CHAPTER 27

I knew going home for the weekend would be a minefield, but it’s even more treacherous than I imagined. All my dad’s friends are in one house to celebrate his award, and the table is full of friends bursting with well-intention and dangerous curiosity. “How’re classes?” Nina, my dad’s former tour manager, asks me over dinner Saturday night. “Hard, but at least they’re interesting,” I say. “I have two essays and a project due before midterms.” So far, so good. I take a congratulatory bite of fettucine, cooked to perfection by the chef Dad and Haley hired when Sophia hit two and Haley started working again full-time. “How’s Avery?” Haley asks. My stomach untwists a little. “Already planning her platform for student government. And shopping like crazy.” “You’re rooming with your friend?” Nina asks, and I take a slow breath. “Er… no. My roommate’s kind of different,” I tell them. “I think she sees me as competition.” Uncle Rudy cocks his head. “Didn’t figure an undergraduate degree was so ruthless.” Every pair of eyes turns to me, including my dad’s from the head of the table. “Everything’s a competition, Uncle Rudy.” I drain my water glass before reaching for the bottle of bourbon at the center of the table. My dad narrows his eyes as I pour into the empty glass. “Enough,” he says when there’s half an inch inside. I roll my eyes. “I’m an adult.” “You’re still my kid.” The conversation turns to the lifetime achievement award my dad won, and I’m both relieved the pressure is off and fascinated by the discussion. Across the table, Sophia plays with her pink plastic spoon, her dark hair in pigtails and her eyes bright with enthusiasm for everything. Her bow mouth lifts in an incandescent smile, and I can’t resist grinning back. It sounds trite, but she’s seriously growing up so fast. She walks and babbles and tries to make sense of the world around her. Good luck with that, Soph. I decided on the plane home I’d use this weekend to warm Dad up to the idea of Vanier, but I haven’t decided how that will work. After dinner, I catch Dad in his office talking with Rudy. I creep up to the half-open door to hear them speaking in hushed tones. “What’s going on?” I ask. Rudy clears his throat. “Nothing. Good to see you, kid.” He drops a kiss on top of my head like I’m still ten years old before heading out the door. “Well?” I ask again once Rudy’s gone, squaring my shoulders. “It’s shop talk.” Dad goes to the fireplace, kneels before it, and stacks logs inside. Now’s my chance to talk to him. I drop to my knees at his side. “You can talk business in front of me. If I’m old enough to drink at home, I’m old enough for that.” He adjusts the logs, adding kindling from the bin nearby. “It’s about our catalogue. Wicked has the rights to some of our early tracks and is planning to record them with new artists. I’m trying to go through lawyers to get them back, but so far nothing.” I grab a newspaper from the stack and wad up a sheet, encouraged by his admission. “So, write new songs.” He shakes his head as he tucks the sheets I pass him around the edges of the kindling. “It’s not that easy, Emily. I’ve been out of the business a long time.” He rises to get a match from the box on the mantel and lights the edges of the paper in the fireplace. The flames lick at them, trying to find their way. I rise too. On a surge of bravado, I reach into my pocket and pull out a sheet of paper I was scribbling on the plane. “I want you to look at something.” “What is this?” I shift on my feet. “A poem. Or a song.” He reads it again while I hold my breath. I’ve imagined this moment so many times. I’ve imagined his response—surprise, admiration, pride. “You spend all day reading and writing essays for school, and when you’re done you want to do this?” Hurt lodges in my throat. “It doesn’t have to be a hobby. I could do this for real. Like you did.” He folds his arms. “Emily, I went into the industry because an offer came and I was too young and desperate to turn it down.” He retrieves his bourbon from the desk. “You’ve seen the brightness of the music industry but never the dark. If you had any idea how many threats, how many lawsuits, how many people wanted to use me... I’m grateful my career brought me my family, my friends, the ability to make something that affects people—it’s not a question of that. But that kind of life has a cost, and I would never want that for you.” “Given how you grew up, I would’ve thought you’d want me to have the choice you didn’t. And I do have that choice.” His gaze narrows. “I don’t want you to pay it without understanding what you’re signing up for.” Frustration flows through me. “But don’t you think I pay it anyway being your kid? I never got to choose that part.” The words hang between us until he holds the paper out for me. “Tell Haley and the others I’ll be out in a few minutes. I need to return a call.” I take the sheet from him, then he grabs me in a quick one-armed hug before turning back to his desk. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see how it could be. And tonight, there’s nothing I can do to change his mind. I ball up the sheet of lyrics and toss it into the fire before heading for the door. “I know you spent the entire weekend lying to your family,” Andie whispers as we take our seats in our entertainment class Monday. The pen I’m retrieving from my bag falls from my fingers and rolls toward her desk. “What?” She picks it up, cocking her head. “You pretended to be present when you were really mentally jerking off to Timothy Adams.” Warmth floods me as I take the pen back. “You did have some hot chemistry before you walked away from him Friday morning,” she presses. “Stone cold.” “Seventy-eight times I wrote to you.” In my mind, Timothy Adams had walked away and never looked back. If that wasn’t true… I keep telling myself that changes nothing, but it means he cared. Even when he was going through whatever he was going through, he thought of me. When I walked away, I didn’t mean to be petty, but I wanted him to feel a tiny, momentary slice of the hell he’d put me through. “Whatever your plan was,” Andie continues, “the guy looked seriously bummed you were gone. He didn’t dance with another girl all night.” Her words leave my body tingling. Timothy still brings up a ton of emotions in me, and it’s not only about who he was. Judging from what I heard at Leo’s last week, he’s even more talented than he was a year ago. He’s more confident too, more grown up. We both are. But just because he had a harder time leaving me than I thought doesn’t change anything for us now. It can’t. My gaze pulls to the door when Rica enters, scanning for a seat. The only remaining one is next to us, and she drops into it. The instructor starts her lecture, and I try to tune into the discussion in class about how to set yourself apart while building a brand. “So, this family weekend,” Andie says to me at the end of class. “It was big?” “Ten people, plus my dad and stepmom and little sister. Food and booze and sugar comas.” I tuck my notebook away in my bag. “My weekend was here, watching movies and living on noodles. Your life sounds like heaven.” The image of my dad reading my words and handing them back to me floods my mind—him tossing them into the fire, watching them dissolve. “Not even close.” I shoulder my bag and start for the door. “I know you have issues with your dad,” Andie says, “but if he’s breathing? He shows up? Sounds like an epic father figure.” Before I can respond, she takes off down the hall, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. Rica’s appearance at my side makes me jump. “You going to her set tomorrow? She’s got twenty minutes at Comedy Palace.” I shake my head in surprise. I’d figured Andie would’ve told me about something like that. Rica starts to take off, but I grab her bag first. “Hey,” I say on impulse as she turns, raising a brow. “I know I’m not your favorite person. I know all you want is for me to be gone so you can have a single room. And your voodoo might even work—” Her black-rimmed eyes round. “My what?” Shit. “The dolls. On your headboard.” “You think they’re voodoo dolls?” Her face slackens in disbelief. “They’re for Etsy. I sell them.” “Oh. Fuck. I’m sorry.” I flush with embarrassment. “Anyway, maybe we could go to this show together. To support Andie.” Rica flips me off, and my stomach sinks. Three paces away, she turns to call over her shoulder, “You know where I live. You can pick me up at eight.” I follow Rica up the stairs from the subway later that night. “You got into the DJ booth at the club on Friday night. How’d you even do that?” We fall into step together on the sidewalk. “Trade secrets,” she says, but her voice turns wistful. “I’m gonna set the world on fire. You’re not making music, you’re making a vibe. It’s all about mood and energy and tempo. Your tracks have an energy; your people have an energy. They’re like atoms. Every combination of people has its own sense, its own chaos. It’s all about finding those three people.” “Three people?” I’m intrigued. Those are the most words I’ve heard my roommate string together in my presence, and now that she’s talking, I don’t want her to stop. “Three people who set the tone for everyone else. You can always find three people in a crowd. No one will admit they’re watching them or even knows consciously. But they are. If you’re spinning, you gotta get to know them. Live inside them. You move them, they move the room.” Before I can ask more, we’re outside the doors of the venue. Comedy Palace is smaller than Leo’s, and Rica scans the foyer as if she’s looking for her three people even now. We find a table at the back. We’re barely seated when two hands land on my shoulders and I whirl in my seat. Jacob grins down at me. “Hey, ladies.” “What are you doing here?” I ask, feeling the smile pull across my face already. “We were invited.” Before I can ask who “we” is, my gaze lands on the guy next to him, and I stiffen. Timothy’s dressed in jeans and a dark-blue button-down that makes his chocolate eyes look even darker. But the most surprising part isn’t his presence—it’s how not disappointed I am to see him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but by who?” I ask lightly. Timothy looks between me and Rica, who picks at her leather jacket innocently. Every