“Layla, stop it.”
I lifted my head, but I still couldn’t find it in me to turn and look him in the face. “No. I told you my mother wasn’t around, but you don’t know the whole story. She left us, Trip! She was probably screwing half the town when finally, she just up and left us for one of her boyfriends. And everyone knows it. Including your father.”
“My father is an asshole.”
“Yeah, well, he may be an asshole, but at least he’s still around. At least he’s still here.”
“Oh, you think that’s better?”
“Better than being left behind? Better than watching your father overcompensate every single day because he’s trying to make up for whatever part he thinks he played in her leaving? Better than being left to deal with the fallout of my mother’s stellar reputation? Yeah. I think that’s better.”
Trip didn’t know what to say, I guess, but it’s not as though I was giving him a whole lot of air to respond, launching into a hysterical rant. “You don’t know what it’s like, to be a girl without a mother! Having to do things like go on your first date, or start high school or get ready for the prom, knowing she’s not going to be there. You don’t know what it’s like to stare down a random woman on the street, wondering if maybe this time, it could really be her. You don’t know how impossible-how completely freaking impossible it is-to try and make sense of any of it, every single solitary day of your life, just wanting to know... WHY?”
I took a huge shaky breath into my lungs, trying to calm myself down. I’d gotten my crying under control, but I’m sure I was a puffy, red mess. “You just can’t possibly know. I mean, your mom is so great!”
“Yeah, you’re right, Lay. I don’t know. And she is. But I look at it like she’s the saving grace for the fact that my father’s a total dick.”
“But he seems so...”
“Nice?”
“Yeah. The way he smiles and jokes around and stuff.”
“Well, he is. Nice, I mean. When he’s not drinking.”
Drinking... Wait-what?
I couldn’t make sense of it at first. Trip was trying to tell me that his father was... an alcoholic? But it was just too weird that someone I knew was actually dealing with a thing like that, something you normally only see on TV. Yet there it was.
“He’s like, multiple personalities or something. One minute, he’s my dad, the guy that shows up to my hockey matches and is able to run a billion dollar company.”
The word “billion” almost made me choke, and I hoped Trip was just throwing it around to exaggerate his point.
“The next, he’s got a few scotches in him and he turns into the meanest, snarliest asshole you’d ever want to meet. I never know which guy is waiting for me when I get home.”
I took the confession as something hard for Trip to tell me. It sucked that he seemed so embarrassed about something he had so little to do with. I finally glanced over my shoulder to see him sitting sullenly at the edge of the yard. His shoulders were slumped as he picked at the blades of grass between his feet. My personal concerns left me as I realized I wasn’t the only one hurt and embarrassed back in the house.
I swung my legs around as modestly as possible, no easy feat while wearing a skirt and pivoting on my backside. Under normal circumstances, Trip would have reveled in the opportunity to catch a flash of girl panties, but he was a little preoccupied with his own thoughts at the time.
We sat in silence for a moment until Trip said, “I’m sorry about what my dad said in there. He had no right to talk to you like that.”
I gave a shrug, touched by his words, but not knowing what to say. I mean, it wasn’t his fault that his father said what he did. Why should Trip have to be the one to apologize?
I started picking grass along with him, arranging the occasional blade between my thumbs and blowing, trying to make it whistle. I always sucked at that. Trip decided to join me, with more success, showing off yet another of his innumerable skills. Always showing off. I rolled my eyes and flung my grass back from whence it came.
It was nice being there with him, sitting on the cool lawn in the dark; unspeaking and calm, sharing our secrets and trusting each other to keep them. Funny how our platonic status was bringing me comfort instead of anguish for once.
I leaned into Trip, nudging him off-balance in order to try and cheer us both up. I was thinking it was time to break the mood and get out of there, maybe grab some fries and gravy at The King Neptune.
“Hey Chester,” I said. “Ya wanna make out?” I raised my eyebrows a couple of times for added effect. Very Groucho Marx.
I was expecting him to laugh. I was expecting him to take my hand, haul me to my feet and bring me with him to hit the diner.