When the dessert course is presented, I’m about to dig in, but then Ezer and Tinsley both decline theirs, so I decline mine as well. And the next thing I know, the plates are being cleared, Ezer is back to yelling into his cell phone, and that warm family feeling is gone.
Tinsley leads me into the den, and the moment we’re alone, she does a spot-on impersonation of Ezer that gets me laughing so hard I’m practically wheezing. But when we settle onto the couch and she tells me how Ezer isn’t technically her uncle—how her parents died when she was a baby, and Ezer, her dad’s best friend, stepped in to raise her, well, suddenly it’s not so easy to laugh at him anymore.
It’s pretty much the last thing I expected. I guess because it’s a surprisingly nice and decent thing to do, and I didn’t expect that of Ezer.
“In the early years he raised me all on his own.” She leans back against the cushions and crosses one leg over the other as her gaze blurs into memory. “He couldn’t afford a nanny until I was around eight and he started managing a boy band that shot straight to the top. When the money started pouring in, the first thing he did was buy this house and hire someone to look after me. I wouldn’t have any of this if it wasn’t for him.”
The second I hear that, I can’t help but feel guilty for mentally accusing him of being a control freak when all along he’s just been doing his best to protect me.
“When the band broke up, he planned to take an extended vacation, maybe even walk away from it all.” She rubs her lips together and looks right at me. “But then he heard you sing, and he figured the vacation could wait.”
I lean in, eager to hear more while also trying to pretend like I’ve heard this story before, like I actually lived it.
“He said you were rough around the edges but it wasn’t anything that good training couldn’t fix.”
Her lips curve into a smile, and she looks so pretty I’m forced to turn my attention to the glass of Mojo the maid just placed before me.
How could I have gotten it so wrong? All this time I’ve been annoyed with Ezer, thinking he was the bad guy, always getting in my way and telling me what to do, when in reality it’s not like that at all.
“Said you reminded him of himself when he was your age.”
Hunh?
I guess I was so engrossed in my thoughts, I lost track of what Tinsley was saying. But that got my attention, mostly because it’s exactly what Josh Frost said.
“Ezer used to sing?” As much as I try to picture it, it’s impossible to imagine. It’s easier to see him as one of those WWE wrestlers than as a teen heartthrob.
“No, silly. I’d have thought you would’ve known that.”
She pushes me playfully on the shoulder, and her hand lingers a few seconds longer than necessary. But I’m so busy trying to think of something to say to cover the flub I forget to enjoy the feel of Tinsley’s touch. And just when I start to, her hand returns to her lap.
“He meant you’re both ambitious, driven to succeed. Ezer tried to sing, but it didn’t take long to realize he just didn’t have it—you know, that thing that makes someone worth watching?”
She tilts her head to the side and scrunches her nose the tiniest bit, but no matter how irresistible she may look, I can’t help thinking: Yeah, that thing. That indefinable thing I didn’t have in Greentree but I surely do here, even though I’m exactly the same.
“Anyway, it’s cute how he thinks of you as his son.”
I wait for the punch line, sure that she’s joking. From the way Ezer’s always lecturing me, I figured he thought of me as his biggest annoyance. But when she leaves it at that, I say, “Are you serious?”
“Well, yeah.” She settles deeper into the cushions, crosses her legs at the knee, as though it’s as simple and obvious as she clearly thinks. “You know, especially ’cause your parents are kind of flaky and all. He thinks it’s his job to look after you.”
“They’re not,” I say, feeling suddenly defensive.
Tinsley looks at me, her fingers fidgety, face cautious.
“They’re not flaky, they’re just—” My voice fades; my argument deflates. Tinsley doesn’t even know my parents. And how could she when all of their interactions are scripted? Heck, I barely know them myself.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She places a hand on my arm and shoots me a look of apology.
“It’s okay.” I lean into her touch. “I mean, maybe you’re right…you know, about them being flaky and all. After all, they’re hardly ever around….”
It’s not fair what I’m saying, and not entirely true. But with the fireplace blazing, soft music lilting, and Tinsley’s face just inches from mine, looking like she might actually intend to kiss me, well, words don’t seem to matter.
Seems Plum was right—it doesn’t have to be some big, grand thing.
When a girl wants you to kiss her, you’ll know from the look in her eyes, the way she lingers in your space.
I rub my lips together, feeling bad that they’re a little chapped but determined to make the best of this. I close my eyes the way they do in the movies, about to make the big move, when Ezer barges into the room.
“Party’s over, you two. I need you in the studio bright and early.”
DECEMBER 23
1 Day, 16 Hours, 21 Minutes, and 16 Seconds till Christmas