Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Travis
Unlike Janey, Katie’s mom liked to cook. She must have started from the moment Katie told her we were coming to visit, because by the time we got to the Armstrong home in Minneapolis, there was enough food for two Thanksgiving dinners laid out in the kitchen and the dining room. Since Katie and I had spent a day eating nothing but no-bake granola bars and airport food, my mouth watered when I walked through the door.
Katie had been wrong when she predicted that neither of her parents had heard of Seven Dog Down. Either she didn’t know her parents’ musical tastes or someone had tipped them off, because Liz—Katie’s mom—was flushed and nervous when she introduced herself, and James—Katie’s dad—pumped my hand and squeezed it with supernatural strength. Liz asked me four times in a row if the flight was all right, and James yanked my suitcase from my hand and carried it up the stairs to the room they’d made up for me.
Katie watched her parents ignore her as they fussed over me, and then she looked at me, her eyes narrowed.
I shrugged. “What did I do?”
Katie’s lips pressed together. Just looking at her made me feel a little raw. I’d never brought a woman to meet my parents before, and the first one I’d introduced them to was a fake relationship. My parents hadn’t helped with my campaign to get Katie to see me as real-boyfriend material. Katie and I would be lucky if we didn’t get away from that motel with bedbugs.
“Scott,” Katie said, nearly hissing the word.
I frowned. “Scott?”
“My brother.” She gestured to where Liz was bringing a plate stacked with sliced ham from the kitchen. “He did this. He told them who you are.”
“You didn’t tell them who your boyfriend is?”
“I did, but you know what I mean. I bet Scott played them Seven Dog Down. Showed them YouTube clips of you. Now they know a celebrity is coming over.”
“Katie, you’re a celebrity.”
“I don’t count, and you know it.”
I did know. If I was ever foolish enough to tell my parents to treat me like a celebrity, they would laugh in my face.
From the kitchen, we could hear Liz talking on her cell phone in the too-loud way of parents, as if they can’t believe they don’t need to shout. “Scott!” she bellowed. “They’re here! They just got here! You told me to call you. Come over now!”
Katie showed me upstairs, where her parents had put her in her childhood bedroom and me in Scott’s old bedroom down the hall. There would be no raunchy exploits in the Armstrong house. Katie’s room had a double bed with a faded quilt on it. My room was adorned with a stack of boxes next to the bed and a disused elliptical machine in the corner. It was a room that shouted, My kid moved out and he’s never coming back.
It was all very nice, very normal. I was so nervous I thought I might throw up.
While Katie made a trip to the bathroom, I hid in my room and tried to breathe. What was I thinking, meeting her parents? Her brother? They expected Katie to meet a great guy, marry him, have kids. There was no universe in which they’d think that I was that guy. This was going to be a disaster, and we were stuck here for three days.
I could perform for a crowd—I was good at that. I could smile and wave at a group of fans and make them believe in the version of me they were looking at. But I had never spent three days with a girlfriend’s parents. I suddenly didn’t know how to act or what to say. What were we going to do for three days? Sit in the living room amongst plates of food and stare at each other?
I rummaged desperately through my bag and found a weed gummy in a side pocket. I popped it in my mouth before I could think better of it. I needed to take the edge off.
I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans as I listened to Katie leave the bathroom and go to her room.
Jesus, this was worse than being backstage at a sold-out arena. I didn’t know what had come over me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get married—I had never thought about it. And kids? What rock star thinks about kids? Not me, though if Katie wanted kids, I was in. Should I say that if her parents asked me about kids? Katie and I had never talked about it, and by the way, our relationship was supposed to be fake, so why would we talk about kids? I was losing my mind.
“Are you all right?” Katie asked from my doorway, where she was standing, watching me with a perplexed look on her face.
“Great.” I straightened, dropping my hands from my jeans and trying to ignore the cold sweat breaking out all over my body. What if I got the nervous shits while I was here? There was only one bathroom in the upstairs hall. I’d have to make an excuse to leave the house and go in the bushes somewhere. Maybe if I did that, I’d just keep walking until I hit the Atlantic Ocean, then jump in and swim until no one remembered my humiliation.
Katie looked even more confused, but the front door slammed open and closed downstairs and Liz called out, “Come down, you two! Scott is here!”
Katie rolled her eyes. “I apologize in advance for my brother.”
“Why? What’s wrong with him?”
“He needs a personality transplant.”
I blew out a breath. “Can you give me specifics? Will he beat me up? Do I have to listen to his political opinions? What am I dealing with here?”
“He’s a know-it-all. He can debate even the stupidest topic for hours, so don’t get him started. If he asks you inappropriate questions—which he will—don’t answer them. Just follow my lead.” She tilted her head, peering at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m swell.” Weed gummies took too long to kick in. Their biggest drawback.
