Chapter 16
16
THERE IS SOMETHING about going to visit my father’s side of the family that always fills me with dread. That something is dealing with Bill, obviously, but add the overly, desperately cheerful Stephanie always trying to smooth things over so we can be one big happy family, and I’d rather just stay the hell away.
Tragically, I enjoy my sisters. Who are also cursed through our father’s bloodline thanks to my mother—though they, as full humans, know nothing of witches or magic or curses. Everyone calls them forthright . Direct. Stephanie despairs of their lack of tact no matter how she tries to teach them the polite benefit of a little white lie or two.
Only I know they can’t lie.
I’ll admit this brings me more enjoyment than it should.
Stephanie tries to convince me to meet at the house before the football game. Dinner! Drinks! Anything to get me into her over-perfumed but well-meaning orbit.
I tell her I’ll meet them at the game. I should probably warn them I’m bringing Zander...but I don’t. This might or might not have something to do with the fact that I’m in Zander’s truck, like we really are sixteen all over again, fielding these texts from my stepmother.
“Don’t you want to tell them before the game?” he asks in what is, for him, a neutral tone of voice.
“No. Brynleigh should have her moment. She loves the spotlight.”
He spares me a glance, all gray amusement that I pretend I can’t feel inside me like heat. “Coward.”
I could argue. Maybe I try. But okay, I’m a coward.
Obviously that means I have no choice but to turn it around on him. “You didn’t bring your letterman jacket out of storage? You and Bill could talk glory days. How many touchdowns did you make in a single game?”
“He doesn’t still tell those stories,” Zander says as he maneuvers his truck through the human high school parking lot.
I make sure I’m looking right at him as I say, “Of course he does. All the time.”
Not a single lie to be found.
Zander shakes his head as he finds us a prime parking place in the overcrowded lot in what the humans would call another example of his ridiculous good luck, but we both know is a quickly muttered spell.
Truth be told, my dad loved Zander back in the day. Adored him. In fairness, that’s a pretty common reaction. Zander has always been talented at being well-liked just about everywhere he goes.
You could try being nice, you know , he would tell me, back when I did my best to ignore Stephanie to her face. And Bill, but more rudely.
I can’t lie , I would reply. Smugly.
They might actually have mourned harder than I did when we broke up.
Zander buys us our tickets, and we file toward the stands. I didn’t do a glamour, but I’m wearing something uncharacteristically loose so no one can tell I’ve got a bump unless they really look. A little human-level subterfuge. Hidden, but not hidden once I drop the bomb.
I scan the crowd looking for all that blond that will be the Wallace clan. Well, the women anyway. Bill’s gone bald, which brings my mother endless joy.
Stephanie starts waving maniacally once my gaze lands on her. It’s possible if Zander wasn’t there with his hand on my back to herd me along I would turn around and walk right back out. Promises be damned.
But we’re moving through the crowd despite my misgivings. We climb up the uncomfortable bleachers to the little Wallace contingent. The four of my sisters who are not down on the field cheering sit in a row with Stephanie on the end. I don’t see Bill.
I decide that’s better.
“Hey,” I offer by way of greeting.
Stephanie tries to hug me, but with the crowded bleachers and the girls between us, she settles for kind of reaching out and missing touching me entirely. I might also have leaned away, pretending to scan the field for Brynleigh, who I finally spot in the huddle of cheerleaders down at the edge of the field.
“Doesn’t she look pretty?” Stephanie is always good at a pivot, making it seem like what she wanted to do in the first place was discuss Brynleigh, not attempt to have a moment with her grumpy stepdaughter. “We spent two hours getting her hair just right.” She finally seems to realize Zander is with me and turns toward him. “Who’s your... Oh! Zander! ”
I tense, waiting to see what the reception is like. Zander, meanwhile, has never worried about his reception in his life. He just grins like he belongs here.
Stephanie blinks, then smiles broadly. “It’s been too long! Sit. Sit.” She makes shooing motions at the hard bleacher bench. “Girls, you remember Zander.”
“I do not,” Sadie says over her large-rimmed glasses I know for a fact she doesn’t actually need. She immediately stares back down at the book in her lap, which looks like it’s at least a thousand pages long. She likes to make a statement at a football game.
“You’re breaking my heart, Sadie,” Zander replies, squeezing in beside me as I sit down next to her.
Sadie rolls her eyes, but there’s a little blush on her cheeks. On her other side, little Gigi sees it and giggles.
“Are you the high school boyfriend we all hate?” Avery asks innocently enough. Just truth, nothing overtly malicious about it.
