Chapter 34 Stressed Out
Stressed Out
Jude said he’d text when he got on the road, so I assume it’s him when I tap the screen to return the call, then frantically hang up when I see the name on the screen.
Dad: Call Me.
“Crap, crap, crap,” I groan.
Annie’s eyebrows shoot up in concern. “What’s wrong?”
“My dad.” My lungs suddenly feel unsteady, like they’re not sure whether to breathe faster or slow down.
“Oh, no. Is he okay?” Annie’s response is normal. Healthy.
Unfortunately, my relationship with Don Brooks is not.
“Probably. But I was in town last weekend and forgot to tell him,” I explain.
Forgot is a cop-out, and I know it. I put it off until I ran out of time.
“To be fair, Lu Lu, you were busy. You purged a hundred and sixty-five pounds of dead weight, became a rock star, and claimed your destiny—not to mention going viral with Sammy.”
The acid swirling in my stomach feels pretty darn viral right now.
Annie leans around me to see my face. “Lu Lu, what’s the big deal? I know y’all have a complicated relationship, but it’s just a phone call. I didn’t think anyone hated calls as much as I do.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples, resting my elbows on our kitchen bar.
“It’s fine.” I sigh. “Maybe it’s just a friendly hello for the first time in my life.”
“Does he have social media?” Annie asks.
“Yep.”
Social media’s helpful when you’re cheating on your wife or covertly gathering intel on your kids.
“He’s a lurker,” I explain. “He wouldn’t say anything memorable if he commented on the video.”
“But you answered everyone who messaged you, right?” she asks.
“Except Nathan. Yes.”
“Unless you broke plans”—she holds her palm out, gesturing toward my phone—“it’s just a call.”
I appreciate Annie’s attempt to ground me with facts and logic, but they won’t do me much good with Dad. I can’t explain it. Her parents are amazing. A little overbearing and nosy but so proud of Annie and her brothers.
I tap the screen to call him for real, turning on the speaker so Annie can hear. Her facial expressions might just be the incentive I need to get through this conversation.
He answers quickly. “Hey, there. Looks like you finally found some free time.”
Annie tilts her head and scrunches her nose.
“Yeah, I’ve worked until close every day this week,” I reply casually. Work’s usually a safe topic. “And I’ve got a fun Friday night of work in an hour. How about you?”
“Oh, you know. Work and then more work at home. Ruth’s daughters live in California, and your sisters and brother don’t care to be at my house much.” He pauses. “Apparently you don’t either.”
I smirk and glance at Annie. Her mouth drops open, appalled at what she hears.
“They don’t love sharing a room,” I deflect. If he were more pleasant to be around, they wouldn’t care about the room. “Plus, your house is away from all their friends. I’m sure it’s hard.” I need to shut up before I open a can of worms.
“There’s only so much I can do with my income supporting two households.” He huffs. “I’m sorry I can’t provide more luxury at two locations.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s inconvenient.” I roll my eyes, barely containing my snark.
Dad’s income covered round-trip airfare to visit his online mistress in California at least twice. I’m sure some of his income helped her move across the country too.
Liza told me the room they share is a dining room off the kitchen with bunk beds. The spare bedroom is Ruth’s sewing room.
The amount he pays in child support is far below what Mom needs to raise three teenagers, although it’s probably the most consistent contribution she’s ever had.
Dad shifts gears to reverse the tension. “So, when did you change careers?”
“Change careers?” I play along. “I’m a student, and I work as close to full-time as I can, but I don’t have a career to change yet.”
“Aren’t you in school for psychology or psychiatry? Counseling or something?”
“Social sciences, yes,” I reply, moving my chess piece carefully.
“Doesn’t sound like much of a paycheck,” he quips.
“I can get an advanced degree in industrial-organizational psychology, family counseling, school counseling …” I list some options, not bothering to mention writing. “Colleges have counseling departments too.”
“For what? When spoiled children miss their mommies doing their laundry?” he jokes with painful ignorance.
Annie’s face should alert me to take the call off speakerphone, but I feel no obligation to make him look better than he is.
If he says anything unflattering, that’s on him. Time to let him own it.
“More like helping students compare the financial outlook of career options, discover their strengths, choose a major, create a budget, and plan their schedules around other responsibilities, like jobs or family.” I attempt to sound educated, amused, and slightly bored by his ignorant comment.
“And sometimes newly independent students need help navigating difficult relationships when their dysfunctional families are neck-deep in drama. A little wise counsel never hurt anyone.”
Annie snickers, holding her hand up for a silent high five, well aware that I just delivered an Oscar-worthy Jace impression.
“That’s the perfect career for you, Lu Lu!” she says loud enough for my dad to hear.
He huffs. “And you can accomplish that while gallivanting all over Nashville with a band?”
Ahh, now we’re getting somewhere.
“Oh, you saw Sam’s video,” I say with all the nonchalance I can muster. “He’s a music and production major, and I helped with that performance. Isn’t he great?”
I mentally dare him to say something negative about Sammy. I might’ve lost the energy to defend myself, but insult my Moose and I’ll find it.
“I hope your fifteen minutes of fame didn’t rekindle your rock star fantasies.” His tone sounds like he’s kidding, but it’s a thinly veiled insult to make me wonder if I’ve done something to embarrass myself.
Like every conversation my whole life.
Singers are a dime a dozen. I know this. I never even soloed with my competition choirs, but I’ve romanticized music since I was a kid, writing lyrics and stories about musicians. Playing guitar is just a hobby. Nothing more. But what if I wanted it to be more?
What’s so wrong with that?
It’s a good thing I’m not actually good enough, or interested in fame for that matter, because my dad could squash even the most attainable of goals.
