Now that she knew what it was like to say it to someone and mean it, she wished more than ever that she could give those pieces back. But he didn’t seem to want them. So she shaved off tiny bits of her heart and offered him those instead—nothing much, just what she could spare. Barely more than crumbs, really.
It wasn’t enough, for either of them. But it was all she had to give.
“Did you tell your dad about the award?” she asked.
He nodded stiffly. “Didn’t go great,” he said under his breath.
“Really? He wasn’t even a little bit excited?”
Shawn shook his head, pressing his lips together. “It’s my own dumb fault. I should’ve realized his hang-up about college was never about the money.”
“What’s it about?”
“Rothman and Son.”
“Oh.” Lisa sighed, wishing she could take Shawn’s father by the shoulders and shake him. He had such an amazing son, but he refused to see it.
This was the part Lisa couldn’t explain to Charlene, because she knew she’d never understand. It wasn’t just about the campaign. Lisa couldn’t break up with Shawn because he didn’t have anyone else. Everyone liked him, but barely anyone really knew him. “Shawn, I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”
She frowned, knowing how much Shawn had risked—how much they both had—to get that award. Nothing was a bigger deal to him than this. “Listen, even if your father—”
But she was cut off when Veronica clapped her hands breathlessly, eager to get the not-brunch underway.
As Jim and Diane took their seats and the photographer started snapping pictures, Shawn’s expression changed like a channel, flipping from frustrated to cheerful in the blink of an eye. Sometimes it was unnerving to Lisa, just how good he was at dusting away the parts of himself he didn’t want anyone else to see, leaving nothing but a gleaming facade.
Then again, maybe that’s what made them perfect for each other. Both of them knew how to put on a show.
Lisa went through all the proper motions as the photographer clicked away, smiling for the camera and holding Shawn’s hand between their plates and feeding Emmie bites of muffin. She laughed at Jim’s jokes—but not too hard, not opening her mouth too wide or showing too many teeth—kept her shoulders straight, her ankles crossed, her elbows off the table.
When it was over, the photographer claimed he had some great shots, and Lisa was sure he did. The photographs would undoubtedly be beautiful.
They just wouldn’t be real.
Chapter Twelve
SHAWN
His father was in the garage when he got home from brunch, his tools and supplies spread out before him on the pristine concrete floor. Saturdays were maintenance days, when Gabe Rothman meticulously inventoried, catalogued, and cleaned all the tools of his trade, down to the smallest scrap of copper wire. Even though Shawn doubted that anything changed significantly enough from week to week to warrant this level of reorganization, his father was insistent that it was necessary.
Shawn hurried up the driveway, hoping to get into the house before his father spotted him.
“In here, son,” Gabe called.
Shawn halted just a few feet from the front door. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, steeling himself, then walked over, loosening his tie and shrugging off his jacket. His father’s garage was cleaner than most people’s kitchens, and there were plenty of hooks and bars on which a jacket could hang, but everything had its purpose here, none of which was clothing storage. He draped it over his arm instead.
“Where have you been this morning?” Shawn’s father asked. He bent over an array of needle-nose pliers, each lined up perfectly parallel to the one beside it, and made marks on a clipboard.
“I was invited to have brunch with Lisa’s family,” Shawn said, swallowing. “Remember, I told you on Thursday—”
“Don’t you take that tone with me, son,” Gabe snapped. “I am not your secretary.”
“Sorry, sir. I should’ve reminded you before I left,” Shawn said, kicking himself for not saying anything that morning.
His father’s eyes flitted briefly to him, then back to his tools. “I have good news,” he said. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but of course, you were nowhere to be found.”
“I’m sorry,” Shawn apologized again. Sometimes, it felt like all he did was apologize.
“Got a call from Mr. Reese over at the bowling alley. He’s got some lanes down. Thought you could go with me this afternoon, learn a few things while I get them working again. Bet you’ve never seen how a pinsetter works. It’ll be a real interesting job.”
Years of practice had taught Shawn to keep his face neutral, but disappointment coiled in his stomach. Really? His dad’s idea of good news was accompanying him on a job to fix a faulty pinsetter at the bowling alley? He wondered if his dad even remembered that Shawn planned to go to the bonfire tonight.
But he didn’t dare bring up the bonfire now, after their confrontation last night. He’d just have to hope that they finished up at the bowling alley in time for him to go. “Sounds great, Dad,” Shawn said.
His father rocked back on his heels, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief. “This is important real-world experience,” he said. “When you’re in charge, you’ll appreciate that I made it a priority to carve out these opportunities for you.”
“In charge of . . . ?”
“Of the business, son!” His dad shook his head, chuckling. “I know your old man’s in good shape now, but I won’t live forever. One day you’ll have to step into my shoes.”
“Dad,” Shawn said, his stomach sinking. “Don’t—don’t you remember? I won the citizenship award. So I don’t need . . . I mean, I wasn’t planning on—”
“I know all about your award,” Gabe said, spitting out the word like it was a fantasy Shawn should’ve outgrown years ago, like the tooth fairy. “I’m not an idiot, son.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I just assumed that after having the night to think it over, you’d have come to your senses.”
Shawn scrambled for something, anything, to say that wouldn’t make this worse, but his mind was blank. All he could think was how stupid he’d been to assume that last night would be the end of this, that his father wouldn’t seize every opportunity from now until the day he graduated from college—and probably beyond—to remind Shawn that he was making a mistake.
Gabe Rothman didn’t lose arguments. Gabe Rothman didn’t even come to a draw. Gabe Rothman only won.
“Excuse me if I want to provide my son with a solid foundation in a respectable trade, or offer him a good job right out of high school,” his father continued, on a roll now. “If I want to make sure you possess the knowledge and skills that will help you actually make a living someday.” He shook his head, looking disgusted. “I’d ask how you turned out to be so ungrateful, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re just like your mother that way.”
Shawn took a step back, the knot in his stomach making it hard to breathe. “I’m not trying to be ungrateful, Dad,” he said quietly. “I just want something different.”