"Nope." Vera shoves a chip in her mouth, washing it back with a beer. "Teagan's right."
"No shit," Teagan says, drolly. "Cassidy, I told you before and I'll tell you again. He's not over you."
"Can we not talk about Gage anymore?" I beg. "I just want to have fun with you girls before I go back to school."
"Yeah—no more boy talk!" Vera says. "Boys are the fucking worst."
"Says the girl who can't stop checking out our waiter," I tease. But it's a relief to see her enjoying herself. She's had a rough couple of weeks. Ignoring calls from Jared. Generally feeling low for falling for someone like him. But I tell her over and over that we've all made mistakes—and that she'll be happy with someone else before she knows it. Or even by herself. She just needs time. And I think it's starting to sink in.
"Juan's hot," she says. "Just because I'm on a diet doesn't mean I can't look at the dessert menu from time to time."
"Anyway." Teagan rolls her eyes. "Hurry up and leave for North Carolina so Vera and I can become like totally best friends forever and ever and forget all about you." She raises her voice in mock valley girl tone, and I can tell by Vera's expression that she's not sure whether or not to be offended. I can't really tell either, but that's Teagan for you. And a second later she's making us laugh, telling all sorts of—only some true—stories about me in high school. Unfortunate hair decisions. When I accidentally told my old-enough-to-be-my-grandfather math teacher I loved him. (It was first period. I hadn't had coffee yet. I meant to say, "Thank you.") The time I laughed so hard I peed a little in gym class… Almost enough time has passed for the memory to make me laugh.
Almost.
We spend the rest of the night drinking and dancing salsa with strangers and by the time I'm in bed, I think maybe they will actually become friends, even without me around.
A few mornings later I wake up and it's somehow already the day of the Franklin Charles concert. It's also my last day of work before heading back to school. My senior year. Something I both look forward to and dread. But there's too much to do today to let that anxiety sneak in.
Starting with a phone call to my mother.
Coffee first, I tell myself. Coffee is a must.
Then a shower, I decide. Because hygiene is important, even if I had a lapse there a few weeks ago.
Then some packing, though most everything is already good to go. But maybe I left something under the bed. Or the couches. Or… Oh, hell. There's nowhere else to look. I can't put it off anymore.
I head into my room and perch on the edge of my mattress, nervous anxiety making it hard to scroll through my phone, but I manage to make the call.
She answers on the first ring. "Cassidy? Oh, honey, I'm so glad you're calling."
"Really?" It's a rush to hear her voice, a relief, too. After the response I got from my dad in North Carolina, I wasn't sure how my mom would react to hearing from me. But she sounds happy. The real kind of happy, too. Not the zombified BS from earlier this summer.
"I've missed you," she says.
"Oh, sure," I say, drily. "It was very evident in all the phone calls I had from you this summer." I meant to keep this call light. Easy. But I can't take back the words—and now that they're out, I don't actually want to.
She hesitates; the sound of her breathing comes lightly through the phone. "I knew you'd reach out when you were ready."
"So it's my job to make up with you and Dad?" I stand and begin pacing, my fingers itching to throw something breakable, but all of my things are already packed. I ball them, unfulfilled, at my sides.
"No, honey, that's not what I mean." This time a deep breath reaches through the phone and I'm struck with the memory of the day I found her just standing there in the great room, crying. "I'm struggling with what to say."
"You're my parents. You're supposed to care that I'm gone." Hurt feelings are an avalanche, forcing the words from my mouth, even if the memory of her tears is still stuck in my mind.
"I cared—we both cared, Cassidy. You left home, and it broke our hearts—"
"Maybe you broke my heart, too, did you ever think of that?"
"Every day," she says, her voice cracking. "But I didn't want to put that pressure on you. You made it clear you needed space."
"I…" I close my mouth, damming the anger ready to roll out of it. Not in a million years have I imagined this was the reason for radio silence. "You were keeping your distance because you thought I wanted it?"
"I wasn't sure what you wanted," she says, quietly. "I haven't been myself. I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry."
I'm not sure I understand, not entirely, but it's true she hasn't been herself. None of us have. And…maybe it's like the times I wanted to scream Jason's name in her face, the times I wanted to force her to speak about him, to acknowledge he existed. I kept it all inside because I was afraid I'd break her heart even more. I didn't want to push too hard. Maybe that's what she's saying. She didn't want to push me, either.
Now, though…I don't think I have to keep my feelings—my memories—about Jason locked inside. She doesn't sound as fragile, as fake. "I saw the flowers at Jason's grave. The picture, too."
She's silent for a long time and I wonder if I spoke too soon. Then she says, "We're trying to move forward. We've been visiting him every Sunday."
Her words are like the sweetest song and as she says them, a huge chunk of the boulder of my resentment chips and slides away. "Maybe I can come with you sometime, when I'm back from school again."
"I would love that."
"I'd like to come to your place later, if you and Dad aren't busy?" Please don't be busy.
"Not our place," she says. "Home, Cassidy. Come home."
I tell her I'll be there at five, and when we hang up, I have tears in my eyes, but for the first time in a long time, they're of the happy variety.
