by Sasha Dawn
“Trying! But I feel like we’re really friends—you, me, and McKenna.”
“We are.”
“And when I saw the Sophias at O’Hare, I felt like they were ruining it all. But right now, I feel like nothing could ruin this view, this night, this whole experience.”
My phone chimes with a text from Dad.
Dad: Meeting. Hallway.
Dad: Now.
Me: What? Why?
Dad: Get out here.
Dad: NOW.
“What’s up?” Brendon asks.
The Sophias enter the room, giggling. “Sorry, Maddy. Daddy wants to talk to you.”
Chapter 26
I meet Dad in the hallway. He’s pacing. Running his hands through his hair. “You told me he was gay.”
“What?”
“I paid for this guy to come along this trip, and now, I find out he’s not gay, but kissing my daughter in a suite I paid for?”
“Dad, no.”
“Go get your things. I’m putting you in your own room.”
“No!”
“Sophia just told me. She saw the two of you—”
“You’re going to believe the Sophias? Over me? You’re not even going to ask me what happened?”
“I used to be a teenager, all right? You can’t pull that over on me. I know what’s going to happen.”
“Listen to me.”
“You said he was gay.”
“I said he was dating a guy. Which he was.”
“So why is he kissing you?”
“He’s not! He won’t.” MPE coming on. Deep breath. “Dad, I don’t even date.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not stupid.”
“I don’t. I don’t want the hassle of it. I want to stay focused on my career. Not to mention, there’s enough drama in my life without it, thanks to the fact that you and my mother can’t seem to be decent to each other even for my sake!”
“We’ll talk about your mother some other time. Go get your things.”
“No.”
“What’s with this attitude lately?”
“Excuse me?”
“With your hair, and your—”
“What about my hair?”
“Do you know what I had to pony up to get you back in the good graces of the dear Sister Mary Angela?”
“Actually, I do. Hayley told me.”
“And still, here you are. Pink hair. You’re changing it tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No!”
“Why do you think I made appointments at the spa?”
“I thought you made appointments for us. For my friends and me. To have fun.”
“You need to change the hair.”
This is unbelievable. Anger, pure anger without any nerves attached, is bubbling up inside me. “Do you know what last month was, Dad? Why I dyed my hair pink in the first place? It was the anniversary of my mother’s survival. And I know you don’t care about that, but it means something to me.”
“As your manager, I’m telling you, the pink—”
“The pink doesn’t affect my work. I wear a wig to auditions. And I just landed a pretty decent part, so—”
“You’re changing it tomorrow. For now, get your things. You’re getting your own room.”
“There’s no reason for me to get my own room. I haven’t done anything wrong.” My heartbeat is banging in my ears, and tears burn my eyes. I force an inhale. “Sophia made assumptions. There’s nothing going on between Brendon and me, I swear.”
And even if there was—the thought takes me by surprise, a mental image of Brendon and me together—should Dad really be losing his shit over a kiss?
There’ve got to be better ways for a parent to handle this. Mom’s talked to me about protection, about consent, even though I’ve rolled my eyes and insisted I’m not interested in anything related to dating. She would never in a million years react this way if she thought I was getting close to someone.
Dad sucks in his breath. “One more word about that guy in there”—he points at the closed door—“and the room situation changes. Got it?”
“Yes!”
I watch my father storm down the hallway to the elevator.
I sink to the floor and pull my phone out of my pocket. I text my sister.
Me: Dad just reamed me for something I didn’t even do.
Me: I so wish you were here right now.
Me: You have to see how he’s acting.
Me: It’s like he’s not even the same guy.
I hear a whistle behind me. I turn to see Brendon standing in the doorway.
I wipe a tear from my cheek. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
“God, I’m so embarrassed.”
“I changed my mind.” Brendon points in the direction Dad just went. “You can fire that guy. No brainer.”
Chapter 27
Sunday, May 7
Our plane is delayed at least half an hour. I’m sitting with Brendon and McKenna in the first-class lounge, fiddling absentmindedly with my hair. It’s a pretty auburn now.
A little girl wearing a tiara sits across from us, staring at me like I’m about to be her first victim in a horror movie.
I try to smile at her—anything to get her to stop looking at me—but she only sticks her tongue out.
“Nice,” Brendon says. “Real classy.”
“Shh.” McKenna elbows him. “She’s a little kid.”
“A bratty one,” he says.
McKenna rolls her eyes. “Why are you letting her get to you?”
“I’m telling that you called me a brat.” The girl sticks her lower lip out.
“Tell you what, honey.” Brendon leans into the aisle between us. “Like it or not, this world is full of labels. If you act like a brat, people are gonna call you a brat. You know . . . see those two girls over there?”
He points in the direction of where the Sophias are sitting.
“They’re more your people. Go bug them.”
I’m biting back a laugh when my phone buzzes. It’s Nana Adie calling. “I gotta take this,” I say.
“You’re gonna leave us alone with this diva?” Brendon asks.
“I’m telling!” The child crosses her arms over her chest and stomps on a mission toward the opposite end of the lounge.