combination of people has its own sense, its own chaos. Apparently, Rica liked our brand of chaos enough to recreate it. The guys grab chairs and pull them up to our table. Timothy’s forced to tuck his in close to mine so Rica can still get out and head for the bar. “You want?” she asks Jacob, jerking her head. “Yeah, sure.” He follows her. “Did you tell Eddie and Haley you’re at Vanier?” Timothy asks me when Rica’s gone. His bluntness has me straightening. “No.” “You’re going to have to.” “Why do you care?” “Because I care about you.” Something flickers behind Timothy’s eyes. “And I care about them,” he goes on. Before I can argue, Rica and Jacob return, and the house lights dim. The first performer is a guy who talks about his pets for the entire time. Andie’s the second performer. We cheer as she takes the stage. “Here’s the thing about being twenty in New York—everyone assumes you came from some piece-of-shit city to be an overpaid trader or an underpaid actor. I take offense to that. I came from the country to be an unpaid comedian.” The audience chuckles as she strolls across the stage, the lights following her. “I have three younger brothers, but my dad died when I was ten.” My stomach falls, but she continues. “So, I had to keep my mom laughing. Because them wetting the bed every night wasn’t doing it.” The backs of my eyes burn as I think of our exchange in the hallway earlier about my dad, how I gave her shit for making him sound better than he is. I’d asked her about her baggage once, and she said it was too much to talk about. I duck my face to swipe at my damp eyes, and my gaze finds Timothy’s, holds it. He’s feeling what I am—compassion, sadness, understanding, and I’m glad he’s here. I force myself to focus on the rest of Andie’s set, then the remaining performers, and the heaviness gives way to laughter. Everyone has their own pain. Andie uses it to connect people, weaves the hard times in with the good ones. When the houselights come up, I pull out my phone to text Andie, but Rica grabs my arm. “Don’t. This wasn’t about us.” The crowd outside is laughing and tipsy as we wind our way out to the street. I fall into step next to Jacob, behind Timothy and Rica. “Let’s get something to eat,” Jacob decides. We find a diner a block away. I hold the door for Rica, and she shakes her head, holding up a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket. Before the three of us can find a booth, Jacob’s phone rings. He checks the screen and starts toward the door. “Order me a Coke,” he calls. “I’ll be back.” Timothy and I slide into the booth across from one another. There are people of every kind in the restaurant. There’s an elderly couple across from a young couple, and I wonder what they’re talking about, what their lives are like, if they act brave in the daylight, if questions they can’t answer start to circle their minds when the lights go out. “I know I have to tell him,” I blurt, turning back to find Timothy watching me, impassive. “But I want him to understand why I’m doing it. I want him to see that I’m good enough to make a career at this. Last year, I was so focused on getting into Vanier. It was this singular thing I could picture. I told myself everything would be easy once I was surrounded by people who got what it meant to want this life, to be on the stage. But now that I’m here, it’s not easy. Maybe it never will be again. Do you ever feel that way?” My voice is just audible over the chatter and clinking cutlery and plates. I sink my shoulders back against the booth. I feel more vulnerable than when he found my Polaroids, than when I stood in front of him naked, because this it the truth—the thing that haunts me, that I don’t have an answer to. It’s not my past, it’s my future. “More than you know.” Timothy shifts forward in his seat. His shoulders are tight under his button-down. “When I left Dallas for New York, I had a contract with a label. Was supposed to start in the studio a week in. But my third day here, I got a call from Philly. My dad wrecked his car driving drunk and was in a coma in the hospital.” My body goes cold, but he continues before I can process. “I went back to Philly. Stared at his face for two days, couldn’t decide whether I wanted to save him or pull the plug—because the prick listed me to make those decisions, after all we’ve been through. In the end, I told them to do everything they could. For a week, they did. He died anyway.” My gut twists tighter, until all my organs are one giant knot of sadness and rage—sadness for Timothy and what he must have felt, rage for knowing he went through it alone. “I took care of arrangements. Got a loan to cover the funeral.” He grimaces, shoving a hand through his dark hair. “I figured I’d pay the medical bills off with money from my contract. But by the time I got back to New York, I’d been gone two weeks. Zeke was calling, I wasn’t answering, and when I showed up at his door, he was pissed.” “He must’ve understood when you told him,” I murmur. “I didn’t tell him. It was my problem, my shame, my decision.” His voice fills with grief, and every part of me wants to reach across the table