Chapter 21 Tyler [The Past]
My folks eyed me from across the dinner table, waiting to pounce. We were in the middle of another rare family meal at the Brady household. It was rare because I spent most of my time in the garage, practicing my guitar or hanging out with Naomi.
I even helped out at the food truck some when Adri wasn’t in the picture. Jose paid me a little, and I spent it all on dates with his daughter.
We didn’t do much. Sageview Ridge wasn’t a place of variety.
We'd hang out at Ernie's mostly, but occasionally, we'd hit Palm Springs for some better food and a movie night in a proper airconditioned movie theater.
We'd check out local museums and go on a hike when the weather permitted.
When I had enough to buy tickets, we'd see a band or hit up a music festival.
Once, Naomi’s mom took us to Riverside to the amusement park. Pretending we weren’t a couple in front of Letty Medina was hard. Since we were minors, we couldn’t get into any casinos in the area, so we’d chill in the parking lot people-watching, debating how much money they’d lost as they left.
Naomi still hadn’t told Adri we were seeing each other, but I think the entire Coachella Valley knew Tyler Brady and the girl from The Gobbler were an item. We didn’t really hide it well. I didn’t want to. Neither did she, despite all that scary talk about her overprotective older brother.
Adri was barely home anyway.
"Remember, I can’t go with you this weekend," Dad said, biting into a piece of meatloaf. "I’ve got that job to finish up at the country club."
"Yeah." I nodded, tossing the food around on my plate with my fork. "No big deal. Jon’s dad will be there to help us with the gear." We had another gig this weekend. Got booked for some wedding in Desert Hot Springs. Someone from the bride’s side saw us live once, and they liked what we did. The groom’s family gave us a list of covers to prep, and me and the boys have been at it all month. A high school band playing a wedding wasn’t the norm, but we took this stuff seriously.
After three years together, we were tight.
Our setlist was good and our instruments sounded sharp.
"You’re bringing Naomi again?" Mom wondered casually while scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate. She seemed awfully interested in how much time we spent together. She probably knew it wasn’t just a friendship between two neighborhood kids anymore, but she never asked me outright, which suited me fine.
"If I need help with merch." I shrugged. "I don’t know if they’ll let us do it. It’s a wedding."
She smiled at my dad, and he just shook his head. I got the feeling they were reading my mind like it was the morning paper.
"Doesn’t hurt to ask, right?" Mom supplied.
I grunted out something, not wanting them to bring up Naomi anymore.
It seemed that if I shared what she and I had been talking about all senior year, it would disappear.
Yes, she’d have to tell her parents eventually.
Because there wasn't much time left—four more months only until graduation. We'd be gone then. The only other thing I was looking forward to in the meantime was our birthdays. Mine was coming up in February and Naomi’s in March. We’d be both eighteen at prom.
Which was great since I'd had plans for us.
Mom grabbed my plate and filled it with more food until I couldn’t see the bottom. It was her special way of making sure I didn’t starve to death before dessert.
"Mom, come on," I protested. "That’s too much."
"Oh, shush." She plopped another spoonful of potatoes. "Boys your age should have some meat on them. And you’re skin and bones."
It wasn’t true. I was fine. I lifted some weights and did cardio. I didn’t feel the need to look like some fancy puff roll. But mothers saw things differently, and changing Collette Brady’s mind was impossible.
"You two spend an awful lot of time 'studying' in the garage," Dad said all of sudden.
"What?" I looked up at him, wondering where that’d come from.
"I’m talking about the Medina girl."
"So?"
"You’re seventeen, Ty," Mom chimed in.
"I know."
"Have you thought it all through? Your plan after graduation?" she clarified.
Oh God. Not again. We’d discussed this last year. I didn’t want to have to repeat myself. "I told you. I’m going to LA to play music."
"Honey." Mom took a deep breath. "You’re very young. You can play music at any age. Going to college will be difficult later on if you change your mind."
"Have you seen my grades, guys?" I muttered, my gaze bouncing between them. "I suck at studying. The only thing I’m good at is the guitar." And kissing Naomi Medina. But I didn’t say that out loud.
My parents exchanged a dejected glance, like they were finally giving up on trying to influence my decision about my future.
"Did you tell that to Naomi?" Mom asked.
"What?"
"That you plan on going to LA."
"We talked about it. Yeah."
"Because that girl likes you, Tyler. Your dad and I aren’t blind."
