“God, I love when you do that,” you whisper, kissing my lips.
You are gentle, checking in with me every few seconds, whispering poetry in my ear. Your fingers move across me like I’m the strings of your guitar, the music, the everything. When it starts to feel good I wrap my arms and legs around you, tight, and we are a ship at sea, alone and surrounded by nothing but moonlight.
After, we lie side by side, staring at each other.
“Forever,” you whisper as you take my hand and kiss my palm.
“Forever,” I agree.
*
THE GIANT IS being nice to me, which I swear is a sign of the apocalypse. Up next is, like, a plague of locusts. He caught me crying while I was sweeping the back porch and now we’re sitting out on the patio and he’s giving me one of his Klondike bars, which is The Giant’s equivalent of signing the Treaty of Versailles.
“So what’s up?” he says. “Boy trouble?”
Boy trouble? Since when does he care? He doesn’t say this in a mean way, but I’m not seriously going to discuss our relationship with him … am I?
I swallow. “Sort of.”
I glance at The Giant as he takes the wrapper off his ice-cream sandwich. He’s wearing his usual polo shirt and khakis, his eyes squinting at the sun. I know I can’t trust him. But at the same time, I do need to talk to someone. There aren’t a lot of opportunities for heart-to-hearts around here.
“Lay it on me, kid,” he says.
I get the echo of a warm fuzzy feeling and suddenly I just feel unbearably sad because is this what it’s like to have a dad?
“Gavin and I got in a stupid fight about a totally hypothetical situation and now he’s saying he doesn’t believe that I really love him.… It’s so dumb.”
“What was the fight about?”
It’s been weeks since anyone in our house has really talked to me beyond the usual orders and yelling and threatening. It’s nice. It’s really, really fucking nice, and so I decide to pretend that The Giant actually cares, that he’s suddenly seen the light and realized he’s been a shit excuse for a dad. Look how I beg for scraps, Gavin. Look how goddamned grateful I am.
“He was talking about how someday, like when the band blows up and they’re on tour, we’re going to have so much fun on the road and I was like, well, that would be cool but I’ll probably be in rehearsals for something—I mean, this is the hypothetical future, so I’m assuming I’m directing and everything—and then he’s all Wait, you wouldn’t come on tour with me? And I was like, Well, of course I’d go if I wasn’t doing a show but, like, Taylor Swift was on tour for seven months this year and, like, I need to do my art, you know? and then he was upset and said I wasn’t being supportive and like how could I be cool with him being surrounded by groupies and then I was like, That’s pretty egotistical and then, and then he said he has groupies now and like I guess there are all these girls who have been coming to the shows Evergreen plays and it’s just like, what am I supposed to say about that?”
It’s ironic, talking to The Giant about this stuff because part of the problem is that he won’t let me go to any of your shows. All I can think about are these fucking bitches in short skirts trying to fuck my boyfriend and I am going insane. And you’re punishing me because after you say the groupie thing I look on Evergreen’s concert blog and it’s all these pictures of you and hot girls. I mean that’s not all the pictures, but there are a lot like that, them screaming in the audience and posing for pictures with you. And they’re all posting stuff online when they’re at the show and saying all this shit about how they want you and all I can do is sit at home and do NOTHING. You’re pissed because I won’t sneak out of the house anymore and you say you’re the only one making sacrifices in our relationship and so your new strategy is to let me know just what I’m missing.
“Sounds to me like he’s trying to make you jealous,” The Giant says.
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
“Yeah, well, it’s working.”
The Giant lifts his legs and rests his feet on the patio chair across from him.
“Gavin’s a nice kid,” he says, “but I’ll tell you something: a guy like him—the kind who wants you to follow him around like a puppy dog—they’re the ones you have to watch out for.”
“Why?”
He frowns as he takes another bite of ice cream.“My sister and I used to be really close,” he says. I know he has a sister, but we’ve never met her. “Then she married a controlling sonofabitch. Jeff. At first it was small stuff, like what Gavin’s doing with you. He wanted to be with her all the time, expected her to drop everything for him. He hated if she went out with her friends, stuff like that. Then he wanted her to quit her job—stay at home, even though they didn’t have kids. She loved her job, but she said she wanted to make him happy. He beat her up one night and I kicked his ass for it. She wouldn’t leave him, though, and he wouldn’t let her talk to me after that. It’s been five years since I’ve heard from her. My aunt says they’ve got a couple kids now.”
“Jesus,” I say. How can his sister not see how bad this dude is for her?
He nods. “Do what you want, Grace, but I’m telling you—guys like Gavin, they’re real snakes in the grass.”
He stands as he finishes his ice-cream sandwich and crumples the wrapper. Mom opens the sliding glass door and pokes her head out. She frowns when she sees me.
“There you are,” she says, annoyed. “I need you to watch your brother. I have to run to the store.”
“I’ll come with you,” The Giant says. “I need to pick up more propane for the grill.”
Bonding time is over and Sam runs out and wraps his arms around my legs. I suddenly feel guilty for selling you out to The Giant. This is the guy who has kept us apart all summer and I just let him in, all for the price of an unexpected Klondike bar.
“Thanks,” I say to The Giant as he turns to follow my mom inside. “But Gavin—he really is a good guy. I don’t think he means anything by … I mean, he loves me.”
I feel the need to defend you. You’re not a snake in the grass and, as much as I appreciate The Giant trying to help, I can’t really take relationship advice from a guy who regularly calls his wife a bitch and controls every cent she has. I mean, the way he described this Jeff guy, he might as well have been describing himself. The Giant has zero self-awareness. Why the hell should I listen to his take on you?
He shakes his head. “It’s your funeral.”
I stare after him as he goes inside. Just when I thought he might be the tiniest bit okay …
You’re lucky I didn’t have a dad with a shotgun, the kind who’d say he’d blow you to pieces if you broke my heart. You’re lucky it was The Giant warning me off you and not someone I respected, trusted. And you’re lucky you called me before anything The Giant said had time to sink in.
My phone buzzes and I slip it out of my pocket and it’s you. It’s been sixteen hours since our fight.