“Bravo, bravo,” Brendon says. “Excellent exit!”
I step away. “Hi, Nana.”
“How’s your trip?”
“The shows were great, and the meet and greet . . . ahhhhmazing.”
“You had a good time with your dad?”
I spy him and Miss Karissa on the other side of the lounge. He’s doing a fabulous job pretending my friends and I don’t exist, and that’s just fine with me. “Not exactly.”
“No?”
“I’ll explain when I’m home,” I promise. “And honestly, I cannot wait to get home. I love New York, but—”
“Honey, can I talk to your dad for a minute?”
I look at him across the lounge. For a split second, he meets my stare, and I see the same look of disgust I’ve seen all weekend whenever he’s looked at me.
I don’t get it. He was way out of line this weekend. Beyond strict: controlling. Like he wrote a script, I didn’t follow it, and even though the audience loved the ad-lib, he considers the show a failure. I should be looking at him the way he’s looking at me.
“Why do you need to talk to Dad?”
“I just . . . I need to.”
I’m already making my way toward him, despite his obvious attempt at keeping Miss Karissa far away from me. “Is everything okay?”
“Just a few hiccups. I’ll explain when you’re home.”
I hand my phone to Dad. “It’s Nana.”
Dad takes the phone. “Adie, hello.”
I watch as Dad frowns, turns his back on me, and edges a few feet away from the table.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Adie. I
. . . well, yes. But small doses to start would be better, and to be honest, she didn’t mesh all that well with . . . oh. That is a dilemma. I just think if there’s any other way . . . what’s that? Uh-huh, uh-huh. Great. Yes, we’ll do that.” Dad hangs up and hands over my phone. “All settled.”
In a flash, realization hits me: Nana called to ask my dad to keep me overnight at his place. And he refused. “You don’t want me at your house?”
“I have an early meeting tomorrow, and you have school.”
But he didn’t say any of that to Nana. He just doesn’t want me in his house!
“I can take a train, and you know it. You don’t want me there. Why not?”
“Maddy. Don’t make a scene.”
“I’m not making a scene. I’m just talking.” I changed my hair. I tolerated the Sophias. What more can I do to placate him?
“Now’s not the place.”
“I just want to know. Is it Karissa?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Does she not like me much?”
“Cut the sarcasm. And to be honest, I don’t think you’ve been at your best this weekend, and Karissa has young children to think about.”
“Doesn’t she have her own place then? If she’s worried about my rottenness rubbing off on Jennica and the boys, maybe they could stay at their own place tonight.”
“Maddy, it’s settled.”
“Why does Nana want you to keep me anyway?”
“You’re reading a lot into half a conversation.”
“I know what I heard.”
“We’ll discuss this some other time. I suggest you get back to your friends and let me get back to Karissa.”
***
Mrs. Weekes meets us at baggage claim. The Weekes twins say goodbye to me, my father, and even the Sophias, who ride with us and Miss Karissa in Dad’s car.
When we drop them both at Sophia 1’s place, I do what I’m supposed to do. I hug them goodbye and thank them for coming.
“Coffee’s on me tomorrow during zero hour,” Sophia 2 says, as if they didn’t orchestrate an enormous explosion this weekend by lying about what happened between Brendon and me. “Mocha roast with peppermint?”
“Two pumps,” I say with a forced smile.
She probably won’t bring the coffee. But if she does, I won’t take it.
After they exit the car, Dad says, “Maddy, we should talk.”
God, he’s going to do this in front of Miss Karissa, who’s suddenly putting her novel aside.
“I was hoping this weekend would have gone better,” he says.
Me, too. But I don’t say a word.
“I was hoping,” he continues, “that you and Karissa could have some time together, which now, I see, was impossible with your friends. Maybe my inviting Sophia and Sophia without checking with you first was a mistake.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were close.”
“Not anymore. They use me, Dad,” I say. “They’re not my friends. They use me to go to concerts and to meet famous people.”
“Okay, I see that,” Dad says. “Karissa helped me see that.”
I glance at my father’s girlfriend, surprised. “Thank you.”
She nods, then looks expectantly at Dad. “Jesse, you had something else to say to her.”
Dad sighs. “I’ve realized you’re growing up without my knowing much about what’s happening in your life. Sure, I know about what roles you’re auditioning for, what parts you hope to land someday, and your instructors tell me when you land a switch jump, or when you manage to hit a note you can’t usually hit in your range, but—”
“Really? They tell you that stuff?”
“Of course they do. But they can’t tell me what’s going on in your head, in your heart. And when Sophia told me that you and this boy were kissing . . . I lost it. I wasn’t on my best behavior, was I? It just blindsided me, to think you’d be at that stage in your life, and I wouldn’t know anything about it—”
“There’s nothing to tell. We’re friends. And—”
“Okay, you’re friends with this guy. But what about the next guy? You’re growing up so fast, and there’s so much I don’t know about what’s going on with you.”