I contemplate the strategy of this conversation, almost completely forgetting Annie’s presence until she drops her phone on the counter and mutters a few expletives.
“Nah. One viral video does not a career make.” I laugh with the self-deprecating tone he expects, though I know one video absolutely could launch a career.
Not mine, but someone’s. “Fall classes start soon. No potential careers have been jeopardized.” I hope we’ve sufficiently covered the topic and I can get off this nightmare of a call. But he throws one more dagger.
“Were you in Nashville all weekend? You had to pass right through here.”
There it is.
“It was a busy weekend, and I came straight back to work,” I report. “I should be back in a couple of weeks.”
Dad scoffs, “Well, don’t rush back on my account.”
A key jiggling the lock temporarily stops the churning in my stomach, though I know it’s not Jude. He hasn’t had long enough to drive back, and the chaotic key jangling doesn’t belong to him.
“Honeyyy! I’m hoooome!” Sammy barrels into the kitchen, throwing an arm around each of us with a bone-crushing squeeze.
Annie shushes as she drags him to the other side of the bar while shoving a cookie in his mouth.
“Get her off the phone, Moose,” she whispers, nodding to my pained expression.
Sam clears his throat and tamps down his energy. “Hey Lucy, we have to go to the enrollment building to verify our schedules for financial aid.”
I reach out to bump his fist. All that stuff was done online weeks ago.
But just like with Nathan, I lie about things that shouldn’t matter to avoid meaningless confrontations.
“Oh, you’re right,” I say for my dad’s benefit. “Better get going.”
Someday, maybe our conversations won’t feel like a game of strategy and skill.
But today was not that day.
My mood drastically improves when my phone lights up on the way to work.
“Traffic’s already at a standstill.” Jude sighs. “And as soon as I get back to town, my mom needs me to drop off some paperwork. Since everyone’s eating at the diner tonight, I might wait to see you at home so I’m not tempted to distract you all the way out of a job.”
“Uhhhh.” I release a pitchy sound of disapproval before I can stop myself and get his rumbly laugh in response.
“Excuse me, Punk. Did you just whine at me?”
“Nope.” Yes. “Do what you need to do. If you’re too tired, I understand. I can see you tomorrow if that’s better for you,” I ramble, trying not to sound needy.
We talk several times a day, and he’s abundantly clear about my position in his life, but I’d be lying if I said the distance so soon after professing our feelings didn’t make me a little bit paranoid.
I can’t help but listen for changes in his tone and worry things might feel off when we see each other again. But he doesn’t need to know that.
My insecurities are a me problem.
“That’s disappointing,” he teases. “I hoped you’d be so desperate to see me you’d demand I report to you immediately without any further delay.”
I fake a level of confidence I don’t actually possess. “I want you with me as soon as possible, but I’m not demanding. I’m sure you’ve had enough of that in your life. You’re probably exhausted.” I’m trying to sound patient, not indifferent.
I’m definitely not indifferent. I’m dying to see him.
“Lu.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you have any idea how much I miss you?” His voice is insistent and heated. I want to curl up and take a nap in it.
“I—I miss you too.” Gah, that sounded awkward. Why is this so hard for me? He’s safe. He’s always been safe. He’s not going to pull a reverse on me.
“Most of the time I absorb what I hear in class and tests are easy for me, but I’ve actually had to study.”
I chuckle at his humblebrag. “You poor thing. I hate that for you.”
“Punk.” He laughs at my familiar sarcasm. “It’s your fault I can’t pay attention. I keep zoning out, scrolling through pictures, looking at messages.”
“Sorry. I’ve tried not to bother you during class, even though I want to.” It’s torture, but I wait to hear from him first so I don’t interrupt anything.
“No, baby, I don’t think you get it.” His voice softens. “All day I think, what if I drove straight home? I could leave by five and have you in my arms by ten. I could steal kisses and feel your fingers in my hair for approximately six hours and still make it back to the morning session by eight.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of math,” I breathe.
“I’m so distracted, Lu. Every train of thought gets completely hijacked.
I want to kiss the curve of your neck where it smells like peaches, and feel you shiver when I squeeze your hip, and say I love you against your ear.
There’s a constant, painful anticipation.
I’ve never ached like this, Lucy. It’s relentless.
But I’m thankful for every second of your beautiful torture. ”
I let out a squeak and sniff. “Hang on. I have to stop.”
The Fresh Mart parking lot is the first place I find to pull over.
“Lu? Are you okay?”
“No! Jude, you can’t say things like that to me while I’m driving.” I’ve tried to keep my emotions in check, because if I tell him I want to quit my job so I can stay in his room and sniff his pillow while reading sappy romance all day, I’m pretty sure he’d run away screaming.
“Are you parked now?” he asks gently.
“Mm-hmm.” I sniff and laugh at the same time.
“I miss you so much. If you had to come home midweek for work or family or just any reason, I’d meet you anywhere, even for a minute.
But I’d never ask you to drive all the way home for a few hours just for me.
I’d worry you’d fall asleep at the wheel or be too tired to study.
” I stop fighting it and let the tears fall.
“And I can’t stop thinking if I expect too much, you’ll resent me.
” I take a breath and let out my biggest fear in a whisper. “I can’t risk losing you.”
It’s the most vulnerable thing I’ve ever said out loud, and I wish I could stuff it back in my big mouth.
“Lu, there’s no risk. You couldn’t ask for anything I don’t already want to give you.
Woman, you’ve owned me for so long—we’re way past the return period.
” I giggle, and he’s quiet for a second before continuing.
“And we’ve got five more weeks, so if I ever drive home before the weekend, it’s because I need you.
Maybe I need to steal some of your soul. ”
“Promises, promises,” I tease.
“I’ll keep every single one.”
“I know you will.”