31. 31 Gigi
31
31 GIGI
TORN
Heathcliff’s before open was my favorite. The darkened bar, the hush of silence. The way my footsteps echoed as I walked across the hardwood, then dulled as I hit the anti-slip mats behind the bar.
Used to be, silence meant failure. It meant no customers, and no cash flow, and the brink of closure. Now, it was the peace before the chaos. The calm before the storm.
It was my favorite.
Well, second favorite now. Any moment spent with Parker sat at the top spot on my favorites list now. Even last night, her on my couch amid a disaster zone of books and papers, in her sweats and topknot, was higher on my list than anything else at the moment.
Smiling to myself, I sat cross-legged on the floor behind the bar. I’d come in early to inventory our liquor supply. It was usually my least favorite task in all of Heathcliff’s—I’d rather clean out the fryers than count the booze—but I’d been in such a good mood lately that even this tedious-ass task couldn’t bring me down.
I fell into a rhythm, counting and typing, labeling and noting, until my brain was a blank slate. Nothing but numbers and names of alcohols and the random melodies I hummed as I worked.
It was calm. It was quiet.
It was Zen as fuck.
Which was probably why when Vaughn leaned against the bar next to me, I jumped about ten feet into the air.
“Jesus fuck!” I spun on my butt to face him. “Why are you sneaking around like a goddamn ninja with a man bun?”
He frowned. “I called your name three times. That’s hardly ninja-like.”
“Oh.” Now it was my turn to frown. “Shit, sorry.” I sat my stack of paperwork down and stood, brushing my hands over my jeans. “What’s up?”
His dark eyes looked me over before he spoke, face unreadable. My stomach flipped. “I was hoping to talk to you before I head out.” He gestured toward the empty bar. “You have a few minutes?”
I eyed him, skeptical. “Is everything okay?”
He nodded, then walked away, waving for me to join him. “Come on.”
With one last look at my half-finished inventory list, I followed. Vaughn picked a two-top against the wall and we sat. I exhaled, anxiety creeping at the edges of my brain, and looked up, tracing the lines of Jo March, long, lean, and fierce, looming over us. It was my favorite of the figures Anya had painted on the walls. They were all good. Anya was stupid talented. But something about Jo, even from the concept sketch she’d shown me ages ago, had spoken to me.
Locking eyes with the fictional character, I willed her to loan me some of that fierceness that emanated from her so effortlessly. I wasn’t feeling very fierce right now. I was feeling a lot of things, but fierce was not one of them.
I blew out a steadying breath and faced my brother. I didn’t know what he wanted to talk about, but I had an idea. And that idea started par and ended with ker.
“All right,” I said, sitting back in my chair. “Out with it.”
Vaughn frowned, mirroring my position. “Out with what?”
“I take it Anya talked to you.” At his nod, I continued. “I take it she has opinions ?”
“It’s Anya, so of course,” he relented. “But—”
“Look.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “I get that she’s worried, and she’s being protective, but we’re both consenting adults, and we—”
“Oh, no.” Vaughn shook his head, dark brows furrowed. “That’s not what I want to talk about. In fact, I’d rather not talk about it at all.” He looked horrified, on the border of traumatized. “Which was what I told Anya when she tried to talk to me about it. As far as I’m concerned, my sister does not…do that. With anyone.”
He shook his head again, and the look on his face made me laugh. “Oh, my god, Vaughn. You’re such a prude. Ironic, since everyone in this place has heard you and Anya rattling furniture upstairs.”
He harumph ed and glowered. I laughed harder.
Once I recovered, I folded my hands in front of me. Still smiling, I asked, “Well, if this isn’t about Parker, what is it about?”
“The other thing Anya told me.” He rested his foot on his opposite knee, grumpy face replaced by something much closer to contemplative. “She said you sang with the band. The…mayonnaise band?”
“Ahh.” My heart stuttered, blood rushing loud in my ears. “I was just helping out. They lost their lead singer and are having trouble finding a replacement. Dante held things down so I could do the set. He did a great job! It was like I wasn’t even gone at all. And it’s not gonna happen again, so you don’t have to worry about—”
“Would you take a damn breath, woman?”
