Chapter 18
___
Bev
By the time I arrive home, I’m mortified about what I said. I never should have told him about the kiss. I know he said he felt the same way—and it makes me happy. Delighted. But that’s the rub. I was so happy before my mom left; I loved my teacher in school; my parents seemed like they were finally getting along, although now I realize that they’d just stopped speaking, but at the time, I thought they’d worked it out; and they finally let me get a cat. I was so happy.
And then my mom left.
Only sadness and questions remained.
So now when I feel even a spark of happiness, I question it. I can’t trust it. It can snuff out at any minute and the thought terrifies me.
Needless to say, I feel confused.
Nate makes me happy. But when I’m happy, people leave. They disappoint you, and they break your heart .
So what can I trust? My past experience? Because if my own mom left, why should I believe a rock star—of all people—will stay? A rock star who has already hurt me once before?
My stomach knots in sadness.
I try to cheer myself up by focusing on the positive: at least, I was brave in confessing the kiss. But I don’t want to be brave. I want to be safe.
I hang my housekeys on their little hook by the door, and I jump when I see my dad sitting at the kitchen table. He’s never in the kitchen.
“You’re home,” he says.
My dad’s nurse, Viktoria, is already putting on her purse. “See you later,” she says, hurrying out the door. I wonder if she senses a family argument brewing and wants to clear the premises ASAP.
Dread seems to darken the room.
I ignore the TRAVEL magazine in front of him—opened to a sprawling article on Melbourne. The first city on our bucket list.
“Hey, Dad.” I give him a quick peck on the cheek.
“How was it?” There’s something about his tone. It does this weird thing where it lilts up more than normal at the end.
“It was okay.”
He raises a single eyebrow. A trait of his I unfortunately did not inherit. “Just okay?” he asks.
“Just okay,” I repeat.
“Did he try anything, that doofus?”
Doofus is his favorite insult. Everything is doofus this and doofus that.
“He did not.” I busy myself, looking through the fridge, so he can’t see my face .
“And you got the dog?”
“We did!” I turn, so he can see my smile.
He must see something else in my smile because out of nowhere he warns, “You be careful with that boy, okay?”
“Which boy?”
“Doofus.”
“Why don’t you think I’m careful?”
“Because you’re like me.”
I look at him, gripping the kitchen table so hard his arthritic knuckles look like they might pop. And I feel for him. When my mom left, she didn’t just leave me. The pain is so big, sometimes it feels that way. But I can’t forget she left him too. “Dad,” I sigh.
He stares down at his wrinkled pants that don’t fit right, but we’re watching costs, so they fit well enough. I wish I could give him everything, and yet, I seem to give him nothing. I can’t give him new pants. And I can’t even give him peace of mind. “I’ll be okay,” I promise.
He doesn’t respond to this either.
Ding! My phone lights up. I snatch it, hoping Nate texted, but after my talk with my dad, dreading it too.
Surprised, I see it’s Tommy.
Tommy : Hi! ?
My heart sinks although I tell myself I should be excited.
Me : Hi!
I have to force the exclamation point, but he won’t know that.
Tommy : Free this week?
Me : First, I should tell you that I only want to be friends. Is that okay?
Three dots appear and disappear like he’s writing and rewriting .
Tommy: Okay
Me: Great
Tommy : Want to grab ice cream one of these days?
Ice cream. Nate. A knife twists in my gut.
Me : Can I get back to you?
Tommy : Sure
I know Nate and I aren’t dating, and I don’t owe him exclusivity—and besides, Tommy and I wouldn’t even be going on a date. But it’s a small town, and I wouldn’t want this to get back to Nate and hurt him somehow. I’d hate it if he did that to me. So I’ll talk with him first. Because at the very least, Tommy does seem like a nice guy, and why couldn’t we be friends? Plus, I think he could help with the fundraiser.
My dad’s eyes dig into my back like wood-boring insects.
I turn to him and answer the question I think is on his mind. “It’s not Nate.”
“Then who is it?”
I fill him in on Tommy. He instantly dubs Tommy, “A nice young man.”
I want to agree. Why wouldn’t I? But my heart isn’t in it. I think of Nate’s heart tattoo, and what it might be to touch it, trace it with my fingers.
___
I bike to work and spot Nate sitting on the picnic table. He looks down at his phone. His dark hair is mussed. He must feel me watching because he glances up, and the eye contact, well any eye contact with him, has a sort of propulsion. It could knock me over.
“Hey.” I jump off my bike and walk it the rest of the way. I read once where you look when you bike is where you go, and let’s just say, I don’t want to bike into the man.
He attempts a half-hearted smile, and something pinches in my throat. “Everything okay?” I ask.
He pats the picnic table next to him, and I join him, heart pounding.
Does he know about Tommy? Think it’s something it’s not? Melody Bay is a small island after all. “Nate, I should—”
“The label wants me to go back on tour at some point in the near future.” He stares at his fingers as he drums them against his jeans.
“What about the internship?” I ask stupidly.
He grimaces. “Xavier is looking into how to safeguard it. He’s trying to buy me time.”
“How long is the near future then?” My vision turns hazy as I eye the dewy grass below. It’s one of those summery, misty mornings, which makes the conversation feel all the more surreal.
“Probably two or three months.”
As he explains the label’s reaction to the viral bunny video, I can feel myself go pale. It’s like all vitality drains from my body. I’m left with…what? I don’t even know. Despair and cookie recipes?
I peek up at him. His gray eyes are wide, and little green flecks pop in the light. He mumbles something like, “I’m sorry.”
I shrug, trying to act like this is something I can brush off. Truthfully, I’m not sure when I started caring this much. The motel? Last night’s dinner? Always? “It’s probably for the best. Because of my dad,” I say softly.
His hand taps his leg harder and then he stops. “I’m not going to give up,” he says.
“It sounds like it’s out of your control.”
“I’ll find what’s in my control and change it.”
“But what if nothing is in your control?”
“Look, Bev, I know you’re afraid of being left after—”
I stand. “I should get started with the dogs.”
He reaches for my hand, running his thumb overtop a knuckle. “I already told you about the stage fright. It won’t be any time soon.”
“But if the whole point is to take advantage of a viral vid,” I say, “then you don’t have long. Things don’t stay viral forever.” I snap my fingers for effect. “It can be over like that.”
There’s something about his expression that turns uncertain. Maybe the way his eyebrows crease or his hand goes slack on mine.
“Are you still looking for a place for the fundraiser?” he asks suddenly.
For a minute, I don’t even know what he’s talking about, it’s so far from my mind. I have to reorder my thoughts. “The fundraiser?”
“Mama Sofia’s canceled.”
I scratch my head, feeling foolish. “Yeah.”
“What if I were to host it?”
“Where?” I ask, surprised.
“At my house.”
“Nate.” I shift my weight from foot to foot. “There’ll be a lot of people. They’ll track dirt all over your house, stain your white couch, clog your toilets, you don’t want that. ”
He doesn’t lower his gaze. “I know it’s important to you. So yes, I do.”
Warmth buzzes through me. I remember when he started working at MBAS and how I’d yearned for him to say, “As you wish.” It feels like it’s finally happened.
So why does my stomach churn?