28. Nick
NICK
Days and Days - Fun Home
With our jam-packed schedule, the next week flies by. I should be beyond stressed, and my blood pressure’s definitely up, but working with June all day then taking her to my bed at night?
Deep peace fills my chest.
Even the music I’m writing has changed. Not that I’ve got tons of free time, but I like to end my day sitting at the piano.
Feel the smooth glide of the keys beneath my fingers.
With June sitting next to me, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.
She watches me work and write, sings a few lines with me.
There’s a through-note of hope winding around my music now.
Maybe that’s why I’m struggling to finish the song I’ve been working on all summer. I don’t know how to write about hope that buoys, only how hope drags you down. It’s also tricky to write a song that’s about June while she’s two inches away.
I reworked the line about bridges and choices, though. I’m not ready to transpose yet, but the beating heart of the song is there.
Tonight’s the last Friday night concert because Les Mis opens next Friday and the majority of the music students will play in the pit.
Sitting in the audience next to June, I focus on the campers, on how hard they’ve worked.
But with Dad and Shelley on my other side, and June’s parents next to her, I’m preoccupied.
And for once this week, I’m not replaying the mind-blowing sex we had in Zimmerman, but the conversation beforehand. June said failure was walking through an open door, and it stuck with me—it sits on my shoulder, whispers in my ear at night.
I thought failure was falling backwards, but if I fail while working toward a goal, it’s forward motion.
And I’m done standing still, I’m ready to move.
Which is why I invited my dad to the concert tonight.
I’m not playing in it, but it’s better this way.
Dad hasn’t sat through a concert since Mom died.
Shelley wouldn’t push him to come, but I need him here.
I’m going to talk to him about my idea to take a sabbatical. It’s been bouncing around in my brain for weeks now, and I need to clear it with my principal soon, but I want Dad to be the first person I tell.
When the concert’s finally over, he swipes at the corner of his eye, “Feels like it was yesterday, watching you, Nicky. Now look at you. Teaching those kids on stage.”
Shelley runs her hand over Dad’s forearm. “A full circle moment.”
Before he can say anything else, Tomas and Mickie stand. Tomas says, “Shelley, you’re doing amazing things with this program.”
Mickey interjects, “I don’t know how you keep this camp running, but I’m so glad you have.”
“Me too.” Shelley smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
After a somewhat awkward beat, she says, “I’ve got to make my usual post-concert rounds.
” Her eyes flash to mine, an unspoken question in them.
She wants to make sure I’ve got my dad. I nod, grateful that she understands this is a lot for him.
And with that, Shelley turns, exiting our row.
“So, Junie, Wils tells me there’s a soft serve machine in the dining hall now. What are the chances we can sneak in and get some ice cream?” Mickie peers around her husband.
They shuffle out of the row, and I overhear June tempering her mother’s expectations. They usually run out of waffle cones by the end of the day.
Someone hails Tomas, and he excuses himself to chat with a friend. The Sadlersburg music scene is small; he probably knows most of the audience.
That leaves me and my dad. “Want to see backstage?”
“Love to.” He leans heavily on my arm as we head down the aisle. This late in the day, Dad’s pain always ramps up. I can’t show him all of DPAC, but he can make it up the few steps to the stage.
Ever a construction worker, Dad shows more interest in the catwalk above the stage than anything to do with music or performing. But baby steps.
The red curtain dulls the buzz of activity from the auditorium, though backstage is quiet since all the students took off for the dance at the student center. Dad drops into a folding chair on the stage, leg stiff, and I take the one next to him.
“Thanks for inviting me along. Shell’s been trying to get me to a concert all summer, but I—well.” Dad stares straight ahead as he talks, and judging by his tone, he has something he wants to tell me. A month ago, that would’ve made me nervous, but now I’m excited to share my plan as well.
“I also invited you out to, um, talk to you.” Not the strong start I planned, but I’m working up to it.
“What’s up, son?” Dad looks at me, open and curious. And it feels good.
I suck in a big breath, letting it out with my news. “I’m taking a sabbatical this year.”
“That’s a break from teaching, right?” He scratches his temple.
“It means I can take time off without breaking my contract. I’m going to focus on my music.” Admitting it makes me light-headed, and the tips of my fingers tingle.
“June’s had a good influence on you.”
“I wish I could say I came to the realization on my own, but yeah. She’s so motivating, and it—it makes me feel stuff I’ve tried to push down.”
“So you’re moving to the city with her?” he says, but I can’t read his tone. Encouragement? Disappointment?
“I’m not leaving Sadlersburg, I’m not leaving you.”
Dad’s mouth twists into a grimace, and he looks at his hands. “I’m sorry, Nicky.”
“For what?”
“All the ways I’ve held you back.”
“Dad—” My voice cracks.
