Playing, p.58
Playing, page 58
My feet remember the path. I'm not sure how. It's been an eternity since I've been here. The funeral. A few times when Em wanted to go the first year. Then never.
I've certainly never come here alone.
There. Almost all the way at the back, halfway down the row. Josephine Kane. Elliot Kane.
My memories of Mom are sharper than my memories of Dad. But then she was so much sharper than Dad. She was always the picture of the perfect trophy wife. Educated. Pretty. Dark hair cut in a chic straight line. The latest designer clothes. A schedule filled with proper hobbies and volunteering.
When I was a kid, she spent a lot of time with me. She'd read to me. Take me to the park. Bring me on all her lunches and community meetings. Then she had Emma, and it was the three of us together. Dad was always busy. Working. But Mom poured time into us.
She loved us.
She loved me. At least that guy I was then.
It wasn't until I discovered punk music and insisted on wearing ripped jeans that I lost her affection.
It wasn't all at once. It was a little bit at a time. She'd look at me like my decisions were wrong. Like they disgusted her. Then like there was no coming back for me.
I guess there wasn't.
I get why she asked me not to come around anymore. I get that she was protecting Emma. Fuck, if there's anything I get it's protecting Emma.
It was bullshit.
She didn't look past what she saw.
But then I didn't either.
Mom always seemed unbreakable. But she wasn't. There were cracks. A quiver in her voice here. A too strong drink there. A sad look at the door when I asked when Dad would be home.
She was lonely. She was lashing out. She was trying to put shit together.
I peel the plastic from the bouquet and drop the roses on her grave.
"I don't know what you'd think of me if you were still around. I guess I wouldn't be this guy. I wouldn't have changed everything in my life to take care of Emma." I press my hand to her gravestone. "I get it now, how hard it is to be a parent, to try to do the best for the people you love. I get that you were trying to help me and Emma in your way. I get that you looked at me like I was a piece of shit because you wanted something better for me." I lean back on my heels. "I understand. And I forgive you."
The tension in my shoulders melts. Fuck, it's weird talking to a tombstone, but if I squint, I can convince myself Mom is hearing this somehow.
"I know you didn't mean to fuck with my head. But you did. There's still a huge part of me convinced I'm worthless. That I'll never deserve the love of the kind of woman who wears cardigans and gets straight As. Fuck, I think I just threw away the best thing that ever happened to me because of it."
My exhale is heavy.
"But even with all that fucked up shit you did, I wish you were still around. I miss you. I can't believe it, but I do. I'm not sure if you'd believe me, but I'm trying to do better. For me. For Em. For you and Dad. For all of us."
* * *
Emma's locked in her room.
I knock on her door.
She doesn't answer.
"Em. I can open this door. I need to know you're okay."
"Okay is relative."
"Physically, okay."
She says nothing.
"Em." All these doors are child proof. A bobby pin is enough to trip the lock. But I'd rather not invade my sister's privacy. That's one of the million ways I want to do better. "You don't have to talk to me. Just tell me if you're okay."
"Yeah."
"Thanks."
Her footsteps move toward the door. "Why did you break up with Kaylee?"
"You were right. I'm supposed to protect her from guys like me." At least that's what my head was telling me. Now... it doesn't feel as right. It feels like Mom's voice.
"Really?" Emma pulls her door open. "Are you fucking serious?"
"You said it."
"Because I was pissed." She smooths her hair. Wipes her puffy, bloodshot eyes. "I thought about it. And... well, I was wrong. I was shocked and pissed and, well, you don't exactly have a good track record with relationships."
Fair enough. "Yeah."
"I thought... well, Kay is really pretty. And she's all sweet and innocent. And your reputation... I thought you just wanted to corrupt her. Or some sick shit like that. I couldn't imagine you really loving her. But I knew... I think, deep down, I knew she liked you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I wanted to believe it was someone else. Even Dean. But I think I knew. And I even understood. She's happy around you. She laughs. She relaxes. She... she tells you stuff. Stuff she doesn't tell me. That pissed me off. I'm her best friend and you're some hot, tall guy who will probably throw her away."
"You're tall."
"Yeah. I... I was jealous of you, I guess. That you were getting more of her. I just... You've both been spending so much time together. And then you both lied to me about it. It hurt. But now that I step back from that. I think you're good together."
What? I blink a dozen times.
"Don't give me that look, Brendon. You must see it. She's happy around you. And you—you're normally trying to audition to play Jess on some Gilmore Girls reboot."
"What?"
"Oh my God, everyone knows Gilmore Girls! You watched it over my shoulder."
I shake my head. I vaguely remember the mom and daughter eating a lot of junk food, but that's it.
"You sit around with your sketchbook like it's the only thing that gets your pain. But that isn't true. Kay does. I don't know what you tell her, but you're different around her too. You're happy. And, no offense, but you're usually miserable enough you're annoying to be around. I mean, I still love you, but it can be a drag."
"No offense though?"
