Dad gives me a flat look and shakes his head. “Fuck that kid.”
“Come on, Dad. I love that asshole.” I know he’s only joking—I think—but I want to know. I have to know he’s looking out for him.
“He the only asshole you love?” He smiles wide.
I choose not to squander his good mood. “Nah, you’ll always be the first asshole I ever loved.”
“About Holly?” he says.
“What about her?” I ask playfully.
“Yes or no, kid. Quit busting my balls.”
“If you don’t marry her, I’ll disown you,” I say and give him a soft smile. “Finally picked a winner.” Because he has. Holly is nothing like my mother, and thank God for that. She’s strong and loyal and already a great mom. Once I get over the nagging jealousy of having to share, I know I’m going to be way excited to finally have a sibling. I’ve always wanted someone else to know that the struggle of being Sterling Grady’s child is real.
“Layla’s fucked up and missing out on the best thing she could ever have,” Dad says. He raises his chin in the air and avoids eye contact, probably because I’ve started crying. The subject of my mom always does that to me. It doesn’t matter how long she’s been absent for or how old I get—she’s still my mom, and I think I’m always going to have an empty spot in my life where she should be. “She’s sick, baby girl. Only reason that keeps her away is her sickness. You gotta know if she could be here and be good to you, she would be.”
“But she’s not,” I say in a messy, rushed mix of words and tears.
“No, she’s not, but that’s not on you. That’s on her. Don’t got to like the shit she does to love her.”
“Fuck.” I wipe my tears, and Dad chuckles lightly and leans over, patting my knee. Subject change. I need another fucking subject change. “Now about Jer...”
“The best I can promise is that I won’t kill him and I’ll try to keep him from getting killed,” he says reluctantly.
“Fair enough.”
We’re quiet for a long while as we watch the sky darken. I can’t really say the sun’s setting since the Sunset District is under a perpetual fog due to its close proximity to the Pacific Ocean. It being late January doesn’t help either.
Eventually, Dad stands and stretches out. I follow his movements as he cross the porch and opens the front door, saying, “Now, I heard you’re learning about frostings in your new class. Show me my money isn’t being wasted.”
My mouth parts and then spreads wide in excitement. Dad has taken special interest in my courses because they involve food. He says he likes to test how my skills are coming along, but I know it’s really because he likes to be fed. Just as I close the front door behind me, he says, “By the way—before you get going in the kitchen, you should call your boy. He won’t say it, but he misses you.”
“He doesn’t sound like he misses me when we talk on the phone.” I’d love to call Jer. I just don’t want to call and get the same bullshit I’ve been getting since I left Fort Bragg for culinary school almost a year ago. It’s just not the same. He’s not the same.
“Club’s on its way to a good place—a safe place—but the shit that boy is going through to help get us there? Fuck, Chey. Call him and say whatever the fuck it is you two say to each other. Just talk to him. Let the little asshole know you want to know how he’s doing.”
“Since when do you give me relationship advice?” I ask, taken aback by his attempt at helping my failing relationship. This conversation takes me back to another conversation we had about this same thing—only Dad and I were on opposing ends then.
“Since he did the right thing and let you go so you could be safe,” he says and disappears down the long hall toward Ratchet’s room in the back of the house.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “He did.”