19. Nick
NICK
Get Down - Six
My tires squeal as I turn left out of Kinney Run’s parking lot. I’m going full Sadlersburg Drift to pick up Dad so he’s on time for his PT appointment.
Nat’s directing “One Day More” and I stayed too late at rehearsal. No one hit their mark, but at least everybody’s off-book.
I put rehearsal from my mind, focusing on the road since I’m speeding too fast for a small town. Luckily, I hit almost every green light and manage to pull up in front of Dad’s house with several minutes to spare.
Which is when I spot Shelley’s black SUV in the driveway. We’ve waved to each other so many times in the Kinney Run parking lot, of course I know it’s hers.
So, she’s going to take Dad to his physio appointment, and he never thought to mention it over the phone on Tuesday. That feels great. I run my hands through my hair, pulling on the roots as I debate what to do. They haven’t seen me. I could drive away.
But fuck that.
I get out and head up the walkway. Dad can tell me to my face why he doesn’t want me taking him to his appointments anymore. I knock once, and Shelley opens the door before my knuckles wrap a second time.
She’s fussing with her purse, grabbing something from its considerable depths, but freezes when she glances at me.
“Hi.” I offer a tight-lipped smile.
“Oh, Nick, it’s so good to see you.” She twirls her keys around her finger and they catch the afternoon light, as does her silver pendant and silk shirt.
I lean to the side, not meaning to be rude but I want to get this conversation over with. “You too. I’m just here to see my dad.”
“Of course.” Shelley steps out onto the porch as I head inside.
“Nicky?” Dad limps from the kitchen to the living room.
“Is there a reason you didn’t tell me Shelley would take you to physio?”
“I’m going to … wait in the car.” It’s Shelley’s turn for a tight-lipped smile. Some look passes between her and Dad, then she’s out the door.
He waits until it clicks shut before his eyes land on me. “I told you I’d figure it out.”
“Yeah, because that’s not vague or confusing. Why didn’t you say Shelley was taking you?” I shake my head and blow out a breath, steeling myself for the question I really want to ask. “Why didn’t you tell me about her to begin with?”
“You know I’ll always love your mom, right?” Dad leans against the wall. I can’t tell if the tremor in his voice is from talking about her, or if he’s in pain. Maybe both.
My head jerks back for a second, but I catch myself. I wasn’t prepared for the conversation to go this direction. “Wow, okay, we’re jumping into the deep end.”
“Sorry,” he grumbles. “I’m not good at—this stuff.”
“Me either.”
He nods, accepting my concession, and continues, “I wanted you to give Shelley a fair chance.”
I don’t feel my hands clenching into fists until my fingernails bite into my palms. Even after shaking them out, the tension rolling up my arms to my shoulders doesn’t release. “I know I’m not the kind of son you wanted, but?—”
“Why would you say that?” He takes a stuttering step forward.
“You don’t think I’ll be nice to your girlfriend, who’s my boss .”
“I worried it would complicate things for you at camp.”
I run a hand down my face and blow out a breath. “You can tell yourself that you’re worried about complications for my job, but that’s not what this is.”
It’s Dad’s turn to jerk back, probably surprised I called him out.
“You’re right. You and your mom had this special bond.
The two of you were so alike. I’ll always love her, always.
I just didn’t want you thinking I’d forgotten her.
Missing her, it doesn’t go away. And I don’t want you to think I stopped.
” He’s so unsure, feet shifting, eyes roaming.
This is uncharted territory for us, but I can’t hold myself back any longer. “You wouldn’t know what I think because you never ask. After Mom d-died, you checked out. And I get it, I reminded you of her. I was almost an adult anyway, so you figured I could take care of myself.”
“Nicky, you were a child. Nobody should lose a parent that young.”
“Well, I lost both parents when she died.” My mouth snaps shut so hard my teeth click together. I went too far. I brace myself for the angry response I deserve.
But my dad sinks onto the small bench in the foyer, head hanging. His face is hidden, but his voice is thick, strained. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to talk to you about any of this stuff, so I—I just didn’t. I was too afraid to screw it up.”
His words are a gut punch, knocking the air from my lungs until I can’t breathe.
We’re more similar than I thought, both so scared to make a move that we’d rather stand still.
But standing still is a choice. I learned that this summer.
My voice is too loud in my ears as I reply, “You can still make mistakes doing nothing.”
