He gives me a long, even look. “None.”
“None?”
“None.” Then kinda softly he adds, “Nobody ever compared to your mother.” We sit there quiet for a minute, and finally he says, “I’ve got good reasons to be mad at her for not telling me about you, but”—he gives a hopeless little shrug—“it’s just so good to see her.” He eyes me. “Still, I do wish I’d known.”
“Me, too,” I tell him, but while I’m saying it, it flashes through my mind that if I had known … if my mom had told him when I was younger … I wouldn’t know Grams like I do.
And my friends would all be … different.
And I would never have met Casey!
“I’m not moving to Vegas,” I blurt out. “Or Hollywood!”
He laughs. “Well, we’ve got to figure out something.” Then he adds, “I want to get to know you, Sammy.”
My eyes are all of a sudden stinging again. “Don’t say stuff like that! For all I know, this is just another lie.”
“There’s no doubt that my lawyer’s going to make me do a DNA test, but everything about it makes sense.” He laughs. “Besides, look at you! Listen to you!” He shakes his head. “Marko’s right—you’re definitely my kid.” He kind of grins and says, “Your poor mother.”
Before I can stop myself, I’m shoving him and laughing. “Hey!”
“So I’m thinking.…”
“Uh-oh.”
“Why uh-oh?”
I look at him. “Everyone always tells me they know they’re in trouble when I say that.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, well, see what I mean?”
“So? Let’s hear it.”
“I understand your birthday’s coming up.”
And out of my mouth pops, “I don’t want a pony!”
His eyebrows go flying. “Who said anything about a pony?”
“Isn’t that what all rock star dads give their daughters?”
“Dumb ones, maybe,” he says, and he’s grinning.
But I’m serious. “Look, I don’t want anything from you, okay? I’ve got everything I need in Grams’ bottom dresser drawer.”
“That’s very rock ’n’ roll of you.”
“Stop that!”
“No, really. That’s the heart of rock ’n’ roll—all the ‘stuff’ just perverts that and ruins it.”
“So good. Don’t buy me anything.”
He snorts. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Oh.”
“But I was thinking that I’d really like to be there.”
“For my birthday?”
He sorta studies me. “I missed the first thirteen?” Then he adds, “And maybe we can plan to do something over your spring break?”
I want to tell him that that sounds nice—and it does.
But it also sounds … awkward.
What would we say to each other?
What would we do?
“Look,” he finally says. “There’s obviously a lot we have to work through. What do you think? I can see you’re pretty upset.”
“What I’m most upset about is Grams. I mean, Mom’s been flaky, you’ve been a mystery, but through everything I could always count on Grams. She’s my family.” All of a sudden there’s this huge lump in my throat, and my eyes are stinging again. “Maybe I finally know who you are, but if it cost me Grams?” I shake my head. “I need to find a way to fix things with her.”
We just sit there, me battling the lump in my throat, him quiet, until finally he gets up and holds out a hand. “Well, let’s go figure that out, then.”
I stare at him a minute, then take his hand and let him help me back on my feet.
TWENTY-SEVEN
My mother got a room with two beds, but they were right next to each other, so I chose the couch. And even though I was wiped out, I didn’t fall asleep until about five in the morning because I couldn’t stop thinking about Grams and wondering what in the world I was going to do.
I heard my mom rustling around in the morning, but I just rolled over and went back to sleep, and when I woke up again, it was noon and she was gone.
I needed a shower bad, so I dragged myself into the bathroom and took a long, hot, muscle-melting one. And since I hadn’t brought much in the way of extra clothes, I wound up raiding a pair of jeans and an amazingly soft hoodie from my mother’s suitcase.
A little big, but definitely comfy.
Next to the phone I found a blueberry muffin and a note from my mom telling me to call her cell. So I did, but there was really only one thing I wanted to know. “Have you talked to Grams?”
“Your dad and I did.”
Hearing her say it like that was too much, too early, but I just sort of shook it off and said, “And?”
“Darren offered to set her up in a house.”
“As in buy her a house?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In Santa Martina. But your grandmother said no.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. “Of course she said no. Grams isn’t the kind of person you can bribe.”
“It wasn’t a bribe. Darren knows you want to stay in Santa Martina, and getting her out of the Highrise was one solution.”
“It’s not a solution to her not wanting to take care of me anymore. And she already has a place to live.”
“Well, you told your dad you don’t want to move to Hollywood or Las Vegas, so what are we going to do?”
“Where is she?” I asked quietly. “I want to go talk to her.”
“She’s at the spa.”
“The spa? What’s she doing at the spa?”
“Recovering?”
Something about that made me feel worse than ever. I’d driven my poor grandmother, who never pampers herself, into the massaging arms of a spa? “How long’s that going to take?”
“An hour? Maybe two?”
“Well, what room is she staying in? And where’s Hudson?”
“She’s in seven twenty, and he’s in seven twenty-two.” Then she asks, “Are you all right on your own for a little while?”
I snort. “I’ve had lots of practice.”
“Samantha, please.”
“Well, come on, Mom!”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about all of this. You think I’m not filled with regret? I’m just trying to figure out how we can move forward from here without more damage. The easy thing would be for you to come live with me, but—”
“You don’t even have a job!”
“That’s a separate issue. And I will get a job. The point is, I’m trying to figure out what’s best for you.” She takes a choppy breath and chokes out, “I love you, Samantha. Even if that’s hard for you to believe.”
And on that dramatic note, she hangs up.
