toward Alina’s. I’m about to join her when a hand lands on my arm. I look over to find Evelyn.
“Come back after you’re done. I’ll cook dinner.” It’s not a question but from how she stiffens I know she’s braced for an answer.
“Based on the last meal you ‘cooked’, how can I say no?” I ask.
“Then don’t say no.” Something like fear glistens in her eyes and it slams into me.
I don’t want to slip away from her. I don’t want to shut her out. But I can’t promise I’ll be pleasant to be around after my talk with Lana. “Come back to me.” Her voice softens and just like that, the raging sea in my head calms.
“Okay.”
By the time I make it across the street Lana is already leaning against my truck. She’s impatiently picking at her nails like she’s been waiting for me longer than a handful of minutes.
“You got this from Doug Fletcher, right?” she asks, patting the side of the truck bed.
“Yeah,” I say as I mechanically unlock the door.
“God. I have so many memories in that truck bed. Not with Doug, he was already with Kirstie then, but his friend Marty. Let’s just say we did our best to be discreet.”
“Thanks, I really needed that image in my head.”
“Well, what did you expect?” she scoffs. “This thing is a piece of Hartsfall history.”
“What are you in the mood for in town?”
“Let’s get something pumpkin flavored that will go straight to my ass.” She slaps her side for emphasis.
I keep her in my periphery as we get coffee. She does her usual thing, complimenting a stranger’s geode necklace then pulls up a seat at their table. It’s the reason she always kept her waitressing jobs the longest. She was able to upsell the shit out of things and get great tips.
Her distractibility was also usually how she got fired. Still, the money was always the best then, and I was able to hide generous amounts away for when we needed it.
I risk a glance at my phone since she looks settled for at least a moment.
Eve
Ok?
Garrett
I’ve got it handled
Eve
Promise to tell me if you need reinforcements?
I hesitate for a moment; not about what to say, but to feel the weight of truth the word holds. I trust her to show up if I need help and it's a relief to send my reply.
Garrett
I promise.
With her pumpkin spice iced coffee and my cappuccino in hand I head to the table with the young couple who are completely under her spell.
“Here he is. You have to know his music; you must have heard of Fool’s Gambit. He plays at the festival, you know. I watch the livestream every year.” Lana pats at her jacket and then starts to dig into her bag. “I have to have a pen somewhere. I bet we can get an autograph.”
“Yeah, sure. That would be great,” the man says, even though he doesn’t sound completely certain about the situation. The woman next to him is wide-eyed and eagerly nodding.
I usually avoid being recognized in Hartsfall. Mostly, the couples that visit are so involved with each other they rarely pay any mind to anyone else around them.
Lana finally manages to pull out an empty envelope and a pen. “Here, sign this. Oh, do you want a picture?”
Going along with the situation, I sign the paper. Its edge is coffee stained and I have no doubt it will end up in the trash or run through the wash after it’s forgotten in a back pocket. “Let’s get going, Lana. We’re interrupting.”
I don’t leave it up for discussion and she must hear it in my voice because she gets up and replaces the extra chair.
“Come on,” I mutter.
She loops an arm over my shoulders and I try to ignore the weight of it. She’s only a few inches shorter than me thanks to the platforms on her shoes, so she’s able to manage it. “Don’t be like that. Let a mother be proud.”
“You watch the festival live streams?” I ask.
“Last year I watched from Paris. The time difference was a bitch. I was in one of these hotel robes sipping on espresso and the Eiffel Tower was sparkling in the background. Almost as good as being here in person. You loved the festival so much even before you were in it. There was that fortune teller you went to every year. Remember?”
“Yeah.” I went every year with one question. The poor woman with her shitty smoke machine had to come up with new answers each time. Is it going to be an okay year? Even then, I didn’t ask if it was going to be good, okay was fine enough.
I force my mind to only grab at the relevant details. I don’t know how to feel about her being supportive. It could be for show, for attention, that’s not out of the question. It’s the first time since she showed up on Evelyn’s doorstep this morning that I’m truly tempted to entertain her. Could she actually be back because she cares?
Honestly, it’s fucking confusing. Why the hell is she here if she knows it will jeopardize the money I’ve been giving to her? Her watching live streams is nice and all, but it’s not like she’s been sending her appreciation my way. No doubt she’s been doing exactly what she just did in Love is Brewing. I make her look better. It’s what I’m used to, it’s the dynamic we’ve always had.