I clench my fists in my lap to keep them from shaking. “I told you I don’t date, and you chose not to believe me. You believed a random girl you met a couple of times—over me.”
“That was a mistake. I recognize that now. But you see where I’m coming from, don’t you? I wouldn’t have even invited those girls if I’d known you weren’t friends anymore. But you never mentioned it . . .”
I look out the window so I don’t have to meet his eyes. This is as close to an apology as I’m going to get, and I can sense how much it’s costing him. I can feel the discomfort in his voice. My instinct is to tell him I forgive him and release the tension.
But I fight that instinct. I don’t want to keep overlooking things he’s done and the way he’s treated me just because he might pay for something. That’s how he always gets things his way, and I’m sick of it.
I fiddle with my newly auburn hair. “So I’m supposed to tell you everything that’s happening in my life, even though you don’t tell me anything about yours?”
Dad takes Karissa’s hand. “Karissa actually made the same point when I was talking to her about this. And I—I want to be more open with you, I want our communication to be a two-way street. So—we have something to tell you.”
I look over at them. “What?”
“Well . . .” Dad brings their joined hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles. They share a look.
“You’re getting married,” I guess.
“We got married already. It was just the two of us. A small ceremony.”
“. . . Oh.” Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, given the covert nature of their relationship, but I can’t help it. I can’t believe Dad wouldn’t involve us in something as official as a wedding.
But I look at my new stepmother and say, “Congratulations.”
So that makes three words I’ve said to her this entire trip, and not because I haven’t wanted to talk to her, but because Dad has kept us so isolated from each other.
She sort of smiles and says, “Thanks.”
“Now that we’re family,” I say, “maybe we can get to know each other.”
“I’d like that,” she says.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to your sister just yet,” Dad says. “I’d like to tell her in person.”
I nod, but I don’t know if I can keep a secret of this magnitude from my BFFBS.
Dad puts up a palm for a high five, so I slap his hand. “Dinner next weekend.”
“At your place?”
“You’ll have rehearsal.”
“I can come after.”
“And commute to the city for Saturday’s call? I don’t want to put you through that. Besides, you’ll need to get some good sleep.”
I eye him. “Are you sure that’s the reason? I haven’t been to your house in years. You and Karissa are married now. I assume she’s living there—has been for a while, am I right?—so there are no more secrets. Why can’t I be at your house?”
Karissa folds her arms over her chest and looks away.
At first, I think she’s pissed at me for asking, but I catch something in her expression—a sadness, maybe, crossed with irritation—that tells me she’s just as frustrated with my father’s compartmentalizing his family as I am.
“Later, Maddy,” Dad says. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“It’s always later with you.” I get out of the car. For once, it’s not raining. Giorgio has my bags, and he follows me to the building.
On the steps leading up to our three-flat, I see another origami moon.
This one is folded out of paper in an aqua-and-peach chevron pattern, and it’s propped up as if waiting for me to come discover it.
So Dylan couldn’t manage to show his face at the Factory, but he’s s
till leaving me gifts. I don’t know how I feel about that, and I don’t have time to decide right now. I pocket it before Giorgio has the chance to kick it aside.
My father waves from the window. I give him a nod.
At the door, I grab the handle of my suitcase.
“Oh, I can take it all the way up for you, Miss Maddy.”
“Madelaine,” I correct him. “And I’ve got it. Thanks.”
I unlock the vestibule door and lug my suitcase up two flights of stairs. “I’m home!” I call as I unlock the door to our apartment. But no vintage Madonna greets me. “Nana? Mom?”
“Hey there, Lainey.”
“Ted.” I drop my suitcase with a thud when I see him sitting on the couch, reading an issue of Rolling Stone. “Where’s my mom? Where’s Nana?”
He squints at me through the light. “Did you have a good trip?”
“It was . . . it was fine.” I grip the origami moon in my pocket. “How long have you been here?” I wonder if he saw anyone leave the moon. “Where’s Mom?”
“What’s with all these new clothes? And receipts?”
I look over my shoulder at all the things I packed up for Mom to return. “She didn’t take them back yet?”
“Lainey . . . why don’t you sit down?”
“What are you doing here? Where’s . . . did they go to another antique show or something? Was that why Nana wanted my dad to keep me overnight?”
“You hungry, kid?”
“I’m fine.” But why isn’t he answering me? My throat feels as if it’s starting to close, and my ears go cloudy for a second. Something’s wrong. “Where’s my mother?”
This is too much for one day. My dad’s married. My ex-nearly-stepfather is in Nana’s apartment, and no one seems to want to tell me the whole truth about anything.
An MPE comes on fast and hard.
I wheeze with my next inhale. I’m going to faint. Or throw up. Or both. The world starts to spin.
“Whoa. You okay?” Ted asks. “Sit down a second. Let me get you some water.”
But I don’t want to sit down. I grip the back of the sofa for stability. “Where’s Mom?” Tears burn my already tired eyes. “Is she . . . did something happen to her?”
I think of the man on the L. The black raincoat.
I think of my beautiful mother.
I link the two images—the predator and the prey—and wheeze again.