The Pick-Up

by Miranda Kenneally

  “It’s boring,” he replies.

  He pulls up a picture taken at night. It’s a bright green alien painted on a concrete wall.

  “Graffiti?” I ask.

  After a glance around us at the other people in line, he nods.

  I elbow him. “You’re such a criminal,” I tease, and he gives me a nervous smile in return. “I love your alien. It’s much better than your city hall picture.”

  “Most people would consider that city hall painting to be real art. The kind of print you’d buy and hang in your house as decoration.”

  “Unless someone wants an alien painting. I love it. I want a print for my wall.”

  He turns off his phone screen. “You don’t care that I did this?”

  I lean against his side. “I mean, I don’t want you to get caught and go to jail or anything, but graffiti is much better than a boring blank piece of gray concrete.”

  He lets out a long breath. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for showing me your alien. Does he have a name?”

  He nudges me. “Want to name him?”

  “Yes! His name is Dave. You need to paint Dave a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, if that’s how Dave rolls.”

  A smile edges onto T.J.’s face. “Okay, I will when I get home.”

  He tips his head back and looks up at the night sky. “Do you ever worry about living the wrong life?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  T.J. scratches the side of his neck. “It’s something I think about. Every choice you make leads to something else. So if you make one wrong choice, it could lead to more choices that are wrong for you. It could set you on path where you’re living in the wrong town with the wrong person doing the wrong job, all because you made one wrong choice to start with… What if I end up living somebody else’s life?”

  His scary, real words make my eyes cloudy with tears. They hit home hard.

  Based on my parents’ divorce, I’ve avoided relationships because I didn’t want to feel hurt or cause someone else pain. I’ve let fear dictate my choices. What if following the fear leads to something much worse? Wouldn’t it be better to be in control of my life?

  Science has taught me to use evidence to make decisions. Before today, all the information I had told me that it’s better to be alone. And then, this afternoon, I truly was alone. Alone on a bridge with no one. I’ve never felt so terrible. Then T.J. appeared and lifted my spirits.

  I made a choice to open up, to let someone else help carry my troubles, and deep down in my gut, it feels like the right decision.

  I want to live based on my choices. Not based on other people’s experiences, but on my own observations.

  It’s my life. But do I have the courage to risk it?

  Now I’m wondering why T.J.’s thinking about this. He must have big decisions to make. Maybe he’s been wrestling with them. And suddenly it hits me. He’s struggling with his future.

  “T.J.? Why wouldn’t you major in art or something? Why business?”

  “I don’t know if I can change my major at this point. I’d have to check with my adviser at school. And Mom, Dad, and Tyler say the job market is so bad, I need to make sure I have good, transferable skills, so I’ll always have a job. Business isn’t going away.”

  “Neither is art. People have loved it for thousands of years. They aren’t suddenly going to stop wanting it.”

  “I’ve never thought about it that way, but you’re right…” He slowly turns to face me straight on, and searches my eyes. “People will always want art.”

  * * *

  We look out over the city of a million lights.

  We’re in a Ferris wheel pod with five other people, but it’s not crowded. Still, T.J. and I sit close together, our thighs touching.

  “Want to do the selfie?” he asks.

  “Sure.” I cozy closer against his side and smile at his phone screen as the wheel rotates in a giant circle. It’s slow, but at the same time impossibly fast. I don’t want this night to end. I don’t want to go back to my real life.

  I gaze around at the other people in the pod. A couple older than my grandparents are excitedly pointing at the dome of the planetarium. Another couple—two men—is pointing at the shore, but they keep stealing glances at each other and laughing at what the other says.

  One man appears to be alone, simply gazing out at the water. Who is he? Is he in the city alone on business, with his family back home somewhere? Is he single? Whoever he is, he seems deep in thought. Is he lonely?

  I’m loving this experience of soaring above the city, but for me, it’s better having T.J. to share it with.

  The man checks his phone and scrolls on the screen. For a second, I’m happy because maybe he heard from his family, or a friend, but then I remember this afternoon. Even when my phone was blowing up with texts from family and friends, I had never felt so alone.

  I sigh and shut my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” T.J. says suddenly.

  “For what?”

  “About earlier?” T.J. whispers. “On the boat? I’m sorry if it was too much too soon.”

  I swallow, rubbing my palms on my thighs. My face is burning up, and not from the sunburn. “I’m not sorry about what we did—I wanted to do that with you… I really liked it.” He peeks at me sideways, raising his eyebrows. “But I am sorry I ran off like that. You’re right—I got scared.”

  “You were right, too, about me asking to see you again. I wanted it to lead somewhere. I’ve never had a girlfriend, and I want one.” He cradles the side of his neck with a hand. “I like the idea of having someone to share things with. Sitting on the couch watching a movie. Going on a bike ride.”

  “Riding a giant Ferris wheel?”

  “That too.” He grins. “Whatever really. As long as it’s together.”

  “Do you want to find dinner together after this? Lou Malnati’s?”

  He squeezes my wrist. “I’m in.”

  I lean against his side, wondering if the right person is worth a whole lot of risk.