I really do love them.
Zander laughs. “Guilty as charged.”
“So why are you here?” Madyson demands, leaning around Avery. She’s tossing a lacrosse ball back and forth between her hands. Bill calls her Sonny —claiming it’s just a take on her name and not the manifestation of his deepest, most unreachable desire to have a son . It’s clear she’s his only sporty hope. Though he’s all for Brynleigh cheering, because it means he can come to high school football games and pretend he’s a young stud all over again.
“Where is Bill?” I ask, wishing I didn’t feel the need.
“Your father is down there talking to the football coach,” Stephanie says, waving down toward the field. Stephanie is always kind. Warm. Desperate. She never corrects me or asks me not to call Bill by his first name, but when I do, she always responds with your father .
I wish I didn’t respect that.
The game starts, and I expect Bill to climb back up to join us, but he stays down by the field. I try to focus on Brynleigh, not his bald head shining in the bright lights of the football field. Or the game that claims Zander’s attention immediately, the way any and every sporting event always does.
I cheer and whistle right along with Stephanie, because she looks so proud and Brynleigh is down there flushed with pleasure and I...am having a daughter of my own. I might hope that she won’t be in the market for two-hour hairdos and this , but maybe it’s good to practice all the ways to be happy for your kid even when it’s not the way you would be happy.
Assuming you know how to be happy , says Ruth in my head. I don’t turn around to look for her. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction.
That’s a little aggressive , I retort. For a jumped-up chicken dish.
I return my attention to the game, the entirety of which passes—complete with cheering and marching bands and all the rest of it—without an appearance from Bill. This is typical. Bill likes his compartments to stay compartmentalized. A blended family was never in his toolbox, no matter how Stephanie wishes otherwise.
We climb down the bleachers with the crowd, Zander’s hand on my back again. This earns me speculative looks not just from my sisters, but from Stephanie herself. I manage not to meet a single one of their speculative looks.
We meet Brynleigh and Bill down at the bottom.
“Let’s go to Fritz’s!” Brynleigh shouts at us as we gather around her, doing a little cheerleading jump. “I deserve some frozen custard after that.”
The last thing I want to do is go to a second location with everyone. “I don’t think...”
“Oh, come along,” Bill says in such an overtly affable voice that I blink in astonishment. He’s not grinning at me though. “It’s been so long since I’ve caught up with Zander.”
Of course. And I guess telling them on a sticky patio over frozen custard is better than in a crowd of human high schoolers.
“Sounds great,” Zander replies, as he and my dad do a complicated handshake, shoulder bump, man thing .
I try and fail to smile, and then we’re walking in a big blond group. Sadie manages this without seeming to lift her eyes from her heavy tome, and I always respect total commitment to all things, but especially to being needlessly dramatic and not like other girls —my personal high school specialty.
In the parking lot, Zander and I get into his truck that is right on the other side of the turnstiles, with promises to meet everyone at Fritz’s. It’s a short drive. We wait by the side of the road in front of the school so Zander can offer a little salute to Bill as he drives by a few minutes later in his oversized SUV.
“I can do it if you want,” Zander says, his eyes steady on the road. “Rip off the Band-Aid and let you handle the fallout.”
The wave of relief that threatens to take me down is unexpectedly huge. I want nothing more than to let him do exactly that, but I also know I won’t be able to live with myself if I’m that much of a coward. “No, I’ve got it. Look, if you want to drop me off until—”
“I’m not dropping you off, baby,” he says matter-of-factly as he once again claims a prime parking spot that wasn’t there for Bill, five seconds ago, in the Fritz’s parking lot.
It reminds me of last night and the way Jacob said he’d be staying at Wilde House. The way Mina and my mom hold on to each other. It resonates— and I tell myself that I really need some Zander-free time tomorrow. As a mental health thing, at this point.
We get out and join the rest of my family in line to order. My stomach is threatening to revolt, something I haven’t dealt with since the early stages of pregnancy. Or the last Joywood attack. I tell myself it’s a resurgence of morning sickness, not nerves.
Because I don’t care what Bill or Stephanie thinks. I never have. As much as I love my sisters, I’m not worried about their reactions either. They’re kids.
And yet.
We shove in at an uncomfortable plastic table that’s bolted into the asphalt. With the sun down, it’s too chilly to be eating something frozen outside, but no one seems to care. Teenagers laugh around us. Couples huddle together.
“We have something to tell you,” I say instead of taking a bite of what I ordered, a Raz-ma-Taz concrete—a name that pains me but is a delightful blend of custard, raspberries, marshmallows, and chopped nuts that I normally inhale.
