Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
brENDON
After hours of driving mindlessly, I end up where I'm supposed to be. The cemetery in Culver City. It's the perfect place for my parents to rest forever.
The freeway is on one side. The mall is on another. A pocket of expensive houses is on the third.
The shiny billboards tacked to the mall cast a soft glow over the lush green grass. It's fucked how green this grass is—our entire state is out of water—but it would be more fucked if it was as dead as the people buried here.
I clutch the bouquet of roses. Mom's favorite. A cliché, yeah, but it's hard to do anything but love roses. They spread open, invite your touch, then reward you with a prick to the fingertip.
They're a perfect fucking metaphor. Beautiful. Guarded. Dangerous.
I've lost track of how many rose tattoos I've done. Hell, of how many I've done this month. Everyone wants that strong, barbed feminine beauty on their skin.
It suits Mom.
Strong. Beautiful. Vicious.
My canvas shoes soak up every drop of dew on the grass. It's a cool night. It should be dark, but those stupid fucking billboards are as bright as a dozen full moons.
My feet remember the path. I'm not sure how. It's been an eternity since I've been here. The funeral. A few times when Em wanted to go the first year. Then never.
I've certainly never come here alone.
There. Almost all the way at the back, halfway down the row. Josephine Kane. Elliot Kane.
My memories of Mom are sharper than my memories of Dad. But then she was so much sharper than Dad. She was always the picture of the perfect trophy wife. Educated. Pretty. Dark hair cut in a chic straight line. The latest designer clothes. A schedule filled with proper hobbies and volunteering.
When I was a kid, she spent a lot of time with me. She'd read to me. Take me to the park. Bring me on all her lunches and community meetings. Then she had Emma, and it was the three of us together. Dad was always busy. Working. But Mom poured time into us.
She loved us.
She loved me. At least that guy I was then.
It wasn't until I discovered punk music and insisted on wearing ripped jeans that I lost her affection.
It wasn't all at once. It was a little bit at a time. She'd look at me like my decisions were wrong. Like they disgusted her. Then like there was no coming back for me.
I guess there wasn't.
I get why she asked me not to come around anymore. I get that she was protecting Emma. Fuck, if there's anything I get it's protecting Emma.
It was bullshit.
She didn't look past what she saw.
But then I didn't either.
Mom always seemed unbreakable. But she wasn't. There were cracks. A quiver in her voice here. A too strong drink there. A sad look at the door when I asked when Dad would be home.
She was lonely. She was lashing out. She was trying to put shit together.
I peel the plastic from the bouquet and drop the roses on her grave.
"I don't know what you'd think of me if you were still around.
I guess I wouldn't be this guy. I wouldn't have changed everything in my life to take care of Emma.
" I press my hand to her gravestone. "I get it now, how hard it is to be a parent, to try to do the best for the people you love.
I get that you were trying to help me and Emma in your way.
I get that you looked at me like I was a piece of shit because you wanted something better for me.
" I lean back on my heels. "I understand. And I forgive you."
The tension in my shoulders melts. Fuck, it's weird talking to a tombstone, but if I squint, I can convince myself Mom is hearing this somehow.
"I know you didn't mean to fuck with my head. But you did. There's still a huge part of me convinced I'm worthless. That I'll never deserve the love of the kind of woman who wears cardigans and gets straight As. Fuck, I think I just threw away the best thing that ever happened to me because of it."
My exhale is heavy.
"But even with all that fucked up shit you did, I wish you were still around. I miss you. I can't believe it, but I do. I'm not sure if you'd believe me, but I'm trying to do better. For me. For Em. For you and Dad. For all of us."
Emma's locked in her room.
I knock on her door.
She doesn't answer.
"Em. I can open this door. I need to know you're okay."
"Okay is relative."
"Physically, okay."
She says nothing.
"Em." All these doors are child proof. A bobby pin is enough to trip the lock. But I'd rather not invade my sister's privacy. That's one of the million ways I want to do better. "You don't have to talk to me. Just tell me if you're okay."
"Yeah."
"Thanks."
Her footsteps move toward the door. "Why did you break up with Kaylee?"
"You were right. I'm supposed to protect her from guys like me." At least that's what my head was telling me. Now... it doesn't feel as right. It feels like Mom's voice.
"Really?" Emma pulls her door open. "Are you fucking serious?"
"You said it."
"Because I was pissed." She smooths her hair. Wipes her puffy, bloodshot eyes. "I thought about it. And... well, I was wrong. I was shocked and pissed and, well, you don't exactly have a good track record with relationships."
Fair enough. "Yeah."
"I thought... well, Kay is really pretty. And she's all sweet and innocent. And your reputation... I thought you just wanted to corrupt her. Or some sick shit like that. I couldn't imagine you really loving her. But I knew... I think, deep down, I knew she liked you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I wanted to believe it was someone else.
Even Dean. But I think I knew. And I even understood.
She's happy around you. She laughs. She relaxes.
She... she tells you stuff. Stuff she doesn't tell me.
That pissed me off. I'm her best friend and you're some hot, tall guy who will probably throw her away. "
"You're tall."
"Yeah. I... I was jealous of you, I guess. That you were getting more of her. I just... You've both been spending so much time together. And then you both lied to me about it. It hurt. But now that I step back from that. I think you're good together."
What? I blink a dozen times.
"Don't give me that look, Brendon. You must see it. She's happy around you. And you—you're normally trying to audition to play Jess on some Gilmore Girls reboot."
"What?"
"Oh my God, everyone knows Gilmore Girls! You watched it over my shoulder."
I shake my head. I vaguely remember the mom and daughter eating a lot of junk food, but that's it.
"You sit around with your sketchbook like it's the only thing that gets your pain.
But that isn't true. Kay does. I don't know what you tell her, but you're different around her too.
You're happy. And, no offense, but you're usually miserable enough you're annoying to be around.
I mean, I still love you, but it can be a drag. "
"No offense though?"
She laughs. "Yeah. Of course not. I mean, you're no Ryan, but you were kinda on your way there.
The last six months at least. And Kay...
I'm just glad she has someone to help her right now.
Well. That she did. But if you're breaking up with her for her then you're a fucking idiot.
Who takes advice from their eighteen-year-old sister? "
I can't help but laugh. "You're wiser than you think."
"Well, yeah, if you need some help with your makeup or wardrobe. We have some great skinny jeans on sale. If you want a new pair, I can help with that. With Kay—"
"You know you're giving me advice right now."
"Okay. Let's say I'm wise. You should listen to me."
Yeah. I'm pretty sure I should.
Emma pulls out her cell. "Did you get this?"
It's a text from Kaylee's mom.
Mrs. Hart: Kaylee is going to be staying with us for a few extra days. She's doing okay. I'm sure she'd appreciate a call from you, Emma. I'm not sure she's in a place to reach out.
"It sounds bad." Emma's gaze goes to her screen. "I called a bunch, but she didn't pick up."
"It's late on the East Coast."
"You think it's bad news with her grandma?"
"Hard to say." But probably.
"We should be there. Shouldn't we?" Emma pushes her door wide open and steps into her room.
She goes straight to her laptop. "I looked at tickets.
And I talked to my manager. We could leave tomorrow night.
Get in first thing in the morning. Or...
well... if you really don't want to be with Kay, then you probably shouldn't come. "
No shit. I nod.
"So, what's it going to be? Are you coming or not?"