I am a mass of anxiety when I pull up at five. I'm tempted to go inside, just for a moment, to see if the pictures of Jason are back up. But if they are, if I step through the doorway and see the house the way it used to be, I may never want to leave. And tonight's too important. So I call my mom, instead, and tell her that she and my dad need to come outside. To me.
I step out to wait for them and when the front door opens my heart is in my throat—but it turns out I don't need to be quite so apprehensive.
My mom darts toward me, throwing her arms around me. It's the first time she's hugged me, truly hugged me, in over eight months. And, finally, the house in front of me begins to look like home again.
Well. Almost.
My dad stands a few feet away, his arms crossed. "Cassidy," he says, his voice as gruff as ever. "Will you be staying for dinner?"
It's as much of an apology as I'm going to get about his refusal to help me in North Carolina. Not that I'm letting him off the hook for it. But for now, all I need is a bridge over it to the place where we can start speaking to each other again, and he's just begun building it.
"Actually," I tell him over my mom's shoulder, "I'm kidnapping you both. Get in my car."
"To where?" he asks.
"Can't tell you that yet." I'm pretty sure he won't come if he knows our destination.
"I don't think so." He doesn't move, but my mom spins around and I can hear the glare she shoots him in the tone of her voice.
"Bradley Evans, get in the car. We talked about this."
And just like that, he does it. All businessman all the time—unless it comes to my mother. Then he's nothing but a softie. And even though things between us are far from okay, I find myself warming to him a little. Even if he grumbles the entire ride—and especially when he realizes we're headed to BackBar. "Really, Cassidy. A concert? There's too much to discuss before you leave for school tomorrow. We don't have time for this."
Guess he didn't notice the name on the billboard because there's no way he'd sound quite so grumpy if he knew who we're about to see. After I park, I turn to face him. "You taught me pretty much from birth
that there's always time for music. And now I'm bringing music back to you."
He scowls, not ready to give in, but when I glance at my mom in the passenger seat, her eyes are filled with tears. She reaches over to grip my hand in her own. "You did that the moment you called."
Zach meets us at the entrance, ushering us through the patio—I wave to Nicole and Clark at the bar and look around for Gage, but don't see him—and across the walkway, all the way to our front-row seats. The ones I asked him to set up for me that day in his office. He winks at me when he walks away, though, because his job for the night's not quite done.
"I'm not sure this is a good idea," my dad says, completely uncomfortable in his seat. But I refuse to let this night be anything less than perfect.
"Dad, sit back and relax. I promise this is going to be worth it." Then, because it's true—but, if I'm being honest, also for the shock factor: "You were right, by the way. I was behaving childishly."
Surprise startles the scowl from his face.
"I ran away from you guys this summer, and from responsibility. I'm sorry for disappointing you. But I've also had the craziest summer of my life and I don't think I'd change it even if I could. Well, some of it maybe, but not taking this job. It changed my life. I am sorry, though, for letting you down."
He clears his throat. "I'm still paying for what you did at work."
"Bradley," my mom hisses beside him. "Enough."
And his expression actually softens. "We can talk about it another time."
I look past him to my mom. "I thought you were avoiding life—and I couldn't stand watching it anymore. But I turned around and did the exact same thing. I'm sorry for hurting you."
"You never need to apologize to me," she says. "Especially not about this."
Then Franklin Charles takes the stage and the expressions on their faces get added to the list of things I'll remember for a long, long time.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
"I didn't know Franklin Charles was in town," my dad says after the opening song.
"You haven't paid attention to music in ages. When would you have noticed?" I ask. He frowns, but I nudge him out of it, saying, "Now you know."
"Thank you for this, Cassidy," my mom says, but her voice is a little shaky. I wonder if maybe I've pushed too hard too fast, but when the next song begins, "Get Lost with You," her eyes go soft and I don't have to wonder anymore. It's their wedding song, and by the time it's halfway over, my mom's slipped her hand over my father's on his lap. He's staring at their hands instead of the stage, and I think it may be the first time she's reached for him in a long time.
"I just want to, I just need to, I'm just begging to get lost with you," Franklin sings in his bluesy voice. And my father turns his hand so that his palm is against my mom's and their fingers intertwine.
I sit back, enjoying watching my parents as much as I enjoy the concert.
"All right, folks," Franklin says a few songs later, motioning for his band to quiet down behind him. "I'm looking for a very special family to come up here on stage with me for this next song."
Nerves are metallic butterflies scraping against my throat. This is it.
"Is the Evans family somewhere around here?"
My mom looks at my dad and he's already looking her. As one, they turn to me. "Cassidy?" my mom asks.
"Let's go." I grin, praying this goes how I want it to. I take my dad's hand and lead him down the front aisle to where Zach is waiting to take us to the steps at the side of the stage. The audience is cheering the whole time, and when Franklin sees us, he hoots into the microphone. "There y'all are!"
Both my parents are in shock, their faces pale, their movements stiff. And on stage the spotlight is blindingly bright.
Please don't let this have been a horrible idea. Please, please.
