I hold the phone up to my ear. “Hey.”
“I’m a fucking asshole and you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m so sorry,” you say.
I’m quiet. I can’t get those pictures from the band’s blog out of my head.
“Grace?” There’s fear in your voice. You think I might actually have the courage to break up with you. Don’t worry, Gavin. I won’t grow a pair for ten more months.
“Did you cheat on me?” I whisper.
“Oh my god, Grace. No. Fuck no. I love you. I would never cheat on you.”
Sam’s in the swing now and he shrieks for me to push him harder. He pumps his little legs and laughs at the sky. I wonder if I’ve ever been that carefree.
“Those pictures…”
You sigh. “I was trying to make you jealous. Nothing else was working.”
“What the hell, Gav?”
“I know. It’s stupid. I just … I need you there, Grace. I can’t play right without you. That’s why I freaked out about the whole tour thing. You’re my muse. You have no idea what having you there means to me. What it does for me. And I realize I’ve never made that clear. You’re so fucking essential to me, it’s not even funny.”
Fuck you for saying the perfect thing, Gavin.
“I still can’t come to your shows,” I say. “My mom said if I sneak out again, she’ll make me break up with you.”
“We’ll be careful,” you say. “Please, baby. I need you. I’m not trying to push you, I swear. And if you say no I’ll shut up about it. I promise.”
I sigh. “When’s your next show?”
SENIOR YEAR
TWENTY
The long summer is finally over and we go back to being allowed to see each other three times a week. You cheat and visit me at work, but that’s definitely not quality time. You got a job at Guitar Center, which means that there are times when I’m free, but you’re not. It’s Saturday and we’re getting ready to go out when I get a surprise call from my sister.
“Turn around, little sis.”
Beth is standing across the street, leaning against her car. Cue lots of screaming. She looks different—older. But she still smells like oranges.
“Guess who you get to meet?” I say to her.
“Is he tall, dark, and handsome?” she asks.
“Yes. And he’s mine—keep your paws off.”
She laughs and I hook my arm through hers and bring her to where Sam has roped you into drawing on the front porch with sidewalk chalk. You’re so good with him.
“Nice, Little Dude,” you say, grinning at his mess of squiggles.
“Ta-da!” he says, adding another flourish.
You crack up. “Gimme five.” You reach up your hand and he smacks it.
“I love you, Gab,” he says, putting his chubby arms around your neck.
“I love you, too, buddy.” You squeeze him until he squeals.
I don’t know what it is, but seeing you being so sweet with him makes me want to jump your bones.
“So,” I say, gesturing to you like you’re a prize on a game show, “this is Gavin.”
You turn and it takes you a second, but then you recognize her from the pictures in my house.
“Is this the Beth Carter?” you ask, standing up.
“The one and only,” she says.
“Beff!” Sam shouts. He vaults off the porch and into her arms.
You grin your lazy grin and shake my sister’s hand. She takes in your skinny jeans and faded concert tee. The fedora. The bad-boy car.
“You look like trouble,” she says in such a way that I can’t quite tell if she’s joking or not.
“It’s my middle name.”
Bowling isn’t really your thing, but it makes my sister gloriously happy, so I insist we go. Beth’s up for the weekend, a quick visit while her apartment’s being fumigated. You’re upset because you had plans for a romantic date, but I haven’t seen my sister in almost six months, so no matter how much you beg, I’m not ditching her.
“I think I’m open to friendship with termites,” I tell her later as we check out the assortment of bowling balls up for grabs. “I mean, if that’s what it takes to get you to come visit…”
She laughs. “Dude, you know why I don’t visit.”
Just one more thing to blame The Giant for. I remind myself that he shared a Klondike bar with me. Maybe there’s hope for him after all.
The bowling alley is old—it doesn’t seem like a thing has changed since the seventies. There’s wood paneling with cutouts of bowling balls and pins. The air smells like stale nachos and grease. Across from the main counter is a small arcade with PacMan and some kind of army shooting game. There’s one of those claw games, too, where you try to get a stuffed animal or other prize with the claw. Oldies music plays on the loudspeaker and the sound of bowling balls hitting the shining wooden lanes echoes off the walls.
“Okay,” you say, coming up to us with your bowling shoes in one hand and a ball in the other. “We’re lane seven. I insisted on a lucky number.”
I grin. “You think we’re gonna need it?”
“If your bowling is anything like your singing … yes,” you say with a laugh. You let me put on the Rent soundtrack in the car on the way over and I sang along to every song, doing all the parts.
I hit you on the arm and generally try to pretend that didn’t hurt my feelings. Beth shoots us a concerned look that you miss. I just roll my eyes. She looks like she’s about to say something but I’m saved by Nat and Lys, who squeal when they see her.
Bear hugs all around. We head over to lane seven and you tug my hand to keep us back a bit.
“What’s up?” I say.
“I think I’m gonna head out.”
“What? But Beth’s here. She wanted to see you. See us, like, together. You know?”
“Have your girls’ night. I’m gonna hang out with the guys.” You squeeze my hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re upset about the date.”
You nod. “But I understand.”
“They’re gonna think we got in a fight or something.”
You shrug. “I don’t care what they think.”
“I do,” I say. “I care what Beth thinks. She’s my big sister. Come on, Gav … please.”
You sigh. “All right. But you owe me.”
I kiss you on the cheek. “I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
It’s the most awkward night ever. You and Beth seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. You bicker with each other about the scores, music, movies. It pisses me off that neither of you is trying to get along, at least for my sake. I think about your parents and how nice I am to them. I’m exhausted, trying to referee between you two and annoyed because I keep getting gutter balls.
“Hey, I think I know what your problem is,” says one of the guys who works at the bowling alley as I’m making my way back from the snack bar. I’m guessing he’s my age, but he could be in college like you.
I put my hands together like I’m praying. “Help me, please!”
He laughs as he leads me to a rack and hands me a six-pound ball.
“This happens to be my favorite ball in the alley,” he says. It’s sparkly and pink.
I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
He nods. “The glitter gives it extra speed.” I laugh and he smiles. “With the eight you’re using, you don’t get the lift and—”