I turn onto my side. My blinds are slightly open, and moonlight makes long rectangles on the floor. “I’m gonna say something and you don’t have to say anything back, but you can’t get mad at me either. I’m just gonna put it out there.”
“Okay, what?” he asks.
“I think you should finish high school.”
For a while he doesn’t say anything, and I think our little metaphorical boat on the lake is about to capsize. But then he starts to laugh. “Woman, I pour my heart out to you and you tell me to finish high school.”
“Your heart is great. It really is. And I promise you, you’re not wrong about music. I’ve seen you onstage. You were made for it. But also, just finish high school. You have one semester to go. Your dad will be a lot less mad at you, I promise.”
His laugh turns into a low chuckle. “All right, my turn to say something that you can’t get mad at me for.”
“Oh boy.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not that bad.”
“Oh boy,” I say again.
“I think you should try to work things out with your dad. I think you should go to his wedding.”
Now our boat does capsize. I sit all the way up. “After what he did? Why would you say that?”
“Right after Clay died, I used to see him everywhere, but it was weird. I didn’t see all the things we used to do. I kept seeing all the things we were supposed to do.” He clears his throat. “That make sense?”
“You were missing the future you were supposed to have.”
“Yeah, like I was having memories of things that never got to happen.”
I think about Dad and all the stuff we don’t get to do with each other anymore. It’s the big things like playing pool, and it’s the silly, small things too. Like the way he used to kiss my forehead at the kitchen table every morning. Or the way he played Ella Fitzgerald or Nina Simone on Sunday mornings. The way he would leave the kitchen cabinets open and drive Mom up the wall.
You can miss the future with people who are still alive too.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll think about it.” I try to stifle a yawn, but it comes out anyway.
“I should let you go to bed,” he says. “Sorry I woke you up.”
“Don’t be sorry. You can wake me up anytime,” I say. “Good night, X.”
“Good night, Evie,” he says.
CHAPTER 38
Hustle Thursday
<Thursday, 8:55 PM>
Me: You were good with the hustle today
X: I like it
X: It’s basically disco dancing but with a partner
Me: That’s a good way to put it
X: I didn’t come up with that
X: I read it online somewhere
X: Trying to impress you with my dazzling insight
X: Did it work?
Me: Only a little
X: Ha!
X: So I was thinking maybe your friends would want to come see a show on Saturday
Me: Do I get to come too?
X: Nah, just your friends
Me: Hehe
X: So that’s a yes?
Me: I’ll ask them but I’m sure they’ll say yes
Me: They like you
X: I like them too
<9:38 PM>
Me: I thought about what you said last night about dad and the wedding
X: Yeah?
Me: I haven’t decided what to do yet
Me: But I’m thinking about it
X: That’s good
X: I’m thinking about what you said about school too
Me: And?
X: Still thinking about it
Me: That’s good
<12:05 AM>
X: Reading cupcakes and kisses again
Me: Can’t get enough huh?
X: The girl just said her guy smells like cinnamon chocolate buttercream
Me: Very specific
X: What do I smell like?
Me: You’re odorless
X: Nah
X: I smell like rock and roll
X: And man sweat
X: And the blood of my vanquished enemies
X: You there?
Me: Laughing
X: Take your time
CHAPTER 39
Argentine Tango Friday
ON FRIDAY, FIFI is dressed in full Argentine tango splendor: short, cherry-red asymmetrical dress complete with fringe. The fringe is also asymmetrical. Her shoes are red, high and strappy.
X wolf-whistles at her when he walks in. “You’re hot fire today,” he says.
She strikes a dramatic pose with her right hip jutted out and her left leg extended. Her facial expression is somewhere between I want to kiss you and I want to murder you. She meets my eyes in the mirror. “You will wear very similar outfit for competition,” she says.
I protest. “It’s a little short, Fifi.”