I inhaled and fell back in my seat. “Sorry, I just…I don’t want you to worry that I—”
“I’m not worried.” He frowned. “You’re apologizing like you did something wrong, but I’m not mad, either.”
“Oh.” I frowned back at him. “Then why did you want to talk about it?”
He looked at me, long and solemn, before he spoke again. When he did, the question he posed hit me like a cannonball to the gut.
“Are you happy, Gi?”
“I, um…yes?” My brain buzzed like a swarm of hornets had taken up residence, but I nodded my way through it. “Of course I am.”
Vaughn didn’t respond. He studied me, his eyes burning into me like hot coals. I shifted under his stare, looking around for an escape. When none presented, I broke. “What?”
He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say what he was about to say. But then, he clearly decided to go for it. “The bar was never your dream, Gi—”
“It wasn’t yours, either,” I cut in, feeling like a volcano on the verge of erupting. “Yet you spent years putting your life on hold to keep it open.”
“That doesn’t mean I want the same for you,” he snapped. His eyes flashed, nostrils flared. It was the closest to mad I’d seen him get in a long time.
I sat back in my seat, any argument I had gone.
“I did what I had to do,” he continued, his tone softer, “because Dad was depending on me. And, to some extent, you were, too.” At this, I tried to interrupt, to disagree, but he kept talking. “If I was here, helping the old man keep this place open, that meant you didn’t have to be.”
“Vaughn—”
“If I sacrificed for you then,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken at all, “what makes you think I want you to sacrifice now?” He leaned in, elbows on the table, and the dim overhead light caught the fire in his eyes. “To sacrifice the very happiness I wanted for you?”
I don’t know what to say. So I said nothing.
“I am so happy you’re home,” he went on. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. Without you, and your inability to take fuck off for an answer, who knows where we’d be.”
At that, I laughed. He’d definitely told me to fuck off, more than once, when I first came home. And not once did it stick.
My laugh pulled a smile from Vaughn and we shared a brief moment of levity. I knew it was brief, though, because I knew my brother. He wasn’t done.
“Heathcliff’s is thriving now,” he said, gesturing around us. Behind the bar, Dante was hard at work, and further back, Artie and Kai handled the kitchen like pros. Soon, the waitresses would come in, and everything would run smooth as the finest whiskey once we unlocked those doors. “You’ve hired a solid team. You’ve trained Dante to do your job—and I fully believe he could do more. So, if you’re here because you’re worried we won’t survive without you, you’ve made yourself obsolete.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said.
He smirked. “You know what I mean. You’ve done an amazing job, Gi. I’m so fucking proud. And so goddamn thankful.” He leaned his arm on the table, dropping his eyes until I met his gaze. “I love you, you little jerk. I want you to be happy.”
I huffed out a quiet laugh, fidgeting under his stare. “I’m not… un happy.”
He merely lifted a brow. “Do you want to perform again?”
“I don’t need—”
“Do you want,” he repeated, “to perform?”
I looked from him to the empty stage in the corner, envisioning the last time I stood there. The adrenaline, the euphoria, the pure elation. I smiled without meaning to. When I looked back to my brother, he was nodding. “There’s your answer.”
“But I can’t just…go,” I said, “I can’t leave you.”
Again.
It’s an unspoken word, but we both heard it. Vaughn reached out and covered my hands with his. “Gi,” he said, “you can’t punish yourself forever.”
My eyes burned. I tried to blink the tears away, but they fell anyway. “Why?” I asked, my voice hoarse. “Why do I deserve to be happy after…after I left you alone? After I left Dad—”
“Because he wouldn’t want you to be sad.” He said it with fire, squeezing my hand hard. “Do you think our dad, the kindest man to ever walk this earth, the man who would have done anything for his children, would want his own sacrifices to be in vain? Would want his daughter, who he adored more than anything, to be unhappy?”
The tears fell in earnest now, splashing over our clasped hands. I watched the rivulets fall over our inked skin, unable to look up. “I…I want to go back,” I whispered, “I want a do over. He…he deserved more than…more than me.”
“Georgia Murphy.” Vaughn’s voice was stern. “Look at me.”
