by Sasha Dawn
I don’t want to ruin the good news about the callback by letting them pretend to be happy for me. As if they don’t remember saying that they think I’m a talentless spoiled brat. “Nope.”
“Well, we’d love to come see your next show, so be sure to let us know . . .”
Her words are drowned by the rattle of the oncoming train.
But I nod and keep my mouth shut. Even though all I really want to do is tell them to stop being so fucking fake. I want to remind them that I’m the same weird girl they used in order to meet Brendon Urie during his Broadway run. The same weird girl they pretended to like in order to get backstage at the Vagabonds concert last year.
I board the car behind theirs.
I study pictures of creepy guy number one and creepy guy number two.
Similar coat. Similar build. But the second guy is balding. I can’t really tell if the first guy is—his hood is up.
I send the pictures to my sister and ask for her input.
Hayley: Hard to tell.
Hayley: But probably not the same guy.
I ride. Images of my Vinny-dog flip through my mind like one of those digital photo albums reviewing the highlights of your year’s postings. But seeing Ted could be harder than I think—could bring back all the heartache we felt when he left Mom.
That’s one thing that sucks about parents looking for their next forever. It’s up to them and their significant others when to end the relationship. As little say as I had as to whether they got together, I had even less of a vote when it came to their breaking up. If Ted had told me he was going, I would have begged him to stay. I would have pled on my hands and knees.
He made Mom so happy.
Until he didn’t.
I should play it safe. I should just go home and forget that I ever almost had a dog.
But when I exit at Damon, the Sophias exit, too.
If they’re really going to the Factory, they got off one stop too early.
I take this to mean that they plan to walk with me, to try to convince me to be friends again. Instantly, I decide to follow through with the park plan. The last thing I need is them hanging around on my doorstep, lingering until I invite them in and staying until I invite them on a first-class flight to LaGuardia.
I catch the glance Sophia 2 throws at me over her shoulder. It’s the same bright smile she offers teachers when she needs an extension on an essay. “Coming?”
The guy in the black coat brushes between us. “Excuse me.” But then he lingers near a lamppost, dialing and putting his phone to his ear.
“My treat,” Sophia 2 says again.
The guy in the black coat keeps glancing at us. I’m halfway tempted to go with the Sophias because the guy seriously creeps me out. But . . .
“Can’t. Bye.” I already told her I was meeting Ted. I quicken my pace past them to the point that I’m almost running.
“Well . . .” Sophia 1 sighs behind me. “Might as well wait for the next train. I’m so not walking all the way to the Factory from here.”
I keep up my ridiculously brisk pace even after it’s clear the guy in the black coat isn’t heading in the same direction as me.
But it smells and feels like rain this afternoon, and I don’t know how long Ted will keep Vinny in the park, so I figure I should hurry even if I’m only being followed in my overactive imagination.
My cheeks are moist with the beginnings of a late afternoon storm by the time I arrive. I glance over the expanse of Wicker Park, looking frantically until I see him.
He’s running, the leash dragging behind him, retrieving a Frisbee Ted just spun across the lawn.
“Vinny!”
The dog that was supposed to be mine skids to a stop and cocks his head to one side with the Frisbee firmly in his mouth.
I pat my legs. “Come here, Vinny! Good boy, good boy.”
He beelines right toward me and jumps up. His muddy paws mark my khakis, but I don’t care. Maybe he remembers me from the shelter, or maybe he simply recognizes that I love dogs. Either way, he looks so happy to see me. His little nub of a tail is twitching back and forth.
“Vinny! Down!” Ted’s on his way now, an apologetic expression written on his face.
I grab the leash to hold him and let him lick my cheeks.
Pause.
You know Ted Haggerty. His profile picture is a portrait of Ivan Pavlov. His cover photo is a serene beach with an inspirational quote written in the sky with a jet stream. His laugh is as identifying as his too-long hair or nerdy wardrobe.
Anyway . . .
“Look what you did to Lainey,” Ted says to the dog.
“I don’t care,” I say. “I’m just so happy to see him.”
“We’re happy to see you too. You don’t message often. Except on my birthday. That was nice. Thank you.”
I nod, not sure what to say. I’m still mad at him for leaving, but I don’t want to start this conversation on a sour note.
“We, uh . . .” Ted sighs and tucks a grey wisp of hair—no ponytail today—behind his ear. “We live just west of here. You can drop in any time.”
“Oh.” He must have gotten a new place. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”
“Well, I think . . . maybe enough time’s gone by.”
He shuts up and, out of breath, plants his hands on his waist, one thumb hooking into a belt loop. He’s wearing salmon-colored corduroys and a black t-shirt that reads TUCK FRUMP. On his feet are honest-to-goodness penny loafers (who wears those anymore?), but with nickels slid into the slits instead of pennies because he likes to aim high. He hasn’t changed a bit.
“Why is it okay now?” I ask. “Isn’t two years kind of an arbitrary statute of limitations?”
“Lainey, to be honest, I would’ve loved seeing you all the time, but I’m not sure how your mom would feel about your dropping by, so . . . It’s really up to her. And you, of course. But you should talk to her about it before you just do it.”
