The Sweetest Thing You Can Sing

by C. K. Kelly Martin

  “Pick-up hockey. Yeah, sometimes.”

  I can’t stop going over more important questions in my mind, and I suck in my cheeks and look away. “Are you okay?” Gage asks.

  “I’m fine.” I toss my hair back, faking confidence. “I’m just having stupid issues at school, people saying stuff about us.”

  “About us?” Gage echoes. “Is that asshole spreading rumours again?”

  “Not him.” By this time we’re inside the mall, wandering past Tim Hortons. “My ex and my friends.” Why did I drag Jacob into this? Damn. “My friends are just concerned, with you having a history.”

  “A history?” Gage stops walking. His eyebrows leap towards each other, his arms knotting in front of his chest. “What exactly do you mean? What are people saying?”

  I’ve stopped too. I turn to face him. “My ex, who you know is a complete prick, said you still hook up with Christabelle, and one of my friends said you barely saw your daughter for years.” I feel my face drop, weighed down by tension and a gnawing sadness I haven’t been able to shake since I sat in the back of Genevieve’s car with her and Nicole. “My friends were pissed off that I didn’t tell them about you earlier too — well, most of them were. So now things are weird between us.”

  Confusion whips across Gage’s face. He glances down at my feet in silence.

  “And I’m confused,” I admit. “Because I don’t want to believe those things and I know they’re just repeating stuff they’ve heard. But where did it all come from?”

  Gage’s eyes zoom up to meet mine, his arms springing apart to hang awkwardly at his sides. “So what if it’s true?” His pupils are solemn, and I watch him fill with a tiredness that spreads from the inside out.

  “It can’t be,” I mumble. Hearing it from his own mouth, I still can’t quite believe it. He wouldn’t do this to me.

  “Not exactly in the way that it sounds, maybe,” Gage says, “but I wasn’t around for Akayla as much as I should’ve been until last spring. For a long time I just couldn’t deal with it. And then when I could, Christabelle’s folks were still mad at me and didn’t trust me. I don’t blame them either. It’s not something I’m proud of or like to think about. It took a while to convince them I really wanted in on all the child care stuff.”

  Gage’s hands lose themselves in his pockets. “I don’t see what any of that has to do with you, though. Unless it’s just blown your image of me.” He searches my eyes for confirmation, and when I don’t say anything he adds, “Christabelle and I aren’t together like that. We haven’t been in years.”

  “How many years?” I ask in a thick voice.

  “Two,” he says with a sigh. “I can’t believe the way high school has come back to haunt me.” He shakes his head, his cheeks reddening. “It was only for a couple of weeks, years after we’d broken up. But when Christabelle saw I still wasn’t ready to be a father, she stopped things. And it was for the best. She’s great, but we weren’t right for each other. We were only kids when we were first together; we hardly knew who we were ourselves. Everything’s changed since then, including me. Christabelle isn’t something you need to worry about — we’re over with for good.”

  Gage turns and begins walking again. “So much for not getting serious,” he says over his shoulder. “Now you know my whole life story.”

  I haven’t moved from my space just beyond Tim Hortons, and Gage twists to look at me. “You’re upset.”

  “You’re the one who seems upset. You can’t blame me for wondering about this stuff.”

  “I don’t,” he says sheepishly. “I just don’t want you thinking bad things about me, even if some of them are true. I wish I’d had the chance to tell you all of this in my own time. To build up to it in a way that would make it sound less shitty, if that’s possible.” He takes two steps towards me, flinching as he stops. “All of that is in the past. This is now, right? Us.” He holds out his hand to me.

  I meet him halfway and take it, relieved to know the truth even if he didn’t want me to hear it yet. There’s nothing he’s told me that I can’t handle. We stroll towards the food court, Gage bending to kiss my hair as we pass the dollar store. I release his hand and snake my arm possessively around his waist. It’s lean and hard, unlike mine, and I really have no idea how I’m going to get through the next two months on this starvation diet of abbreviated kisses.