"No shit," I murmured under my breath.
"Language." Dad slapped his palm on the table.
"Sorry," I apologized.
"The time’s coming fast," Mom continued. "We want to make sure you’re making the right choices. We’ve never stopped you from your interest in music. But what if it doesn’t work out? You need to have a plan B. And having education or some sort of skill beyond working on a food truck is useful."
"I’m going to LA." Right there and then, it felt like they didn’t want me to succeed, like they didn’t want me to be in the band and play on stage. It felt like the deepest betrayal.
"What are you two going to do?" Mom pressed.
"Who?" I was playing dumb, knowing she meant Naomi. I had no idea why they were so interested in my relationship with her. They’d left me alone all throughout high school.
"You know who." Dad gestured with his fork toward the Medina house outside our window.
"She might come with," I blurted out. Not because I wanted this conversation, but because I wanted to show them that someone was on my side, that someone wanted my dream to come true.
Perhaps that was a mistake.
"Is that so?" Dad hummed, chewing on his veggies.
"Not everyone wants me to fail, Dad!" I snapped like any seventeen-year-old with too much ambition and testosterone would.
"That’s not what we’re saying," Mom immediately butted in. "But did you two just entertain the idea or actually consider doing this? Because last time I spoke to Letty, Naomi had applied to UC Riverside."
I knew that. Unlike me, she had a plan B. But it was mostly to get her parents off her back.
"We’re not sure," I said flatly, tired of this interrogation. "We just talked about things is all."
My folks were quiet then. I watched them, waiting for the next question that would tie this meal together like a big, heavy rock around my neck.
Dad didn’t leave me hanging. "Do you understand what you're doing?"
"We both do," I replied.
Mom poured me some more milk. "You’re awfully young to make such decisions for the two of you."
"Old enough. And I'm not the one making them. We are discussing it together."
"I’d say you’re moving pretty fast," Dad croaked.
I put my fork down since I wasn’t going to get much use out of it. "We’re not moving that fast. Can I please be excused now? I gotta practice before the gig."
"Sure." Dad nodded.
"Naomi’s a good girl," Mom added. "Don’t do anything you’ll regret later."
That evening, I left the kitchen alive, but barely.
Naomi was a good girl, all right.
Too good for me, and my parents knew it. I knew it too, but I wanted her for myself. Not because she was a nice addition to my life but because she was the muse for every sappy tune I’d written in the past couple of years. Because I needed her like I needed fresh air in that dusty small town.
I didn’t know how long I’d last before my parents extracted the truth out of me with their combined forces of potatoes and persuasion. I only hoped I could survive the next four months. The garage wasn’t much of an escape since Dad could come in anytime, but it was my escape, and that worked fine.
After a couple of hours of practicing on my guitar, I snuck back into the house to grab some water. It was getting late, the lights were out, and I hoped my folks were asleep.
I was wrong.
I heard my dad coming before I saw him. He caught up with me halfway down the corridor, his hand on my shoulder. "Got a minute?" he asked, and I had to pretend I wasn’t trying to get away from him as fast as I could. "You and I need to talk, son."
There was that serious look on his face. He was in his flannel pajamas, with messy graying hair, and he looked ridiculous.
"What about?" I asked, hoping this wasn’t another parental lecture. At this hour?
"We should have had this conversation a couple of years ago. But I guess now is as good a time as any."
Oh, fuck no, I screamed internally.
"Dad!" I hissed at him. "This better not be what I think this is."
"It’s exactly what you think."
"I’m almost eighteen," I said, my cheeks heating up. "I really don’t need the talk."
"Pretty sure you do." He meant business. He hadn’t actually said Naomi’s name, but it was coming. "Unless you’ve already had it with someone else."
He gave me that look like he was checking under my bed for the sock monster again. But I got the feeling this was more embarrassing for him than it was for me. Still, it was a close race.
"Dad, I really don’t need to know…"
"Listen to me, Tyle—"
"Please just stop," I pleaded. "We’re not even…" I started, but I couldn’t finish the sentence.
His eyebrows went up all the way to the ceiling.
He wasn’t saying anything, as if he was now embarrassed for an entirely different reason—because his almost eighteen-year-old son hadn’t actually done it.
"You’re not exactly a monk," he said, and it wasn’t a question.
I ran a hand through my hair and sighed, feeling my face go as red as a beet. "I’m young. I’m not stupid."
"That’s a surprise."
"We’re just waiting."