"I hear y'all lost someone recently," he says, just to us, away from the microphone. "This is for him, for your son." He glances from my parents to me. "For your brother."
He puts the mic back to his mouth, and he kicks off the lyrics for "Crisscross Family Lines."
The song I once described to Zach as our family anthem.
Franklin faces us the entire time, but I can't stop watching my parents and the way they're looking at each other. My dad glances at me a moment later and pulls me into him, his arm around my shoulders.
By the end of the song my mom's crying. And my dad's wiping his eyes, too, and then my own vision grows blurry.
And it's perfect. In every way.
"We have to leave," my dad says, stiffly, after we've made our way back to our seats, getting high fives from everyone we pass. He won't meet my eyes.
My mom nods. She can't stop crying, but she's smiling through her tears. "This was… I won't ever forget this, Cassidy. But I need to go. I need to…" She trails off, unable to finish.
"I'll take you now." I understand what she can't say. She's overwhelmed. They both are.
My dad waves me back down when I stand, though. "Stay, enjoy the show—we'll take a cab."
I start to protest, but then I notice how my mom's clinging to him. They need each other right now. And so I let them go, hugging them and promising to come home from school soon to visit.
I listen to a few more songs, but they're not the same without my parents beside me. I head to the VIP patio instead, to give Zach the address to mail my last paycheck.
But Gage is at the bar. Facing away from me, tossing back a shot and holding the glass out for a refill.
Completely chickening out, I change my trajectory to leave through the side door, hoping he won't see me, but Clark waves from behind the bar—what is with this guy, always giving up my location?—and Gage turns, and it's all over from here.
"Cassidy," he calls, standing and heading toward me. Behind him, Clark winks, like he's done me a favor.
"Figured you'd be in there watching Franklin Charles," I say to him.
"Why aren't you?" he counters.
"I was for a while…"
"And now?"
"And now I'm with you." I don't know where the words come from. But they make him smile.
I shouldn't read into it. He's drunk, I can tell by the soft unfocus in his eyes.
But then he closes the space between us, and he kisses me.
Gently, sweetly.
And how can I not read into it?
I slide my hands up to his chest, leaning into him, into the kiss.
But he breaks it a second later. "Sorry."
"I love you." The words slip out of my mouth and the statement tiptoes across my skin, leaving the glow of something true.
Then the panic hits.
"Sorry," I stammer. "I don't know why I said that."
But…lying makes me feel like a fool. "Actually, I take back my apology. I'm not sorry. I said it because I mean it."
I study him closely, waiting with my stomach in my throat for his reaction, except…now I notice the unfocus in his eyes is way more than soft. He's unsteady even standing still.
He's not just a little drunk, he's wasted.
"Cassidy," he says, "I—"
"Wait." I put a hand up to stop him from speaking. I can't have this conversation with him now. Alcohol makes people say things they don't mean, and I'm not trying to trap Gage into giving me another chance or baring his soul or anything else he might want to take back tomorrow. "You aren't driving, are you?"
"I gave Clark my keys," he slurs the words together.
"Do you need a ride?" This much, at least, I can do for him.
But he shakes his head. "Not done drinking. Clark'll drive me home later."
"Okay." I'm not sure what else there is to say, and now my stomach's down somewhere closer to the ground. Regret's a heavy, heavy thing. "Have a good night, Gage."
He looks like he wants to say something, and for a moment I hold my breath. But then he nods and only says, "You, too."
I leave him there and do my best to ignore the splitting of my heart. I
drive home, and I set my alarm for first thing in the morning because I have a long trek back to school to get up for.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
I knock on Gage's door just after the sun rises.
He opens it shirtless (good God), bleary-eyed (poor guy), looking not especially happy to see me. I'm really hoping the last part's only because it's so early.
"I'm really sorry to wake you. But I didn't want last night to be the last time we saw each other," I say, holding out the coffee I picked up for him on my way over. "Hopefully this will help a little. Or I have water in my purse if you'd prefer. Or orange juice. And Advil."
He doesn't move. "Last night?"
"At BackBar," I say. But the blank look on his face tells me he doesn't remember our conversation. For a moment, relief floods me. Then it's gone. "I told you I loved you."
Panic filters through his expression—which, in turn, makes a huge helping of it spiral through my stomach—and he doesn't say anything. Which makes me ramble even harder. "And now I'm bombarding you with it first thing in the morning. My timing sucks. But…I'm leaving for school, pretty much right now, and I needed to see you before I left. I needed to tell you before I go."
He doesn't say anything and, for a moment, he looks over my shoulder instead of at my face.
"I am sorry it took me so long to realize it," I continue, unable to stem the flow of words. "I will never stop regretting the stupid decisions I made this summer."
"Cassidy, hold on," he says, finally taking the coffee from me. "I need—" He clears his throat. "I need to wake up for a second."
Right. Of course he does. "Sorry."
"Come in." He steps to the side, making room for me to pass.
I step in and then wait for Gage to take the lead. He can choose where this conversation happens. Or, if it happens at all—though the fact he just let me in is a pretty good sign.
He turns into the living room. Katy's picture catches my eye again, and I ask Gage how she is.
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