  I like Gage too much to try to tempt him, but as we walk in the direction of food I can truthfully say that I’m more than ready to be sixteen.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ~

  GAGE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND WHY it took so long for me to tell my friends about him. My explanation — in our noisy corner of the food court where three young boys are running around a nearby table and trying to tackle each other — makes him take a long gulp of his soft drink and worriedly say, “I hope they haven’t already made up their minds not to like me.”

  My friends’ reservations about him are partly my fault, and I want to fix that. I tell Gage I think he should meet them so that they can all give each other a chance. He swigs more of his drink before agreeing and suggesting that I invite them to a party his friend Elliott’s having next Friday.

  Now I’m nervous about meeting his friends and even more nervous that Genevieve and Nicole will tell me they don’t want to go. I’m not going to break up with Gage because they don’t like the idea of him without having even met the real person, but I don’t intend to be one of those girls who ditches her friends for a guy either. As much as I care about Gage, I know we could combust in a hundred different ways and where would that leave me?

  Genevieve’s not around for lunch on Monday so I wait until the three of us are trekking across the parking lot after school to start recapping what Gage told me about Akayla and Christabelle. I know it’s none of their business, but it’s not fair that people are talking behind his back. This one time only, I’ll set things straight for him.

  Genevieve and Nicole climb into the front seat, their bodies swivelled towards me in the back. None of what I reveal changes Genevieve’s face. Her Gwyneth Paltrow/Nicole Kidman composure makes me frown. “I think the three of you should meet,” I continue. “He wants you to come to his friend Elliott’s party on Friday.”

  Nicole’s lips curl in what I assume is irritation. “He thinks we don’t like him now,” she says. “Do you know how awkward that will be?”

  “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want. Just drop by and say hi to him.”

  Genevieve looks skyward, or at least it would be skyward if we weren’t sitting in her car. “I’m glad you talked to him and found out his version of things. But please don’t tell me he’s going to become some kind of appendage now and we’ll have to go out with him all the time.”

  “I never said that,” I snap. “I get that you’re mad at me, but going out with Gage doesn’t automatically change everything else about me.”

  Genevieve smoothes her lips together. “I thought you wanted to figure out how to be your own person.”

  “So if I want to hang out with someone but don’t because you don’t want me to, how does that make me my own person?” I ask, my ears burning. “I’m not saying everything I do is perfect and that I have no issues, but God, we’re talking about someone I see maybe twice a week. It’s not like I’ve packed up my stuff and am moving in with him.”

  “I’m not trying to be harsh, Serena.” Genevieve bends her head, volumes of red hair spilling forward. “Honestly, I guess I feel like I don’t know you as well I thought. You were so adamant about being on your own before. It seemed like a core thing about you.” Genevieve’s thin fingers part her hair. She stares at me as she says, “And in a way this is about me too. I’m friends with you because I want to be, and maybe it sounds selfish that I don’t want to automatically include another person into our friendship. I’ve done that before, with other friends
’ boyfriends, and it didn’t work very well.

  “But anyway,” she continues, “of course I’ll meet him if you want me too. Although, I think, like Nicole says” — she points to Nicole next to her — “that he’s not going to be really happy with us after what he must have heard. Not that I blame him either.”

  Nicole’s gaze rockets over to Genevieve. “So you’re going to the party?”

  Genevieve nods slowly. “It sounds like we should.”

  Nicole groans to herself. “If any of the guys there have seen Liam’s video I’ll be a magnet for losers.” No one at Laurier even talks about her video anymore. It’s old news, and together the three of us have had it out with anyone interested in hassling her. But we won’t know any of the guys at Elliott’s party, so she might be right. It could be like starting from square one again.

  “I’m sure no one will recognize you anyway,” Genevieve says. “But we can do your hair and makeup differently if you want. And like Serena says, we don’t have to stay long.” Genevieve glances at me for confirmation.

  “Only as long as you want. I just want you to meet him, at least, so we stop feeling like some deep dark secret.”