Beside me, Stephanie’s eyes get huge , and she immediately grips my left hand, inspecting my ring finger.
It never occurred to me that anyone would think that .
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out, lest she start planning white dresses and acres of orchids, though I might be too late.
“I thought you had to be married to have a baby,” Gigi says, her eyebrows beetling together.
“Uh, well, it’s best to be,” Stephanie says. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re not, of course,” she tells me, gripping my hand even harder. Then she turns back to Gigi. “ You really should wait until you are.”
Poor Stephanie. I’m surprised smoke doesn’t start coming from her ears as she tries to make both things okay . The way she always tries so hard to make everything okay.
“We learned all about procreation in health,” Sadie announces proudly. “I can explain it to you, Gigi.”
“No, Sadie. Not now.” Stephanie sounds desperate enough that Sadie keeps her mouth shut, but she grins at me. I want to laugh or return the grin, but my father is just sitting there, a blank look on his face.
Stephanie wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes. “Bill! We’re going to be grandparents !”
My dad says nothing. He doesn’t look at me. And despite how low I would tell you my expectations are for this man, I still expected... something . Some reaction, even if it was faked. A hug. A pat on the back.
A smile , for fuck’s sake.
Instead he stands, awkwardly slipping his phone out of his pocket. “Congratulations. I’m so—” He trips over whatever word he tries to say, and I know that trip. I know he tried to lie. And failed. Mom and I have no idea how he sells a thing. His face gets red. “I have a call to make.”
He walks away, jabbing at his phone like it betrayed him.
A very uncomfortable silence follows. Eventually Stephanie interrupts it with a nervous titter. “You know how touchy he is about getting old.” She shrugs like it’s a cute little joke. “He’ll come around.”
Did I really expect something different? Genuine excitement? It’s not like I don’t know my own father.
Zander’s hand is still on my back, but he shifts to sling his arm over my shoulders. “I hate to break this up, but I’ve got to get to work.”
“At night?” Madyson asks, holding her lacrosse ball in the crook of her neck as she shovels in her frozen custard. “That’s weird.”
“I run a bar,” he tells her.
I know he doesn’t have to work tonight. He’s just getting me out of here.
I feel a rush of sheer relief. Like we’re a team again, the way I imagined we could be back between blowups when we were teenagers. Maybe that’s why looking at other couples doing their team thing makes me feel...almost nostalgic.
“Sounds exciting,” Brynleigh says, all but fluttering her lashes Zander’s way.
“I’m sure your father will be right back...” This is maybe the first time I’ve ever seen Stephanie this overwrought—aside from the few times she’s had to deal directly with my mother.
Zander and I stand, so she stands too. Then wraps me in an overly scented hug, squeezing tight. Holding on like she means it as she whispers, “I’m so happy for you. We’re going to throw you the best baby shower.”
Tonight, probably for the first time, I hug her back. When I whisper my thank you right back to her, I mean it. Even if the idea of a baby shower with her is high on my list of worst ways to spend an afternoon.
She hugs Zander too, while I go through my sisters. We’re not huggers , but they congratulate me, suggest names, show excitement. Except Sadie, who is watching with clear understanding on her face. Because she isn’t just low on tact like the rest of us, she’s perceptive.
When she doesn’t say anything, I give her a sisterly poke. “Don’t forget to text me a birthday list. You have to give me some time to shop.”
She studies me for a moment with eyes like mine. “Just take me to Confluence Books someday. Your friend has the best store.”
I try to smile. “You’re so easy, Sadie.”
“You are literally the only one who thinks so.”
Knowing she can’t lie, I want to hug her then—but I don’t because she’d get all stiff and ask me what’s wrong with me.
A question I won’t know how to answer.
I start to move for Zander’s truck, but Stephanie hasn’t quite given it up yet tonight. “I’m sure your father...”
This time we all turn to look at him. He’s standing over by his SUV, still clenching the phone to his ear. When he sees us all watching him, he lifts a hand in a wave.
Not a greeting. A dismissal. Because in classic Bill Wallace fashion, he doesn’t want to deal with it. With me . So he won’t.
I’m surprised to find myself sad , like all my mad deserted me. Maybe that’s Elizabeth’s fault. That talk about getting tired of being angry last night. I swear I could muster it if I didn’t hear her in my head. Legacies are choices.
We walk to the truck and I get in, feeling fragile. I tell myself it’s last night’s poisoning finally catching up with me. Because I won’t let it be anything else.
