Chapter Twelve #2
He took a sip from the flask, then passed it to me.
“It was naive of me, but I just assumed that I’d be able to finish college and do whatever I wanted.
Marshall could be the perfect, accomplished son, and I could fuck off.
My dad didn’t feel the same way. He’d assumed that I’d come to work for him after school.
He wanted the package set. Had a whole plan for me and everything—law school, intern at his office in the summers.
Live at home, under his thumb.” He shook his head and grimaced.
“Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. It was like he didn’t know me at all. ”
There was a tension between his eyes that was foreign to me.
I didn’t think I’d ever seen Trevor this serious.
“We never talked about it. He didn’t know how to talk to me about anything.
Just had these invisible, unattainable expectations that he thought I’d just—know.
Maybe it was partially my fault, I don’t know—maybe I avoided the conversation because I knew it wouldn’t end well for either of us.
But God, I’d never seen him angrier than when I came home this one weekend, a few months before I graduated.
I was looking at jobs on my laptop—thought maybe I’d work an outdoor shop, or the parks service—and he looked over my shoulder, and… he went nuclear.”
Trevor took the baseball cap off his head and turned it backward, a tuft of dark hair poking out.
“Told me I was throwing everything he’d built for me back in his face.
Even my mom wouldn’t look at me, she was so…
disappointed. I called Marshall, asked him what I should do, and he said I had two options: Go all in, give my dad what he wanted, or be content with being a fuckup for the rest of my life. ”
I flinched at how callous the words were; at how, even now, it seemed like they were painful for Trevor to say.
He shook his head, slow and deliberate, his eyes on somewhere far across the lake.
“It was sort of funny, I guess, because that conversation had the opposite of the desired effect. Marshall had assumed I was like him, at my core: that pleasing my parents was the most important thing to me.” He gave a thin, humorless smile. “But I chose option two.”
“You’re not a fuckup,” I whispered.
He glanced at me from under his eyelashes.
For the first time, I noticed how long they were.
“Thank you.” He said it solemnly, like he really meant it.
“Most of the time, I know that. It was more that I had to accept that they’d always see me that way—and that I’d just have to be okay with making decisions about my life, knowing that my family wouldn’t understand.
Like coming here for another summer. It’s been two years since that happened, you know?
He’s still pissed. All three of them are.
” He shrugged. “But that’s okay. I can’t live my whole life for other people. ”
I swallowed before asking my next question, knowing it was bold. “And are you happy now?”
He let out a breath and looked up at the moon. “Sometimes.”
“What would make you happy all the time?”
His mouth twitched, just barely, like he was fighting a smile. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
I thought back on Chelsea’s chiding words at the start of the summer—about how Trevor was always working some dead-end job, how he didn’t care about anything real. And I felt special, sitting here with him, getting to see the truth.
I put a hand on his bare knee and squeezed. His skin was warm, and I considered pulling away, but I didn’t. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. That I understood.
We sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. “You know,” I said eventually. “Your dad and my dad should really start a club.”
This earned me an eyebrow raise. “Oh yeah? What would they call it?”
I tapped a finger to my chin. “Probably the Society of Rich Assholes with No Emotional Intelligence.”
“Oh, man,” he said, twisting his body so he was fully facing me now, holding out the flask like an offering. “Go on, then. Tell me about the copresident.”
I snorted a laugh, surprising myself. “My dad—well, it’s a long story.”
He made a show of looking around, checking his watch. “I think I’ve got the time.” He nudged his knee into mine. “Tell me.”
I hesitated. My relationship with my dad was strange and complicated. He was neither dead nor evil. A lot of people, I imagined, would probably call him a good person. He just didn’t care about me at all.
I knew I could tell Trevor no—I opened my mouth to do just that. But he was looking at me in that same way he had during the Night Before. The same way he had when we’d gone swimming together on that final day of summer. Like I was the most interesting person he’d ever seen.
So, I took a deep breath. And I dove in.
“My parents met in college. Those were the only four years my mom ever spent away from here. Like me. My grandfather was big on education, and he insisted she go. They met in the business program, during their junior year.”