“A place in Paris that close to the Eiffel Tower must have been nice.” I start my investigation. That’s what it is with Lana. She gives you the bread crumbs then I’m left to pull out the red string and make sense of it all.
“Yes, it was a great anniversary. I’ve dated the guy for that long, doesn’t feel real. It was just as good as the year before. We went on this Nordic Fjord cruise and fell in love with everywhere we went so we kept hopping around to all the sights in Europe. Oh my gosh, I have to show you this picture of the tulips in Holland.” As soon as the thought hits her she rummages for her phone again.
“I don’t have to see them. I’ve already gone.”
It was a shoot for Vogue for an April issue years back, for the band. A part of me is vindicated that she doesn’t seem to know this. But also, there’s the part of me that reels at hearing about her life, a full life. The one she always wanted.
“Oh. Okay.” Her face falls, and I’m hit with regret.
“Let’s sit somewhere. If you came here to talk, then let's actually talk.” We get to a bench facing the gazebo.
“You know, I thought I’d get engaged right there. I know it’s a tourist thing, but I always liked the idea of it, everyone cheering.” She chuckles to herself then perks up. “That reminds me!”
I hand over her drink, and as she reaches for it I almost lose my grip. A ring with a massive diamond on it glints as it catches the golden late afternoon sun.
“What the hell is that?” I demand. My stomach launches to my throat.
“Oh, you know, I’ve had it in my pocket this entire time, but I was waiting for the right moment,” she says casually, like she’s not holding a massive fucking engagement ring. “I saw your friends and didn’t want it to be a huge deal in front of them.”
“Congratulations.”
“After we got all the excitement out of our systems you were on the list of people to call, but I wanted to tell you in person. You said you were busy, but I knew you weren't too busy for this.”
A list I bet she got to the bottom of before remembering me.
“Where did it actually happen?” My stomach drops as I ask exactly what I know she wants me to.
“Lake Tahoe. It was the most incredibly clear day two months ago. We had just gotten back from David’s neighbor’s place. Well, maybe not neighbor, we had to take a boat to get there. But it was a good day.”
Two months. She waited two months before deciding this was a good reason to drop in.
“So, you don’t need my money anymore. Is that what this is about? You have his?” I demand.
She has everything she’s wanted. Anger and bitterness batter my insides. She did it, and what the hell have I done? What the hell am I doing? Why does she get to be happy while I’ve been living a life defined by her mistakes?
Lana’s face crumples like paper. “Ouch. God. I deserve that, don’t I?”
“Yeah,” I bite out.
“I came because I wanted to tell you to stop sending money. But not because I have his. He does well for himself. Has a construction company in Chicago. I told him I wouldn’t accept a ring until I was able to take care of myself with my own money. I’m doing all right. I’m a secretary for this travel magazine editor. That’s how I get to go on most of my trips. It’s not crazy money, but it’s enough that if I need it I can support myself.”
“You’re doing all right with everything else?”
“Got a nice therapist. He’s got these French bulldogs I just adore. We do video calls and they always pop up in the back. I know it’s a health concern, but I love those squashed little faces. She looks to me for a reaction that I don’t give. Her eyes dip down to her drink as the smile is wiped from her face. “I know I’ve made a lot of excuses over the years. I kept telling myself I was a kid.”
“You were,” I say.
It’s a fact I’ve reminded myself so many times. She was a kid, but right now? The last fifteen years? The person next to me is a woman, who has proven that with the right motivation, when someone else came into her life, she could put in the right effort.
“Yeah, but you were too. I let it be an excuse, even when I stopped being a kid.”
“Is that why you’re here? To see how I turned out? To make yourself feel better because I got the fame and the money and I’m fine?” I snap.
“I guess that’s a bonus, seeing you fine in spite of me. But I guess I wanted you to see I’m fine too. That we’re both okay. I mean, look at us!” she says like it's something that we actually share.
“Sounds like you’ve been okay for a while,” I say.
“It took some work. I had some really bad years. I went to rehab four years ago. A nice place, thanks to what you gave me.” Her attention stays fixed straight ahead, focusing on nothing. I want to care more than I do. But when I search for our connection, there’s nothing but the distance she’s been all too comfortable creating between us. “Nasty time. I had enough of the right people that were putting up with me that I got the help in time. Real friends, good people. Indy, oh, she is one of the photographers the magazine works with and just the best type of person. So sturdy.”