She laughs. "Yeah. Of course not. I mean, you're no Ryan, but you were kinda on your way there. The last six months at least. And Kay... I'm just glad she has someone to help her right now. Well. That she did. But if you're breaking up with her for her then you're a fucking idiot. Who takes advice from their eighteen-year-old sister?"
I can't help but laugh. "You're wiser than you think."
"Well, yeah, if you need some help with your makeup or wardrobe. We have some great skinny jeans on sale. If you want a new pair, I can help with that. With Kay—"
"You know you're giving me advice right now."
"Okay. Let's say I'm wise. You should listen to me."
Yeah. I'm pretty sure I should.
Emma pulls out her cell. "Did you get this?"
It's a text from Kaylee's mom.
Mrs. Hart: Kaylee is going to be staying with us for a few extra days. She's doing okay. I'm sure she'd appreciate a call from you, Emma. I'm not sure she's in a place to reach out.
"It sounds bad." Emma's gaze goes to her screen. "I called a bunch, but she didn't pick up."
"It's late on the East Coast."
"You think it's bad news with her grandma?"
"Hard to say." But probably.
"We should be there. Shouldn't we?" Emma pushes her door wide open and steps into her room. She goes straight to her laptop. "I looked at tickets. And I talked to my manager. We could leave tomorrow night. Get in first thing in the morning. Or... well... if you really don't want to be with Kay, then you probably shouldn't come."
No shit. I nod.
"So, what's it going to be? Are you coming or not?"
Chapter Fifty-Three
Kaylee
I spend the entire day in Grandma's hospital room, talking about everything and nothing. Mom gives me the morning with Grandma. She joins me in the afternoon. We share stories and they team up to give me life advice.
Grandma stays quiet about things with Brendon. But I know Mom is going to find out. And that's going to be the end of me living at his place.
Not that I could live there with things as they are.
I... I'll just have to work more. Take out another student loan. Commute a little farther. Do whatever it takes to make it work.
We don't leave until the nurse insists.
It's so quiet at home. It's strange. Usually the house is full of Grandma's laugh. Or some loud, exciting show she's watching. This whole place is her. The walls are bright jewel tones. The blankets on the black leather couch are hot pink.
She's always so bright and vibrant.
It's scary that soon she won't be alive.
But I'm starting to accept it.
* * *
I'm halfway through my morning tea—shitty generic tea—when the doorbell rings.
Mom is making eggs in the kitchen.
Dad is asleep in the bedroom.
It's early. Seven-something. Who the hell could that be?
"Can you get that, Kay?" Mom's voice is even. Knowing.
Huh.
I take one more sip and push myself to my feet.
This is a small place. It's only a dozen footsteps to the door. "Hello."
"Hey."
That's Brendon's voice.
What the hell?
My stomach gets all light and floating. Nervous energy spills through my limbs. He's here. Why is he here? What does that mean?
I need his comfort so badly.
But I...
If he's not here to kiss and makeup...
I can't take falling more in love with him.
I pull the door open. "Hey."
He's standing there in jeans and a t-shirt. Like it's a normal day. Like we're about to walk to the shop.
But then...
His shirt is wrinkled. His hair is a mess. His eyes are heavy. Tired.
"We just got in." He nods to the black suitcase next to him. Then to the car parked on the street. A rental car. Emma is in the passenger seat, staring at the mirror. "Emma insisted on fixing her makeup. I told her I wouldn't wait."
I nod. That's so them.
"Your mom told me what's going on. I'm sorry, Kay. I wish things were different."
"Me too."
His eyes meet mine. They promise that everything will be different. But he doesn't say anything.
I try to find the words, but I can't. Mom is moving toward us.
She stops at the door. Smiles at Brendon. "Mr. Kane. You didn't have to come."
His eyes meet mine. He raises a brow. She doesn't know?
I shake my head. She doesn't. Not yet. But I'm going to tell her. I'm going to stop taking on the whole world by myself.
"I get a little protective of Emma," he says.
Mom nods. "I can imagine. She's a spitfire."
"You have no idea," he says.
Mom laughs. It's the first time she's laughed since I've been here. "Well, come in. We've already got a pot of coffee on." She looks out to the car. Waves. "Hey, Emma. Come in whenever you're ready."
Emma steps out of the passenger seat. Taps the key fob. The car beeps locked. Her eyes meet mine. She mouths I'm sorry. I think. She's far away.
"We'll put out the air mattress for you. And there's the couch. It's very comfortable." Mom leads Brendon into the kitchen.
"We have a hotel," he says.
"Nonsense. You've been so hospitable this year. Kaylee sent me pictures of her room. It's beautiful. And I remember your house. This is the least we could do."
His eyes meet mine. He raises a brow, offering me a chance to object.
I want him here. Fuck, I want him here so badly it hurts. But I want him here as mine. If he's not...
I don't know.
God, the sight of his dark eyes and his soft lips is enough to comfort me. To remind me that there are beautiful things in the world. That one day it's going to be okay.
"You should stay here," I say. "We have good coffee. Dad's obsessed."
He nods. "I'm sold."
Emma rushes in through the door. She presses it closed behind her, rests her suitcase against it.