Slowly, I raised my head. Vaughn’s face was more serious than I’d ever seen it. It was almost enough to stop the tears from falling.
Almost.
“He was proud of you,” he said once he was sure I was listening. “Till the very fucking end, he was proud of you. He would tell anyone that listened that his baby girl was out there, seeing the world. That she was braver than he ever was.” I started to scoff, but the look on his face killed it before it could leave me. “He learned how to use my laptop to find videos of your performances online, and then he would make everyone watch them.”
“What?” My brain tried to wrap around what Vaughn was saying, but it wasn’t quite computing. “He…he did that?”
“He did.” Vaughn smiled then, the eye-crinkling smile that he stole from Dad. “It was fucking obnoxious, too, the way he’d make us watch them over and over.”
“I…I didn’t know that.” My heart warmed in corners that had been arctic for years as I pictured our old man forcing his regulars to watch me sing on a cruise ship in the middle of nowhere. “I wish I knew that.”
“Yeah, well.” He looked down, wincing. “I was pissed when you came home, so I didn’t tell you.” Glancing up, he added, “I’m sorry about that.”
“You had every right to be pissed. You should still be pissed.”
“Nah. Takes too much energy.” He patted my hand then pulled his back across the table. “But seemed like you needed to know it now.”
I nodded, blinking away yet another bout of tears. “Thank you. For telling me.”
Vaughn tilted his head. “He’d kick your ass, you know, if he could see this martyr shit you’re pulling.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Yeah, well. I’m done with that.” His brown eyes warmed on mine. “You should be, too.”
We sat for a few quiet moments, looking at each other, letting the memories, the revelations, and the lessons settle over us. Then, Vaughn stood. “I think you should take the gig,” he said as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head.
Then, he walked away.
I stared after him, emotion after emotion surging through me, like waves against rocks. I gripped the table and braced myself until my insides subsided. Then, I stood and headed for the office. I needed some quiet before the bar opened. Some solitude.
Once I reached the office, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it. My gaze immediately found the framed photograph hanging above Vaughn’s desk and, with a shaky breath, I reached for it and pulled it down.
My high school graduation. Maybe the last picture we all took together before I left. I was sandwiched between Dad and Vaughn, both towering above me. Both with smiles that crinkled their eyes. Vaughn had always looked like our father, but more and more these days, I saw the old man in him. It made me ache.
I ran a finger over baby Gigi, her impulsive pixie cut and dark lipstick making her look like a little girl playing dress-up. God, I thought I knew it all then. I thought I had everything figured out.
I thought my dad would always be here, with his strong arms to hug me and his sage words to soothe.
“If only you knew,” I whispered to the photograph, flinching when a tear splashed against the glass. Another followed, then another, until it looked like the sunny day captured in the shot was tarnished by a rainstorm.
God, I was a leaky mess today.
Sniffling, I squared my shoulders. Then, I wiped the tears from the glass and put the frame back on the wall. Baby Gigi may have known nothing, but I wasn’t that girl anymore. Now? Well, now, I knew too much. I knew the bite of heartbreak, the sting of disappointment. The soul-stomping pain of loss. I knew all too well the hot, sharp stab of regret, of knowing how your choices hurt those you love.
I heard what Vaughn said. I absorbed it.
But he was wrong. I couldn’t make those choices again. The time to be selfish was dead and gone. Now? Now was about the people I cared about. The people I loved.
At the thought, a montage of memory ran through my mind. Parker, standing on the sidewalk outside the bar. Parker, across from me in my kitchen. Parker, dark hair fanned out behind her in my bed. Sweet pink lips and fathomless blue eyes. Tinkling laughter and throaty moans. Fingertips and full hips and a heart so big and open it could fit the whole damn world inside…
“Fuck,” I whispered. I hadn’t let myself think these last few days. I hadn’t let myself second guess, reconsider, run. No, I’d stepped right in front of the freight train with arms wide open, welcoming the collision.
And, oh, had it hit me. Hard and fast.
Oxygen left my lungs in a whoosh as all of the pieces clicked into place. The excitement, the euphoria. The panic. The peace and the passion. The chaotic, red-stringed board inside my chest, jumping from point to point, all arriving at the same conclusion:
I was in fucking love.