Dad’s head raises, eyes zeroing in on mine. “I was a coward, telling myself you didn’t want to share memories of her, didn’t want to share your music with me. But I should’ve tried. That’s why you think you’re not the son I would’ve wanted, isn’t it?”
I rest on the bench beside him, suddenly weary. “It was hard not to feel like a disappointment.”
“That couldn’t be further from the truth.
” He claps a hand on my back, patting with vigor.
“You were a good kid. You’re a good man, too.
Maybe it’s selfish to feel proud of you, because you did it on your own.
But I do. You’re the first person in our family to go to college, and to teach music of all things.
To follow through on a dream is the hardest god damn thing in the world. But my son did it.”
I can’t swallow around the fist squeezing my windpipe. He deserves the truth, deserves the honesty he gave me. And it was fucking hard for him to do. I’d know, because it’s hard for me, too. “I write music, also.”
Dad straightens, as much as his spine will allow. The hand on my back slides to my shoulder, and he squeezes, pulls me into him. “That’s incredible. Your mom”—his voice cracks—“I wish Leslie could hear it.”
“I’ve never doubted how much you love her.” I stare at my hands in my lap, the veins tracking their way to my wrists. “That’s why it was hard for me to talk to you. I knew you were grieving, too.”
“This is on me. Not you. Okay?” He releases his hold on me, using his hands to push himself to stand. His eyes are on the door, but they’re far away, too. “I like Shelley a lot. I told her she didn’t have to play my nurse,” a smile brightens his voice. “But she said she likes that.”
Oh god, is my dad making a sex joke? My mouth drops open. What do I do? “Um, that’s nice.”
Dad rolls his eyes. “I mean, I’m doing better than I was a year ago. I know you’d do anything for me. You’ve been doing that since my accident. But I saw you with Junie. You should be spending time with her, not shuttling your old man around.”
“That’s why you want Shelley to help?”
“That and she enjoys spending time with me, hell if I know why.” He chuckles, reaching for the doorknob. We step outside, and Dad sighs. “You have a whole life, Nicky. I don’t want you to miss it because you’re shut up with me, taking care of me, when I—” His mouth flattens, and he grunts.
I pause, but he doesn’t continue, so I offer my forearm and help him down the stairs as I say, “I never looked at it that way.”
“But I did. I was trying to spare you the work and the headache of dealing with all this. Instead, I made you feel like shit. I see that now. I’m sorry, Nicky.”
My fingertips tingle, even after I shake them out. “Thanks. That means a lot. It’s—it’s about feeling a connection with you.”
Dad nods, saying, “I, uh, want that, too.”
“Let’s plan that dinner. You and Shelley, me and June.”
My dad smiles, and my chest warms, relaxing some of the tense muscles in my shoulders. “That’s perfect. How’s next Friday?”
“I’ll check with June, but that should work. For now, you better head to PT.” My steps are slow so I don’t outpace him. I stifle the urge to spot him as he limps. I also usually open his car door and make sure he gets both legs in all right, but Shelley waits in the car.
Dad gets in just fine.
Despite understanding why he doesn’t want my help now, it’s hard to give it up. It’s hard not to worry that he’s just saying all this to make me feel better and our relationship will go back to the way it was.
It’s hard to trust this hope that things will be okay.
June
Mal—sitting beside me at the Friday night concert—asks, “You good?”
My thighs are pressed together, and not because my form-fitting silk midi skirt is too tight. The slit goes halfway up my thigh, but I paired it with a graphic tee and white sneakers so I don’t look like I’m trying too hard.
“Mmhmm,” I reply. I don’t trust my voice because I am certainly not good. Nick wears head-to-toe black, and my ovaries are one stiff breeze from exploding. Am I ovulating? It’s the only explanation because I’m downright thirsty.
Chamber Orchestra has finished and Nick’s on stage helping Ethan set up for Jazz Ensemble. Ethan is in concert black too, but it’s not the same. Nick rolls up his shirt sleeves before moving the timpani drum and I whimper.
“Sure about that?” Mal laughs.
I glare in response.
“The first time Philip saw me in concert black, he couldn’t keep his hands off me.”
“Please, don’t.”
“It’s cute, June.” His smile turns devious. “And I’m allowed to tease because I learned about this romantic development along with everyone else at Shaker’s! You never thought to mention that you and Nick were together at all these last couple months?”
Because we weren’t . Even the guilt of lying doesn’t cool the fire beneath my skin. Nick should look pale in all black, but it adds to the broody mystique. Mystique? Girl, you need a cold shower.