There was sweat pooling on my forehead, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand.
“When my mom moved back here, my dad moved with her. My grandpa got sick, and she ended up needing to take over earlier than she expected. I don’t know very much about that time in her life.
She doesn’t really like to talk about it.
“But I do know that she and my dad got married pretty quickly—my grandpa wouldn’t let them live together if they didn’t.
“When I was two, my dad got this big job offer in Atlanta. A finance job. My mom was surprised, obviously. She’d told him that her life was here, would always be here. He’d known that when he’d married her. When he’d had a baby with her.”
I took another sip, relished the way it burned my tongue.
“He told her—he told her that he had to think about his future. As if he hadn’t already started building a future here.
As if he hadn’t made oaths. None of that mattered anymore, apparently.
It was null and void because he’d found something better. ” My voice broke on the word.
“So he left. My mom stayed. She told me once that he’d promised her that they’d co-parent equitably, and he’d come back as many weekends as he could to spend time with me.”
I passed the flask back to Trevor. He took it wordlessly, not taking his eyes off mine.
“I didn’t see him again until I was six.
He invited me to stay for a week, at his house in Marietta.
I was so excited. But when I saw him, it was weird.
I knew he was my dad—I’d seen photos—but it still felt like I was hugging a stranger. ”
I ran a hand through my hair. “He’d gotten married again, to a woman who worked in his office named Courtney.
She was already pregnant with their first daughter, Emmaline.
That night at dinner, he asked me if I was excited to have a sister.
And I was confused, and I said, ‘Is Mom having a baby?’ He got so angry, told me no, Courtney is having a baby.
Say you’re sorry. So I did, but I didn’t really know what I’d done wrong.
I didn’t know how my dad was already mad at me when I’d just met him.
“When I went to my room for bed, Courtney had gotten this special pillow made for me, with my name embroidered on it. But she’d spelled it wrong—G-R-I-E-R.
When my dad came to say good night, I pointed it out.
He told me to grow up. Can you believe that?
He told his six-year-old daughter to grow up.
” I laughed, but it was bitter, hollow. I squeezed my fingers into my palms, almost hard enough to draw blood.
“After they went to sleep, I snuck downstairs and called my mom. I asked her to please come and get me. She’d barely gotten back to camp, but she told me she was on her way.
“My dad was so pissed. I remember hiding around the corner with my duffel bag, listening to him argue with my mom. The thing is, he wasn’t mad because I was leaving.
He was mad because of the inconvenience.
He said that Courtney had already bought tickets to take me to the zoo.
They’d already booked a babysitter for their Tuesday night date night. ”
I swallowed the boulder in my throat. “I didn’t see him again until I was twelve. He had two daughters by then. He sends me birthday cards, gifts on Christmas most years. But I don’t really know him. And he doesn’t know me.”
I almost never talked about my dad, but it had all just spilled out of me, because it hurt so bad. Because the pain lived inside of me like a disease, incurable and always gnawing at me.
“I’m so sorry about your parents. I know what it’s like to feel like…you’re not worth very much.” Before I knew it, hot tears were spilling down my face, dripping onto my chin, onto the sand beneath my fingers.
Our knees were pressed against each other; we were sitting so close now. Sharing the same air. His eyes were bright, thoughtful, kind.
I felt the familiar itch to run away, to throw a blanket over myself and hide. But I stayed right where I was. So did he.
We were quiet for a while, listening to the sounds of the woods and water.
Finally, Trevor reached out his hand, letting it rest lightly on my thigh.
I couldn’t help but gasp at the contact.
Goose bumps rose on my arms, the back of my neck.
He trailed his finger into the crook of my knee, and I took a deep breath.
In that moment, something seemed to settle between us.
“You’re worth a lot, I think,” he whispered.
I bit my lip, and his mouth stretched into a smile that hit me in every one of my fingertips. I thought back to that day with Margo on the beach. The way that Trevor had looked at me, how she’d laughed. You’re such a little liar.
Now I knew for sure, as his breath tickled my face. I had been lying.