and hold him even though I know I can’t. “There was only one person I wanted to see.” He shifts back in his seat, exhaling hard, and those beautiful eyes deepen with an emotion that has my heart kicking in my chest. “It was the middle of July. I’d been keeping my distance from you, telling myself you’d be better off and to give you space. But I couldn’t do it anymore. I needed to know you were okay, that something I cared about was right in the world. When I got to Dallas, I saw you outside the library with some guy”—the disbelief in his voice has me aching all over again—“looking like you didn’t have a care in the world.” I swallow, trying to process even a tenth of what he’s giving me and failing. My fingers trace the place mat in front of me, across the bottom, up the sides. “He worked with me,” I offer at last. “He made you smile. And that was what I wanted for you. I didn’t want to intrude, to make you suffer more than you already had. So, I left.” My throat closes up. Of all the reasons I’d considered why Timothy hadn’t called, that wasn’t one of them. I’d been feeling like shit that entire summer, was devastated to feel alone—truly alone—for the first time in a long time. But now I understand how hard this was for him, too. Timothy’s hands fold in front of him on the table, but they’re tense. “Zeke terminated my contract. Told me to figure my shit out. I had a contact at Vanier and was able to get in last minute. So, I figured I’d take classes until Zeke changed his mind. “The thing is, when I was here, I wasn’t really here. My music had lost something. That’s the problem when you start depending on other people. Like my dad blamed me for interfering with his music by existing.” I trace the top line of the place mat with my finger, and when I get to the center, a few inches of cheap counter top is all that keeps our hands from brushing. I swallow the urge to bridge that distance when he continues. “There’s a difference between caring for people and ignoring your responsibilities,” I say. “Working with people, relying on them… it’s a beautiful thing.” I cut a look over my shoulder toward the door. “Like you and Jacob. He’s so loyal to you, and I can see you’ve earned it.” His heavy gaze meets mine, and the lump in my throat expands until I can’t breathe. “I need you to know something. That day you saw me in Dallas,” I go on, “I might’ve been smiling, but it hurt. Every smile for months was like swallowing glass. I understand why you left, but if you think for a second it didn’t tear me up, you were wrong. I wish you’d said goodbye.” Timothy tugs on his hair, eyes squeezing shut. “Nah. See, if I’d said goodbye, I wouldn’t have gone.” This time, I can’t stop myself from reaching for his hand. His skin is warm under mine, and his chocolate gaze finds me. I’m living for the feel of his skin on mine. “When I saw you walk past that rehearsal room at Vanier last spring,” he says roughly, “I thought I was hallucinating.” Timothy’s hand tightens on mine, his lips twitching with self-mocking. “I thought I wished you here. And you can hate me all you want, but I’m glad you came.” His words slam into me. “What about the girl you were with?” “She was a friend. We were more for a little while, but…” Timothy shakes his head. “She wasn’t you. No one’s ever been you.” I’m drowning in emotions, and I can’t pick one out from the rest or figure out what this means going forward. The one thing I know is that the story I told myself about how we were, how we ended, was wrong. Our past isn’t the story I told myself. Maybe our future isn’t either. Timothy’s eyes warm on mine, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. Jacob drops into the booth, and I pull back my hand. “Got an audition,” he chirps. I glance toward the front door to see Andie and Rica walk inside. Andie looks startled when she sees all of us. “You were great tonight,” I tell her when she pulls up next to the table. Her lips curve, embarrassed. “Thanks. I didn’t know you guys were going to be there.” “What can I get you?” the waitress asks when I shift over to let my roommate and friend in. The waitress goes around to Andie and Rica and Jacob before coming to me. I turn the question over for a long moment before answering. “How’re your cheese fries?” “They’re great,” she answers with a smile. “I’ll take a small.” “Make it a large,” Timothy says smoothly, and I sneak a look at him under my lashes. His expression is filled with an intensity that steals my breath, but for the first time this year, it doesn’t leave me feeling tortured. It leaves me hopeful. The waitress leaves, and my friends start to talk about one of the other performers from tonight’s show. I train my attention on Andie’s animated face, but I’m only half listening when something brushes my leg. Timothy. His calf against my knee. It was probably an accident. Even with the five of us in this booth, it’s not crowded. Except he’s not moving. The single innocent touch has my entire body heating. All it would take would be a tiny shift on my part to break that connection. Instead, I stretch out my other leg and link my feet around his ankle so neither of us can move away.