  I have no idea what I want for the future or what it holds, I only know I don’t want this to end.

  I breathe in this moment.

  * * *

  After spending the evening wandering around Navy Pier with T.J. and eating dinner at Lou Malnati’s with him, he orders a Ryde to my dad’s place and rides along with me up to the Gold Coast. In the back seat, I inch my hand over, cover his hand, and squeeze.

  He looks over at me and squeezes back.

  When we arrive in front of the apartment building, we climb out of the car and stand under a streetlamp. A group of people dressed for clubbing passes around us, continuing on down the street.

  I gather my messy, curly hair and pull it to one side, over my shoulder. “I might see you tomorrow at the concert?”

  “I hope so. I’ll text you when I’m there. Maybe we can meet up to say goodbye.”

  I get up on tiptoes, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss his cheek. He pushes my hair away from my forehead and gazes down at me. I press my cheek against his chest and inhale deeply.

  It’s easy to imagine doing this with him again. Spending the day at the beach, followed by food and a movie. Going home and losing ourselves in each other.

  “Hey, listen,” he says quietly. “Uh, I know it’s none of my business, but I hope you’ll do what’s best for you. Whatever that is. If that’s telling your dad what’s going on at home with your mom, or not telling him. Whatever you need.”

  We hug again and he buries his face in my hair.

  Holding me.

  Supporting me.

  Just being there.

  * * *

  After waving bye to T.J. one last time, I spin through the revolving glass door into Dad’s apartment building.

  T
he air-conditioning chills my skin after being out in the hot summer air all day. I don’t want to go upstairs, but I have to. With a deep breath, I steel myself and head toward the elevator.

  Suddenly the concierge steps into my path, blocking me. It’s Jason, the same doorman from last night.

  “Excuse me, can I help you, young lady?”

  “My dad lives here. I’m going to his place.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t let you in without clearance.”

  Clearance? “Yesterday you saw me with Sierra Lavigne. She’s my stepsister.”

  “Do you have a key fob?”

  “No…”

  “Then I have to get the okay from the unit owner before I can admit you to the building. Please give me a moment.” With a huff, he picks up the phone and dials a number.

  Unbelievable. Does he think I’m some sort of potential robber or criminal?

  I roll my eyes.

  You’d think, if Dad truly wanted me to visit here more often—wanted me in his life, he’d have given me a key fob. He would have told the doorman I’m allowed in because I’m part of the family.

  After a quick conversation on the phone, Jason the doorman ushers me to the elevator. I push the button for the tenth floor and knead my fingers together.

  The elevator ascends way too quickly. When the doors open to Dad’s floor, I’m halfway tempted to stay on and keep riding up and down until someone makes me leave. Can I live in this elevator?

  I’m scared Dad will be mad. Worried he’ll say I can’t live here next year while I go to college. But do I even want to live with him? I’m still pissed he won’t fight for me. I simultaneously want to cry and kick the shit out of Asshole Bob.

  The elevator dings. The doors slide open. Slowly I step out into the hallway and approach Dad’s door, preparing to knock but not quite ready yet—gotta amp myself up—when it opens. Dad stands in the doorway, wearing a polo shirt and khakis, waiting for me.

  Shit.

  “Mari? Are you okay?”

  I give him a quick nod, trying to keep the expressions off my face. All my anger from earlier bubbles up and threatens to spill out of me.

  He steps aside, allowing me to come in.

  “Mari!” Sierra rushes from the doorway of her room and throws herself at me for a hug. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Much. Thank you.” I hug her back. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

  She waves a hand as if to say no big deal. “I’m sorry I was overbearing. Megan says I have an issue with that and need to watch it.”

  I smile at the fact Megan tells Sierra what’s what.

  Leah walks up, carrying a glass of white wine. She’s wearing comfy-looking sweatpants and a matching velvet hoodie. Her face looks shiny, like she just washed it and went through a fancy skin-care routine. “Hi, Mari. Did you have a good day?”

  “Today was good. Went down to Navy Pier tonight. I love it there.”

  “I do too,” Leah says encouragingly, even though I’ve heard Sierra refer to it as a tourist trap on more than one occasion. “We should go sometime.”

  “Leah, Sierra,” Dad cuts in. “I need to talk to Mari alone for a few minutes.”

  Sierra gives me a quick smile.

  Leah touches my arm and speaks quietly in my ear. “I hope we get a chance to visit more later. I know you’re upset, and I want to listen.”

  Tears well in my eyes as I give her a quick nod. Her voice and face are sincere. She’s telling the truth—she wants to hear what I have to say. Maybe even take care of me. But given everything that’s happened with my mom and dad, it’s hard to imagine letting my guard down with Leah. She’s been welcoming, but she’s not innocent in all this either. It’s hard to look past that.

  After accepting a glass of ice water from Leah, I follow Dad into the living room. School pictures of Sierra and me are displayed in the entertainment center next to the TV.

  I’m completely pooped and want to sleep, but not yet. Not until we talk. I sit down on the couch next to a soft throw blanket. I want to wrap it around myself like a cocoon.