  “Hey, what about your parents?” Nicole says suddenly. “Do they know?”

  “They’ve met him, but they don’t know about Akayla. I can’t figure out how to get the news out there without it being this huge thing.” I rub my chin, which is stone cold because Genevieve hasn’t started the car yet.

  “They met him?” she repeats, and in an instant I feel like we’ve leapt from Nicole being angry with me for going out with Gage in the first place to being irritated that she didn’t have the opportunity to look him over before my parents did. “Do you think they liked him?”

  “From what I could tell, yeah. But it was only once. They talked about the weather.”

  “And his daughter’s name is Akayla?” Nicole adds. “That’s really pretty.”

  Finally Genevieve starts the car, remarking that her tits are freezing. More often than not Genevieve sounds like someone who read and understood The Communist Manifesto, so whenever she comes out with something remotely raunchy about herself it makes Nicole and I smile, which we do in the front and back seat respectively as Genevieve backs out of her parking spot and heads for Nicole’s house.

  ***

  My party curfew is still one o’clock, and Genevieve and Nicole have promised to swing by and pick me up, but my parents know that Gage will be the one dropping me home in a taxi later. Thankfully the warning look that used to be in Dad’s eyes before I left with Gage has dimmed recently.

  Over takeout chicken beforehand my mom reminds me that we’re having dinner with Morgan and Jimmy downtown tomorrow. Mom’s eyes glaze with anxiety at the thought. My life has changed a lot since Devin left, but Mom’s is still on pause. She’d rather spend tomorrow night in the den, just like any other night. The conversation during the rest of the meal is minimal, and I wish there wouldn’t be so much quiet between me and my parents. Even when we do talk it feels like we’re not really saying anything.

  There’s plenty of time for me to help with the dishes before my friends show up. Then I pour myself into a pair of newly purchased jeans with a bronze metallic sheen on them and a blue sequin halter top. I paint my toes a shimmering grey-blue to match the top and, once they’re dry, slip my feet into silver heels. There were plenty of other outfits I considered wearing tonight but ruled out as too casual, too slutty, or too glamorous for the occasion.

  When Genevieve and Nicole roll up Genevieve makes me feel like I’m overdressed anyway. She’s wearing a big navy hoodie and tan cargo pants, which she looks fantastic in because Genevieve looks gorgeous in everything. Nicole, on the other hand, has three different shades of blue Manic Panic in her hair, purple lips and is wearing a skull and crossbones T-shirt, studded bracelet, and a loose black skirt that would drag along the floor if it was half an inch longer.

  “I thought I might as well have fun with it,” Nicole says as my eyes take her in. “You look good.”

  “And you look like a whole different person!”

  “Yep. I’m going to stand in the corner all night and snarl at people.” She winks at me. “Except Gage. Don’t worry, I’ll be nice to him.”

  “Me too,” Genevieve chirps. “Best behaviour.”

  Gage warned me that Elliott’s family is rich, so the three of us are fully expecting the regal-looking gate with empty planters topping either side that greets us at Elliott’s address. I recite my name into the intercom and say Gage Cochrane invited us. Bingo. The gate swings open. We drive through and park the car with the thirty or so others strewn along the winding driveway. Elliott’s house is a bona fide mansion. If I saw a picture of it I’d have guessed it was a Mediterranean hotel. Two teenage guys walking about twenty feet ahead of us stroll through the middle of three arches and open the front door. We follow them inside and through a long hallway decorated with boring but picturesque pastoral paintings. At the end of the corridor there’s a single door, which the guys push open to reveal a screening room that’s roughly the same size as the second smallest cinema in our local multiplex. Gage told me that Elliott’s screening the Godfather movies but that there’ll be other places to hang out if we’re not interested.

  I passed the information to Genevieve and Nicole too, but I guess they were imagining more of a home theatre vibe because they both aim incredulous looks at me. Some of the standard theatre seats are already filled, and I catch sight of Gage in the third row with his legs stretched out over the chair in the row in front of him just as Nicole points at the back of cinema. “This guy’s even got vending machines,” she says. “What did you say his father does?”