Zander says nothing. He starts the truck and begins the drive back to St. Cyprian.
I assure myself the silence is good. Certainly not oppressive . The throbbing inside of me must be the aftereffects of yesterday. With a nice helping of morning sickness.
We came here to make an announcement, and the announcement is made. Everyone knows. The end.
I close my eyes on a wave of sadness, laced with a very old, very familiar pain. I can’t seem to bundle it all up and shove it down the way I usually do. Every time I think it doesn’t matter, that I don’t care, that my life is better without old bald Bill in it—he finds a new way to shove the knife to my heart a little deeper.
Bill’s not evil, but that only makes me sadder. It wouldn’t occur to him that he hurt my feelings, because in his mind, he was confronted with being old —the thing he hates most in all the world. So he walked away from the person and conversation that made him feel that way.
It’s as simple as that.
I realize as this quiet drive goes on that I expected much more from him tonight.
Not because he’s been such a great dad to me , but because he’s been a pretty decent one to my sisters. He goes to almost all their various events. He eats family dinners at home when he’s not traveling for work. He seems to love Stephanie, whatever that means to a man like him.
He’s there for them. And it’s possible that deep down I thought maybe a baby...a child ...could bring us together.
The way we haven’t been since I was a little kid myself.
A tear wells up and makes it over my eyelid, but I magic it away so Zander doesn’t see.
Because this is dumb. I know who Bill is. I know his limitations. He’s not a cruel man. Not abusive. He just doesn’t give a shit about anything that isn’t the Bill Wallace show.
Never has, never will.
“I’m sorry, El,” Zander says in that quiet, almost-gruff way after we’ve driven a while.
“I don’t c—” I suck in a painful breath and try again. “It doesn’t ma—”
I am not going to cry. I chant this to myself. Its own spell. Its own magic. I am not going to lose it sitting in the passenger seat of Zander’s ancient truck. Not over Bill Wallace, of all unworthy people.
I have never let myself cry in front of Zander. I convinced myself it was because I didn’t want him trying to fix it for me. I only cry over things that can’t be fixed and trying to pretend they’re fixable only makes them worse.
Case in point.
I press my forehead to the passenger window. “Just take me home, please.”
He makes a low sort of noise, but I know he’s agreeing, and I relax a little. He’ll take me...somewhere, anyway. We don’t have to do this. He won’t see me cry.
“What home are you thinking?” he asks. “Your mom’s? Your apartment? Or do you want to go back to Wilde House?”
The fact that there are too many options hits me. Hard and wrong.
Why don’t I know where home is?
I’ve spent years avoiding that question, ever since my father left the house I grew up in and nothing was ever the same. That isn’t to say it didn’t have upsides, but it still wasn’t the same.
Tonight it breaks over me, in me. Into a long, painful sob. Into tears I can’t stop.
I cover my face with my hands and try to find a spell to hide this, but it just doesn’t come. It doesn’t matter how mortified I am. The sobs wrack my body.
Over and over again.
Zander must have pulled over, because a few seconds later, he’s moving me into his lap. I want to fight him, but I don’t. I can’t.
For the first time in my life, I cry in front of another person who isn’t my mom.
I cry directly into his chest. What else is there to do?
He tucks me under his chin, wrapping me in his strong arms and holding me close. He doesn’t tell me not to cry. He doesn’t tell me it will all be okay.
Zander doesn’t say any of that. He just holds me and calls me baby and kisses my hair.
I cry until I’m weak. Until I’m spent.
Until there’s no pretending I don’t know that his shirt is soaked with my stupid tears and almost worse, I am curled up in his lap in a truck on the side of the highway.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
He laughs a little, still smoothing a big hand over my hair. Then he presses a kiss to the crown of my head. “Buck up, El. We’ve got one more stop to make.”
I can’t bring myself to look at him as I crawl back to my seat. Like an embarrassing morning after, but without any of the good stuff to reflect on in the shower.
“We need to go tell my dad,” he says.
I’m surprised enough by that to look over at him as he pulls the truck back out onto the road. “You haven’t told him already?”
He shakes his head. “I thought it would make him sad. And it will.”
He turns to look at me then, and his eyes are a blaze of silver fury.
Not at me, but on my behalf.
It makes me want to melt. Maybe I do. I’m too waterlogged to tell.
“It will also make him happy, Ellowyn, like it should.” His voice is hard then, the kind of hardness he never shows my dad to his face. “He’s going to be sad because Mom isn’t here to see it, but this is also going to be his grandkid . And to him? That’s going to be pure joy and happiness. I promise you.”