“Yeah, I will.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s mad at me right now.”
Vinny jumps up on my khakis again—Ted doesn’t scold him this time—and I pet his perfect, black ears.
“Mad?” Ted squints at me. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, nothing. Just that my dad wants to take me to a couple of shows on her weekend, and she thinks he’s showing off or something, but I think he just wants me to have these amazing experiences, so . . .” I shrug. “I’m just over trying to have to worry about hurting Mom’s feelings if I want to take my dad up on these things, and—”
Shut up, Madelaine. None of this is Ted’s business anymore.After a moment or two of silence, Ted clears his throat. “I know you blame me for what’s going on with your mom. The finances—”
“How do you know about that?” It seems like an infringement on my family’s privacy. He’s not part of my family; he shouldn’t be talking about it.
“She told me. I took her to Minnesota a couple of days ago.”
“You did?”
“We talked all the way up and back. About lots of things.”
“Why would you take her—”
“I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Wait. Why would you ask how she’s doing if you just saw her? What’s going on?”
“It’s something she would’ve told you if she wanted you to know. I shouldn’t have said anything—”
“I thought she was there for a date.” Wheels turn in my head. “Was the date with you?”
“No. Not a date.”
“Then why?”
“You should ask her. Really.”
“But if wasn’t a date, and it wasn’t an audition—”
“Thanks for wrangling this little guy.” He takes the leash from my hand. “And you”—he’s talking to the dog now—“you shouldn’t be so naughty. Those muddy paws all over Lainey’s uniform!”
I’m not going to let him distract me from this. “If you must know, I
don’t blame you for what’s going on,” I say.
“I would understand if you did.”
“I don’t. I blame Mom. She should’ve given it more time, been more sure that you would stick around before you moved in. But you should know you ruined things when you left—important things, like my education. And I want to see Vinny. I do. But I don’t know how I feel about seeing you because you broke my mother’s heart.”
“Is that what she said?”
“She didn’t have to say it. I saw it. And you let me down. I thought we got along. I thought I mattered to you. You treated me like your daughter. You said you wouldn’t have kids of your own, but it was fine because you had me. But you . . . you just left. Like I didn’t even matter.”
“That’s valid.” He slides a hand into a pocket and bobs his head.
I give him a second to expand on that. He doesn’t.
“I know it’s valid,” I say. “I know that. What I want to know is . . . why aren’t you sorry?”
“I am.”
“You left her when she got cancer. You said you loved her, but the second things got tough, you split. And now you’re taking her to Minnesota, and you’re walking your dog in my park.”
“It’s the city’s park.”
“It’s the park closest to Nana’s and you know it. Aren’t there other parks in West Town?”
He nods. “Yeah, but I like Wicker Park.”
“Are you and my mom back together?”
He thinks for a minute. “No.”
“Do you want to be?”
“Think she’d have me?” He grins.
I shake my head. This whole thing is so ridiculous. “I should go. Thanks for letting me see Vinny, but maybe I shouldn’t have come.”
“You probably need to get to rehearsal.”
“No.”
“No work on the horizon?”
“I was just called back for a revival of pretty big production, so . . .”
“Thoroughly Modern Millie?”
He knows it’s my favorite. He remembered. I soften a bit. “God, I wish.”
“Someday.”
“Hopefully.”
“It’ll happen.”
I shrug.
“Dating anyone?”
“No.”
“Still sticking to that no-dating policy?”
“Considering my parents, I have enough drama without it.”
He rocks back on his heels. “That’s true.”
“You know about the court case, so . . .”
He nods, and for a couple of uncomfortable seconds, things are silent.
“You know, though,” he says, “if you ever need someone to come over and intimidate some guy before he takes you out . . . I’m there for you.”
“Yeah. Like that’ll ever happen.”
“Hey. I can be intimidating when I want to be.” He flexes muscles he doesn’t really have.
He’s not the kind of guy who would show off the guns if he had any, but because he doesn’t, I can’t help smiling at his joke. And it feels good to banter with him again. “I meant some guy taking me out.”
“That’s your decision. It doesn’t mean some guy wouldn’t be lucky to have you.”
“Doubtful.”
“You know why you feel that way?” Ted takes a step down the path.
I fall in line next to him.
“You feel that way because your dad was never there for you. It’s textbook.”
“He’s there for me.”
“On his terms.”
I shake my head. “Spare me the psychobabble.”
“Okay,” he sighs. “I wanna come to your show, though.”
“It’s not my show. Not yet. I was just called back.”
“Well, when you get it, then. I’d like to go see it. Would that be all right?”
“Sure. Buy a ticket.”
“You’ll let me know when it opens?”
“Or you can look at the banners on State Street.”
“I prefer a text. Or hell, maybe even a phone call.”
“How about a carrier pigeon?”
“Hey, I’m hip with the technology,” he says, even though those very words belie the sentiment. “Speaking of which. Who’s Dylan Thomas?”