  “Mafia godfather,” Genevieve jokes. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Gage is on his feet, weaving his way through pockets of people. Seconds later he edges in behind me and squeezes my elbow. “Hey. I hope you guys didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”

  Nicole, not realizing Gage was about to make an appearance, has wandered off to examine one of the snack machines.

  “It’s practically the only house on the block,” Genevieve says with a smile. “Serena said your friend was rich, but I guess we didn’t realize quite what that meant.” We glance over at Nicole, who is pushing buttons repeatedly, letting the vending machine supply her with free chocolate bars.

  “This is Genevieve,” I say to Gage as I lean into him. Part of me still feels like I shouldn’t snuggle up to him in front of her but I’m happy to see him and refuse to listen.

  Gage returns Genevieve’s smile and asks if she’s ever seen The Godfather. “If you don’t want to watch there’s a pool room too, and they have a place set up for gaming and another one for dancing.”

  “Don’t tell Nicole that,” Genevieve says. “We’ll never get her out of that room.”

  “Don’t tell me what?” Nicole asks, but it’s Gage she’s looking at. “You must be Gage. I’m Nicole.”

  “Good to meet you,” Gage says. “Do you guys want any food? There’s some stuff set up in the kitchen and I can introduce you around.”

  Gage leads us to the kitchen, where we grab beers (except Genevieve who, as the driver, takes a Sprite) and pick through the hot and cold buffets. I take some strawberries, smoked salmon, and two mini quiches while Genevieve and Nicole weigh down their plates, which are white with blue trim and not made of paper the way they normally are at parties. I listen to the three of them make small talk, Genevieve and Nicole going out of their way to catch every word Gage says. I never realized that we had some of the same teachers at Laurier. I also never realized that Genevieve knows a fair amount about soccer and is kind of a Toronto FC fan herself.

  Afterwards Gage shows us the pool room, which Genevieve is disappointed to find doesn’t feature a swimming pool but a pool table, and then the gaming area. The family room�
��s supposed to be for dancing but at the moment there are five people sitting around and talking over the din of the music, white and blue plates spread across their laps. Icona Pop are singing “I Love It,” and I look at Nicole, who is bouncing on her heels, dying to throw the rest of her body into the song.

  “Okay,” Genevieve says, “let’s do it. But I want to catch the movie later.”

  The three of us dance while Gage smiles but refuses to join in. He sits there watching us while nursing his beer and chatting to a couple of the other guys lounging around. When another girl gets up to join us, during the third song or so, he wanders over and says he’ll catch up with us later. Eventually we all end up back in the screening room, where the movie’s already started. During the intermission between The Godfather and Part II Gage introduces us to Elliott (whom I already met that time at Starbucks), Damien, and a few other people.

  Damien towers over me at what must be about six-four. I talk to him about art and mention a bit about Jimmy’s gallery show downtown. When I look at Damien I can’t help but wonder how much he looks like Christabelle. Is she super tall too? Damien says he wants to get into the Toronto Outdoor Art Exhibition this summer so he can get exposure and hopefully sell some stuff. I’d like to see his artwork, but it feels too soon to suggest that, so I just tell him that would be cool.

  After a few minutes Nicole and Genevieve sidle over to me and say Nicole wants to dance for a while and then they’ll probably take off, unless I need them to stay. I give them the okay to go and thank them for coming. As it is, I have to be home in less than an hour myself.

  I zip over to Gage and whisper in his ear that it might be easier if I just left with my friends. Then he won’t have to miss any of the party. “Stay,” Gage says, his palm resting on my back. “I’ll make sure you’re home on time.”

  We find a quiet corner to hang out in at a room near the back of the house which is part dark wood library and part old toy resting place. Board games like Mouse Trap, Gumball Rally, Pictionary Junior, and The Incredible Hulk Smash Game line the shelves along with hardcover copies of Charles Dickens and Jane Austen novels and random science and arts and craft sets.