  Dad slowly lowers himself to sit next to me. He leans over onto his knees. “I’m disappointed you ran off like that today.”

  “I’m sorry I left y’all at the restaurant, but I was pissed.”

  “Leah said you might be overly upset because you’re sunburned and need rest.”

  Seriously? “I wasn’t upset because of my sunburn, Dad. I was upset because I tried to tell you something… I was trying to say I needed you, and you sat there and said you don’t have the money to help me. That sucked.”

  “We can talk about college—”

  “I’m not talking about college, Dad. I’m talking about now.”

  He raises his voice. “And I wish I could help now, but I can’t. It is what it is. Your mom has custody and I don’t.” He throws his hands up.

  “It’s so hard living there with Mom. You have no idea,” I whisper. “You don’t even care.”

  He rubs his cheek. “Of course I care. But what can I do?”

  “I already asked you earlier today. Let me come live here. You said you wouldn’t consider trying to win custody of me.”

  When my voice cracks, he leans over onto his knees, rubbing the back of his neck. He can’t seem to look me in the eye. “I’m sorry, Ladybug. It doesn’t make sense though. You turn eighteen in March and you’re graduating in May. It’s less than a year.”

  I look around this living room. It’s clean and well kept. Leafy green plants calm the room. It’s a place where a family gathers to have a good time. My mind flashes back to that horrible Christmas Eve, the one where Mom yelled at me constantly, as if it was my fault, as if I could do something to change our situation.

  I still don’t want to betray my mom, but I’m sick and tired of being second best all the time. T.J.’s right. It’s time to take care of me.

  Time to make a choice. The right choice.

  I need to tell my dad what’s going on.

  “You said you’re disappointed in me,” I say slowly. “I’m disappointed in you too.”

  He recoils.

  I take a deep breath. “You’re the one who had an affair. You’re the one who did the bad thing, yet you were rewarded with this great life. And mine is hard. You and Leah haven’t even apologized for what you did.”

  My voice cracks, and Dad rubs the back of his neck, looking at the floor. The tips of his ears turn red. Good. He needs to know how their actions hurt me.

  “Things suck at home,” I go on. “Mom yells all the time. I never know what’s going to set her off. She’s nice when I wake up for breakfast, but by lunch she’s a different person. Sometimes she even blames me for your divorce, which doesn’t even make sense, but it still hurts. She talks… She talks about how she wishes she wasn’t alive anymore.”

  That makes Dad sit up straight. He laser focuses on my face.

  “When I said I was coming here to visit this weekend, she got so mad she pulled my hair,” I say through teary eyes.

  Dad sets a hand on my shoulder. “Did she hurt you?”

  “I mean, yeah. It was scary.” This is the first time I’ve admitted that to anyone. Even myself.

  It scared me.

  Dad moves his hand from my shoulder to my arm. “Why didn’t you tell me things were so bad?”

  “You never asked how Mom is. I figured you didn’t care. And coming here only makes things worse with her. If you’re making me go back, then I need to figure out how to soften the damage somehow, if she’ll even pick me up from the airport.”

  Dad makes a face. “Why wouldn’t she pick you up?”

  “Seriously? After everything I just told you, what makes you think she’d act normally enough to pick me up? She wouldn’t even drop me off to come here—she called me a traitor. Aust
in drove me.”

  A tear slips from my eye. I’ve heard that sometimes a divorce is the best thing parents can do for their kids, but I don’t understand that. I’m caught in the middle. I’m the one suffering the most. And my parents can’t even see it because they’re so focused on their own problems and feelings.

  This section of the city is full of green trees, fancy apartments, brick town houses, and quirky storefronts. When you’re surrounded by so much beauty, it shocks when gray reality seeps back in.

  I stand up to go to bed. “I’m tired. Good night.”

  Dad reaches out to take my hand. “You’re not going back tomorrow.”

  “What?” I slowly sit back down on the couch.

  “You can stay here longer. Under the custody agreement, you’re allowed to stay here two weeks.”

  My heart sinks to the floor. “Dad, two weeks doesn’t mean shit. If I stay here for two weeks, that’s just gonna piss off Mom more. It’ll make things worse.”

  “No, no. You misunderstand me.” He drags his palm over his mouth. “I need to talk to a lawyer.”

  I hold my breath.

  “I can’t make any promises, but I can give you two weeks here. I’ll talk to my brother and your grandparents, to see if they might be able to help me out. Let me see what I can do.”

  I give Dad a big hug. I don’t totally feel safe yet, but I feel hope.

  Two weeks. I can do that.

  I cross my fingers that he’ll be able to figure something out.

  As I tuck myself into bed and listen to “Destiny,” I rest my head on the pillow, thinking about the meaning behind the lyrics: whatever is meant to happen will happen, that nothing can change destiny.

  I still love the song, but maybe there is a way to change your destiny.

  Just step up and ask.

  Sunday

  T.J.

  It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning.

  Tyler hasn’t come back to his place tonight.

  I’m lying on his couch under a blanket, my feet dangling off the cushion, trying to sleep, but it’s not coming. I need to see him. To make sure everything’s okay with us.