CHAPTER 27 (1)

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.