Scott was in the kitchen, briskly digging in to his mother’s food. He was bearded and beefy, wearing jeans and a well-worn university sweatshirt. He gave me a narrow-eyed glare over the bite of ham he was chewing when we walked in. Katie had said that he had a wife and a kid, but there was no sign of either. It looked like he had left them at home so he could bust my balls with no distractions.
He grunted when I shook his hand, nodded at Katie, and turned his attention back to his plate. Were we expected to have a formal dinner, or were we just grazing from the mountain of food? I picked up a plate and held it, lost, until Katie nudged me. “Just eat,” she prompted softly. “She’ll be offended if you don’t.”
I put food on my plate and took a seat in the corner of the living room. This was Katie’s family, Katie’s show, and maybe everyone would pay attention to her and ignore me.
I had no such luck. For the next hour, Liz hovered over me, spooning more food onto my plate and asking questions—about how Katie and I met, about our vacation, about the visit to my parents. Scott sat down next to me, weirdly close, and interrupted my answers with comments. James cracked dad jokes. Katie, sitting at the table with her own plate, alternated between bailing me out of the hot seat and giving me amused smiles behind her family’s backs. The gummy kicked in, and I floated, answering questions and thinking deep thoughts while I tried to pay attention.
Eventually, Scott—still giving me shifty eyes—said his goodbyes and left to go home to his mythical family. Katie helped her parents clean up in the kitchen, and when I tried to pitch in, Liz kept shooing me to a chair. The Armstrongs talked about relatives, neighbors, people Katie had gone to school with, the chatter flowing over me as I sat in my chair, wondering if I was coming across as stupid, aloof, or both. Maybe neither. It was clear I had no idea how to do this boyfriend thing.
Night had fallen outside, and the Armstrong parents turned on Dateline on the living room TV. Katie sat with them, talking quietly. The dishwasher hummed in the kitchen and the clock ticked in the hall. It felt normal. This was what Katie had come from, the foundation of who she was. She was a Hollywood actress now, but she had once been a kid doing her homework in her room in this same house while her parents watched TV with her brother down the hall. This house was why she was still so grounded and kind in the chaos of show business. I wondered what would have happened if teenaged Katie had met teenaged Travis, who was planning to escape his hippie parents by joining a band. If we had met then, she wouldn’t have gotten her homework done, that much was sure. But it would have been fun.
I took a hot shower in the bathroom upstairs, then maneuvered around the elliptical in my room to dress for bed. When I came out of the bathroom after brushing my teeth, the TV was still on downstairs, but the door to Katie’s bedroom creaked open as if she had been waiting for me. She waved me in.
She had dressed for bed, too. She closed the door softly behind me and we tiptoed into her bed, pulling the quilt over us. I snugged my knees behind hers and felt her back warm my front. “This feels like it’s against the rules,” I whispered in her ear, even though we were fully dressed and we were both in our thirties.
“It is. It definitely is.” I heard the smile in Katie’s voice. She leaned back and looked at me. “You hate rules.”
“I’m in my element,” I admitted, kissing her softly.
“Right. So, do you hate my parents?”
“No.”
“Good. I know it was awkward. They’ll get used to you, I promise.”
I looked into her face, and suddenly I knew that I could do this. I could come back to this house for Christmases and long summer weekends. I could eat Liz’s cooking and listen to James’s dad jokes. I could win over Scott and meet his missing wife and kid. I could learn who all the relatives were and get used to the elliptical. I could be Katie’s boyfriend, and not only would I be good at it, I would love it. If what we had was real.
Katie’s expression had gone serious. Maybe she was thinking about the words she’d just said—that her parents would get used to me, as if we were a couple who would see her parents from now on. I watched her thinking, and words tumbled over themselves in my throat. Throw the script out. Be my girlfriend. Do you want kids? If you don’t, it’s cool. But what if you did? Would you have them with me?
Maybe I was crazy or high. I was definitely impulsive. It was probably a bad idea to say any of those things. I had never said them to any other woman. But bad ideas were my favorite kind, and maybe I should say all of it to this woman. If I didn’t ask, how would I ever know her answer?
Before I could open my chest and pour everything out to her, Katie pulled me down and kissed me, long and deep. She was warm against me under the quilt, and then we were making out, her hands smoothing down my back. I should stop this and tell her that I’d wait for her while she shot her movie in Budapest, that we should get married. Any minute now, I would.
Katie froze and pushed me away, her eyes going wide. “Listen,” she hissed in a panicked whisper.
I couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in my ears. “What?” I whispered back.
“They turned the TV off.” Footsteps creaked downstairs, then moved to the staircase. “They’re going to bed.”
One set of footsteps—James’s—moved past our door down the hall. Liz’s steps followed more softly. “Katie?” she called out. “Your light is on. Are you awake?”
“Oh no, no, no,” Katie whispered as she shoved me. “Get off.”
“You can’t be serious,” I whispered back. “We’re adults. We aren’t even naked.”
“I can’t help it. I feel like I’m fourteen. Hurry!” She shoved me again.
I rolled to the edge of the bed—just as the doorknob turned and the bedroom door swung open.