“And now?”
“Sober since,” she says, beaming with pride. “I was scared it wouldn’t stick. I was going to keep going every day and at least try. I wanted you to be able to look at me and not feel like I failed us both.”
She does look good, more settled into her life. Maybe everything she’s saying is true and she’s ready to slow down. She’s engaged, after all, and I never thought I’d see the day.
“You could stay, you know. The festival is coming up. The show’s better in person than it is over live stream.” She’s trying. She’s here. In the same way I’ve felt obligated to help her, I want to repay the effort she’s made to come here.
Her fingers start to tap out a nervous rhythm on the side of her cup. “I don’t know. I mean, I have work and I have a return ticket.”
“Don’t do that,” I tell her.
“I have important things to do.”
“I’m not saying you don’t. I just want you to give me a straight answer.”
Lana finally has everything she wants, but I know I’ve never been on any list of priorities. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up even if it was for a moment. I know better. I know better than to read into one moment of effort. So what if she traveled here? So what if it felt like an opening for something real without the complication of money? So fucking what? I’ve always been the adult. Today’s no different.
“Make an effort or don’t.” I do my best to not crush my cup. The words come out clipped, but level. “This isn’t a clean slate. This is a choice. Stay or go. Tell me what you want. I’m not asking you to choose me. I'm not going to beg you to care. Choose what you want so we can both go on living. The gray area isn’t an option anymore.”
Her expression morphs, sliding between possibilities. Defeat is what eventually wins out. Her eyes fix straight ahead. She wasn’t a good parent, but the deal between us kept her in my life. I’m forcing both of us to face who we are to each other head on and I can tell she doesn’t want to.
“I can’t stay.”
“Then go. Don’t drag this out.”
And freedom turns out to be a lot like goodbye.
We sit in silence for a few heartbeats before she tells me she parked in town and should get going. The hotel she’s staying at is a town over anyway and her fiancé is waiting there for her. I wonder if she wanted us to meet. It doesn’t matter. We’ve severed the chord we’ve been using to tie ourselves together.
I continue to sit while she stands. There’s a moment where I think she wants to hug me, but I’m not sure we know how to, not on a logistical level.
She walks away, leather jacket over her shoulder. She doesn’t look back, and I’m happier for it. Looking back means regret, and finally, I don’t feel like my image comes into her mind when she thinks of the word.
There’s a possibility that if it weren’t for my promise to Evelyn, I would have found a way to throw myself into work. I would have read and reread contracts and proposals until my eyes were dry.
Instead, I go straight back to her. The moment I open the door and the three people sitting on the floor eating pizza cheer, I know I made the right decision. The moment she spots me, Evelyn leaps up and almost loses her balance in her hurry to get to me.
It’s nice to be seen and welcomed on such a basic level, yet it wasn’t ever something I thought I could attain. At least, not again after the band. I thought I got lucky that one time. But I guess I had a little luck left over.
Her arms land on my shoulders and she says, “You came back.”
“You asked me to.” I wanted to .
“Food is in the kitchen.” Evelyn pulls away from me and points toward the scraps of pizza still remaining on their plates.
“I’m going to wait a minute. I’m not hungry yet.” My body is still catching up to my head. I’ll probably be starving later, but right now my emotions bear more than a passing resemblance to a knotted ball of yarn.
Quinn’s legs are fully stretched out with a plate balanced on top of her thighs. Oliver, on the other hand, seems hyper aware of the space he’s taking up and has folded himself into a pretzel.
“I got it! You know who she reminds me of?” Quinn exclaims then trains her eyes on Oliver. “Your dad’s sixth wife.”
Evelyn's brows furrow as she asks, “The one who he got married to after a one-night stand?”
“No. I forgot about that one. The one who had the psychic on speed dial,” Quinn corrects.
“Oh, that was number seven. Number six was the one with the farm he refused to move to because he genuinely thought she was going to sell it and move to the city.” Oliver nods along.
“I liked her. Actually, I can’t remember anything except for the horse ride we went on, so I guess I liked her horses,” Quinn says a bit wistfully before looking at me. “I’d apologize for being rude, but the first thing she did was jump into my rental car without asking for permission. There are other things too, but I’m going to be nice tonight.”