She goes straight to me and throws her arms around me. "I'm so fucking sorry, Kay."
"Me too."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
She leans in to whisper. "And I'm sorry my brother is an idiot. He... I think he's going to come around. But I get it if you don't forgive him."
I don't know what I forgive. I'm not ready to ask myself that yet. I release Emma. "You want coffee?"
"Of course." She smiles. "You look good."
"You too."
She smacks her lips. "It's not too much?"
"That's in your vocabulary?" I tease.
Mom laughs. "Your hair is darling, Emma. I wish I could pull that off."
"You could, Mrs. Hart. Though I think purple would suit your complexion better. There's this great new brand with smokey colors. The purple would look fierce on you," Emma says.
Mom laughs. "I'll think about that."
Brendon's eyes meet mine. I'm not sure exactly what he's saying, only that I want to hear every drop of it.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Kaylee
We go straight to the hospital with Grandma. Brendon and Emma introduce themselves and say hello then they wait in the lobby.
Mom and I stay with her all morning. Dad joins in the evening. We get home, have dinner together, make small talk about nothing, sleep in separate spaces.
It's like that for days. We spend every minute of visiting hours in the hospital. Emma and I talk all night. Brendon is just there. Waiting for me. Ready for when I need him.
It's like that all week.
Until Friday.
I wake to Mom standing over my bed, tears running down her cheeks.
I don't have to ask to know. It's written all over her face.
Grandma is gone.
The world is a little colder.
A little darker.
A little uglier.
* * *
I want to be strong for Mom. So she can fall apart. But I can't bring myself to leave my bed.
Dad brings me breakfast and tea.
I force myself to brush my teeth. Wash my face.
Then I collapse back in my bed. It whispers of Grandma too. The hot pink sheets. The landline phone in the shape of lips. The boy band posters all over the walls.
She'd want me to celebrate her life, not mourn her death.
And I want to do that.
But it hurts, knowing she's not here anymore.
That I can never go to her for advice. Or read her another chapter. Or argue about whether or not I'll call her Gigi.
Emma brings me lunch and dinner. She sits with me as I pour my heart out. Hugs me as I cry.
But I don't fall apart until the sun sets. Night falls over the house slowly. My room is silent. I can hear my parents go to bed. My mom sobbing. My dad comforting her.
Emma turning on the TV.
Footsteps moving toward my door.
A soft knock.
Brendon's voice. "Hey."
"Come in." I pull the sheets a little higher. I'm not ready to face him, but I need his comfort. It's confusing. My first thought is that Grandma would know what to do.
But she's not here.
She's never giving me advice again.
She...
I choke back a sob.
Brendon steps into my room and presses the door shut behind him.
He lays in my bed behind me. Wraps his arms around my waist and pulls my body into his.
And he holds me as I sob.
As I release every bit of hurt.
I fall apart in his arms.
Even with everything between us, he's the only person I trust to piece me back together.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Kaylee
I wake up alone.
Even so, the world is a little less cold.
A little less dark.
It hurts a little less, Grandma being gone.
I manage to drag myself out of bed. I brush my teeth, shower, put on makeup, blow dry my hair. I feel better. Not great. But better. Like I can actually face the world.
I pull on an old dress. It's a little small, but it's stretchy enough to be comfortable. I'm about to move into the hallway when I see it.
A note on my desk.
Meet me at the boardwalk at noon. I have something to show you.
- Brendon
And there's the exact address. And a detailed drawing. A blooming rose in the shape of a heart, covered in thorns. It's beautiful. Intricate. Incredibly Brendon.
My stomach flutters. It pushes away the darkness flowing through me. I actually feel warm. Alive. Like the world is a place where good things can happen.
It still hurts.
But I'm pretty sure I can survive it.
* * *
Mom is strangely okay with my request to borrow the car. Emma too. She doesn't ask where I'm going or insist on coming. Dad either.
It's weird.
Like they know what Brendon's up to. And are somehow okay with it. But that isn't possible. If my parents knew we were sleeping together, they'd kill him.
Or maybe...
I mean, I told Grandma.
She might have narced on me. And I wasn't exactly subtle about crying to Mom about a guy who didn't love me.
The sad promise of Love Will Tear Us Apart flows through the speakers. Joy Division is the only band Brendon and I like. Well, the only band he'll admit to liking. He hates the indie pop and pop-rock I play. (Sue me, I like vaguely pop sounding things). But he's different with some of the pop-punk bands. Maybe it's all high school nostalgia. Or maybe it's a secret love of well-recorded, melodic music.
I'm going to call him on it one day.
But not today.
Love has already torn me apart.
I'm just hoping it puts me back together.
I check the address again. Almost there. My fingers curl around the steering wheel. My heartbeat picks up. I don't know what this is, but guys don't leave beautiful drawings and promises as break up notes. I think. I don't know anything about guys.
Grandma would tell me to be brave. To go with it. She'd say something cliché about how she regrets all the things she didn't do. All her mistakes taught her things or brought her joy. Even her ex-husband. He brought her Mom. And that was worth everything.