“Huh? How do you know—”
“I see some guy tagged in something near and dear to you, like a song you wrote, and I gotta wonder. Who is this guy?”
Ah. I wonder if Ted still gets an alert every time I post or every time I’m tagged in a post from someone else.
“Just someone I met on Lyrically. Strictly business.”
“You finally posted one of your songs.”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“Was that you playing guitar on that track?”
“Mmhmm.”
“You’re getting pretty good. Taking lessons?”
“Teaching myself. Thank God for YouTube.”
“You’re so talented, Lainey.”
“Well, I have to work ultra hard.” I start babbling again, reiterating my hopes and dreams to the guy who’s the very reason I might not get to the right school to accomplish them. And we’re walking through the park, a dog leash in my hand, just like it’s any other day, like Vinny’s still my dog. Like there’s still a chance Ted might be a dad to me someday.
I wonder, and not for the first time, if he would have been the kind of dad to pick me up from school if I were feeling sick. If he would have taught me how to swing a bat, how to clean and steam fish after we catch them, whatever else dads teach kids.
If Ted were my dad, would he have taught me to ride a bike? Mom tried, but ultimately, it was Hayley who taught me because I never allowed Mom to let go of the bike.
My dad didn’t do those things. He never had time. He was never in the same place long enough, never stayed home for more than a day or so before he was heading out for this actor’s debut, or that show’s opening night.
It was business. He was working. I understood. And maybe I wouldn’t be where I am—career-wise—if he were, say, a human resources manager. I wonder if I would have wanted to be onstage so badly if I hadn’t grown up in the realm. If having a semi-absent dad is what it takes to get where I’m going, maybe it’s worth the sacrifice.
“Hot dog?” Ted asks when we near a vendor.
I probably shouldn’t take him up on it, probably shouldn’t succumb to the normalcy of it all, but the truth is that I’m starving, and because I opted to meet him and Vinny, it’ll be that much longer before I’m home to grab a snack.
“No mustard,” I say.
“I know. I remember. It hasn’t been that long.”
He buys me a hot dog, complete with tomatoes and pickles and celery salt.
We sit on a bench and eat. Vinny curls up at our feet. I watch people pass us by, and I wonder if they’re thinking that we’re father and daughter. I used to muse that even though we don’t look alike, we share a similar style, prone to upcycling vintage finds at thrift stores. Most people aren’t observant enough to look past the surface.
But I’m not most people. I observe strangers all the time.
The expressions of the Wicker Park patrons are combinations of burnt orange, buttercup, blaze, and blue skies. It takes all kinds of moods to usher in the storm about to break over this city.
“All these people,” Ted says, as if reading my mind. “They have one thing in common: they’re walking as if on a mission, as if they know where they’re going.”
I know Ted well enough to recognize a philosophical speech coming on, but when he doesn’t elaborate, I figure I should comment.
“I want to be like them,” I say. “I wish someone would just give me a map, and show me the shortcut, because I want to get there yesterday.”
“Where’s there?”
“You know. New York. Broadway.”
“Life’s not like a city, kid. There’s no map detailing the L routes and bus schedules. You gotta find your own way. And I know y
ou will. I know you’ll be a big star one day.”
“Do you really think I’m good enough?”
“It seems the only person who doesn’t know you’re better than good enough is sitting right next to me.”
I roll my eyes.
“I just worry that I’ll end up like Mom. You’ve seen her. You know she’s not happy doing what she’s doing, and the only thing that will fix it is a freaking time machine.”
“The world hasn’t seen the last of Ella Norini,” Ted says. “I promise you.”
I chew in silence for a minute. “Ted?”
“Yeah.”
“Why were you with my mom in Minnesota?”
He dribbles mustard onto his corduroys and treats me to a stare that’s full of both hope and sorrow. But he says nothing.
“She came home sad. I want to know what happened.”
“Did you ask her?”
Did I? I’m not sure there was an opening. He should know my mom well enough to know she wouldn’t tell me something bad even if I did ask to hear it.
“Did you emotionally skewer her again?” I press. “Because if you did—”
“Lainey.”
“What?”
“Finish your hot dog.”
It’s only about half gone, but I’m so done with everything right now. I toss it at a trash can a few feet away—miraculously, it goes in—and hand over Vinny’s leash.
“Lainey—”
“If you don’t want to tell me, it must be bad news. You’re the cause of enough bad news in my life, so . . .” Once my arm is through the strap of my backpack, I stand and start to walk away.
Vinny squeals at my back. My heart aches. Love you, too, pup.
But it wasn’t meant to be.
“Good or bad,” Ted calls after me. “It’s not my news to tell.”
I’m halfway down the path. I still hear Vinny whining. I didn’t even say goodbye to him.
This is the only reason I look over my shoulder.
My would-be stepfather is holding a half-eaten hot dog, watching me. There’s a blotch of goldenrod on his salmon corduroys.
But the skies are about to split open and wash all this away.
Chapter 13
Nana Adie is singing “Like a Prayer” in the kitchen while she slices eggplant. I’m doing homework at the table.