“I should’ve seen sooner how burnt out teaching made you.
I only noticed this summer because with June, you—you came alive.
” He runs a hand through his graying hair, sighing.
“After your mom died, I was … scared, so scared. And boom, you were ready for college. You were going to leave, and why would you come back? Not for me. There was so little connecting us, without your mom. I knew if you left, I’d never see you.
So, I said it was about money. But I could’ve helped you take out loans, move away to a college you wanted to go to. ”
“That’s not true,” I protest.
“I wouldn’t have blamed you. I wasn’t a great father.
But pushing you to take the education scholarship at Sadler U …
I told myself it’s what a good father would want.
You’d have financial security, job security.
” Dad clears his throat, but his voice still wavers as he speaks.
“It was selfish and small of me. I shouldn’t have made you stay, but I was afraid to lose you too. ”
I was afraid to lose you too .
But we both kept each other at arm’s length, for fear of getting hurt.
I can’t even say for certain that I would've come back. I was so angry and hurt after Mom died, and I pulled away from the only parent I had left. I couldn’t say Dad was wrong, not completely.
But things are different now.
I wet my lips, mouth suddenly dry, and rasp, “I know it’s messed up, but after your accident, we had common ground.
We had our thing. It scared the shit out of me, but I’m glad I got to be there for you.
I want to be there for you. When you told me about Shelley, though …
” I shake my head. The words I need escape me, and I don’t know how to continue without making it worse.
Dad’s voice is quiet, kind. “There went our common ground.”
“Kind of, yeah.” I inhale deeply, lips pursed.
But I push through my hesitation. “I just—don’t understand.
Mom loved music, Shelley, too. It’s her job.
But my music …” The words physically won’t come.
Dad shifts in his seat, so I continue before he speaks.
“I don’t want you to think I’m not happy for you and Shelley, I am.
I just want to understand why it’s different with me. ”
“For a guy without a musical bone in his body, yeah, it’s weird I fell for two women who music means so much to.
But … it could’ve been anything, you know?
It was the way Leslie’s eyes lit up when her favorite song came on the radio.
And how Shelley gives 100 percent to these kids.
” He sags against the back of the chair, whispering, “I never knew this meant so much to you. Not until recently.”
“Because I hid it from you.”
He shakes his head, eyes holding mine. “No. Because I made you feel like it wasn’t safe to show me.
That’s—that’s why I didn’t call after my accident.
I’d failed you, as a father. I didn’t deserve for you to swoop in and take care of me, Nicky.
I didn’t deserve for you to take on so much.
But I manage a lot on my own, and I’ve got Shelley now, too.
I can’t change what I screwed up in the past, but I can tell you now that you should go.
Pursue your passion. Take that sabbatical and go to the city, do …
whatever it is musicians do, I don’t even know.
” His laugh is weak, vulnerable, but it means more to me this way.
“I’m not sure either. There are so many unknowns. That’s why I thought I’d stay around Sadlersburg, where it’s familiar. Safe,” I murmur that last word.
“I was scared after the accident. What my life would look like, how things would change. But I didn’t quit. I’m not rolling over.” Dad rubs his jaw, inhaling deep. “And I’m so friggin’ glad I didn’t, because I—I want to ask Shelley to marry me.”
“Dad, that’s amazing! Congratulations!” My heart thumps hard, happily. But the echo’s empty, too. Unbidden, I’m seized by the image of June dressed in white, wearing my ring. It steals my breath. I can’t get a hold of myself after how deeply and truly that dream strikes me.
“Well, she has to say yes first,” he jokes, but it’s forced. Worried.
“She will.”
“It feels weird asking for your permission?—”
“Then don’t. You don’t need it. I want this for you, and I know Mom would, too.”
Dad sniffs, nodding. With a cough, he clears the emotion from his throat. Most of it anyway. “So if I can get married again at my age, you can quit your job and do what you love. Be with who you love.”
Fuck, I love her.
The feeling shouldn’t hit me so hard, it’s glaringly obvious. But I’m afraid to think it, afraid to hope. “Whoa, whoa, I just said a sabbatical. Not actually quitting.”
“Listen to me, Nicky.” He turns in his seat until we’re facing each other. “I can’t take credit for the man you’ve grown into. But I am taking credit for this: Chase your dream with June.”
All the fear of failure I’ve struggled with for so long falls away when I imagine June’s hand in mine. With us working together, I can’t fail. Not when the most incredible woman I’ve ever met is by my side. “Okay, Dad.”
“And before you go, I—I’d love it if you played for me sometime. Your music.” His voice shakes on those last two words.
I stand and offer my arm. There’s an extra weight with me, like Mom is here, holding on to both of us, connecting us. “I’d love to.”
When he grasps my arm, he pulls me in for a hug, thumping me hard on the back. “Let’s go find our girls.”