“Your dad’s really been married seven times?” I ask.
Oliver shrugs. “Nine, actually, but after number four my rehearsal dinner speeches really started to plateau.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Evelyn says.
“Yeah, there are only so many ways to nicely say that someone’s marriage might be doomed, but you hope it isn’t.” Oliver’s tone remains purposefully light.
“Imagine, without them we wouldn’t have gone horseback riding,” Evelyn reminds them.
“You wouldn’t have to spend so much at Christmas for all your sisters,” Quinn counters as she picks up the remnants of her crust.
“Money spent on a good gift is never a waste,” Oliver says.
Quinn breaks off a bit of her crust and tosses it at Oliver without much force. He manages to catch it between his teeth as Quinn says, “I see you’re still reading the quotes on the inside of chocolate wrappers.”
“I’m actually starting to get a bit hungry, does anyone want more?” I ask. I need a minute. It’s nice to be around people and not collapse into myself as I deal with the cocktail of relief and grief fermenting in me.
I get water as I collect myself, staring out the small window over the sink when Evelyn pads in.
“Has Oliver’s dad actually been married that many times or was that for my benefit?” I ask.
“Yeah. He jokes about it and makes it all sound like an adventure, but it does weigh on him. I think the fact that he really does care about all his sisters makes it better. They have a group chat that is impossible to keep up with,” Evelyn explains as she starts putting all the stray pizza slices into one central box. “And it was for your benefit. I’m not going to share Quinn’s personal stuff because that’s not my place, but most of the first year of college was bonding over our dysfunctional families.”
The look of concern on my face tells me there are questions she’s stopping herself from asking and I’m thankful for her patience.
“Sounds like I’m in good company.”
“You are. Having people like them around doesn’t fix everything. My brother still wasn’t communicating with us about what he was going through. My parents still are on my ass about everything like I’m sixteen sneaking out my window.”
“You snuck out?”
“All the time. I had places to be, parties to improve. Really hard work.” She collects the empty boxes and piles them near the trash for later. “Shit was still bad, but at least I wasn’t alone in it.”
“You guys don’t have to get up in arms for my sake. I know she’s likable, it’s fine,” I say.
“She is literally a woman who crashed our trip and we have no investment in. Sure, she knows a hitman water guide in Louisiana and would be able to sneak us into a concert or something. But I care about you,” Evelyn says, and my heart catches on her use of I . Not we care about you. I care about you. “And if it makes you feel better, Quinn will be holding a grudge against her until the end of time. She’s like that.”
“Yeah, it does make me feel a bit better.”
“Good. Now grab your pizza, and you have our full permission to feel like shit or not even talk, but for us that’s a group activity.”
I grab a plate and load up on the misshapen pieces that the others passed over. When I try to take a seat on the couch, the three of them boo and I settle on the floor.
“It’s a very important part of the process,” Evelyn says.
“How?” I ask.
“If I could go back ten years and ask our drunk selves I would. It’s just part of it.” She shrugs.
“All right then.”
Oliver and Quinn stay for another hour before they say their goodbyes and promise to see us tomorrow at the practice festival. Evelyn walks them out as I collect their crumb-covered plates.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Evelyn asks hesitantly.
“Not particularly. She left. I think this time it’s for good.” That familiar guilt calls for me. I should care more, is what it tells me. I should care, but the memories I’ve been clinging to have the stability of a house of cards on a windy afternoon.
“What do you want to do now?”
“Honestly, if you’re up for it, I’d love to write something.”
“Good thing I’m behind. I have about eleven songs to finish.”
“So convenient,” I say.
It’s hard to believe that it’s been less than a week since the last time we sat at the piano together. I feel like I’ve aged years. Now I let the need to process my feelings through song bubble to the surface. I want to topple into this, the ability to pour everything bottled up in me into a stream of notes.
Evelyn pads to a side table and picks up her notebook. “We have a plan, but we can also throw away the plan. What we make tonight doesn’t have to make it on the album. It can just be whatever you need it to be. I don’t want to force you into any corners.”
“I have a feeling whatever we come up with will work perfectly.” It’s what we do. We work.
Tomorrow, I’ll talk to her about what happens after I leave on Monday. Right now, I just need to escape.