I sit there a minute thinking, then dial Hudson’s room.
No answer.
So I call Grams’ room, even though I know she’s not there, and I leave a pathetic, stuttery message, begging her to forgive me and let me come talk to her. “We’re in room eleven-eleven, and I’m going to just wait here for you to call me.” Then I tell her I love her and go to hang up, but at the last minute I pull the phone back up and say, “Please call me.”
And then I hang up.
After sitting there for a few more minutes thinking, I call Casey and find out that he’s already on his way back to Santa Martina, crammed in the backseat of Candi’s sports car with Heather. “What’s going on with your parents?” I ask.
“Can’t really discuss that now.”
“Can you do yes and no questions? Are they getting back together?”
“Too early to say.” Then he drops his voice and says, “Everyone’s being weirdly nice. I don’t even know these people!”
Then I hear a female voice go, “Hi, Sammy!”
“Holy cow, was that Heather?”
“Yup. She’s still flying high about last night.”
“Are you guys anywhere near Vegas?”
“N
o. We’ve been on the road at least two hours.”
I laugh. “Well, I guess what happened is not staying in Vegas.”
He laughs, too. “Apparently not!”
“Okay. Well, I’ll let you get back to your family. Lucky dog.”
“Wait! What’s going on with yours?”
And because I don’t want him worrying about me when things are obviously going well for him, I laugh and say, “Oh, it’s a bigger mess than ever, but we’re working on figuring it out.” Then I tell him, “Hey, I need to call Marissa, okay? She’s clueless about any of this, and I want her to find out from me first.”
“Right. Okay! I’ll see you at home.”
“See you at home!”
So I hang up and call Marissa, but the minute I have her on the line, she attacks me with “Yes, I know you got to meet Darren Cole! Yes, I know you snuck into the House of Blues! Yes, I know you ditched security! Yes, I know you got to see the show from the front row! Heather keeps posting online about it, and she’s making it sound like you guys are best friends!”
I can feel myself getting hotter and hotter, but then it hits me that something’s missing from what Marissa “knows.”
“Did she post anything about Darren Cole being my dad?”
“Did she … what?”
“Well, sit down,” I tell her, “ ’cause he is.”
So I spend the next hour catching her up for real, and when we’re finally down to “What are you going to do?” and “I don’t know!” I switch over to her problems. “So what’s happening with your dad?”
“Ohhhh,” she moans, and then launches into how Hudson had taken Mikey over to her uncle Bruce’s because of the emergency trip to Las Vegas, and how Mikey had spilled the beans about the gambling, and how after a huge brothers’ blowout over that, her mom had caught her dad trying to gamble online. “It’s over, Sammy. They’re selling the house, and Mom says she wants a divorce.”
Now, normally when Marissa is in crisis mode, you can tell right away because her voice is frantic and up a notch and all twisted with stress. But now she sounds all matter-of-fact. Almost monotone. So I ask, “How can you be so calm?”
“I’m just wiped out, Sammy. I can’t stop my dad from gambling, and I can’t blame my mom for wanting to get divorced.”
I let that soak in. “So what’s going to happen with you and Mikey?”
“We’ll be with Mom, but I don’t know where. She’s talking about making a clean break and starting fresh somewhere new.”
“Like, away from Santa Martina?”
“Yup.”
“No! You’ve got to talk her out of that! What would I do without you? And think about Mikey! It would kill him to leave Hudson!”
She sighs. “I know.”
“So don’t let her move out of town!”
She hesitates, then asks, “You’re coming home with Hudson and your grandmother, right?”
“I hope so! I thought we’d be driving home today, but I think probably tomorrow.”
She sighs. “I really, really want to talk to Hudson.”
“I know, huh?” And then it hits me. “You thinking about seeing if you and Mikey can stay with him?”
“Maybe we could rent his place in back?”
“All of you?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you been inside it? It’s awfully small.” But I’m also thinking that I want it to be too small for them, ’cause it would actually be perfect for me.
We’re both quiet a minute, and then she says, “Isn’t it funny?”
“What?”
“I used to be rich and have the picture-book family, and now I’m broke and my family’s a disaster.”
“What’s so funny about that?”
“Because you used to be broke with no family, and now?”
“I still don’t have a family.”
“Sure you do. From what you said, I can tell—it’ll all come together.”
“But I don’t want to live with them! Not either of them! I want to live with Grams.”
“On a couch. In a run-down old folks’ home.”
“Yes!”
“You’ve outgrown that, Sammy. It’s time to move on.”
“You don’t move on from someone you love! I love Grams. She is the strongest, nicest, most caring person I’ve ever known!”
“Sammy, she’ll always love you, whether you live with her or not.”
“She’s furious with me!”
She laughs. “That’s temporary. Just keep trying. You’ll patch things up with her.” She sighs. “Tell Hudson we miss him big-time!”
So I get off the phone, and right away I dial Grams’ room and leave another pathetic message, then call Hudson’s room. And when he doesn’t answer, either, I’m forced to call my mother, but she informs me that Grams is now getting her nails done.
“She’s getting a manicure?”
“A mani-pedi. It’ll take a while.”
“But … Grams doesn’t get her nails done.”
“All I can tell you is what she told me. She’s still miffed at the way I handled things, so I’m just letting her cool off.”
“So we’re not going home today?”
“Definitely not going home today.” Then she asks, “Are you up for seeing your dad?”
“No! I’m up for taking a nap.”
“A nap? You’ve only been awake for a couple of hours!”
“Yeah, well, I had a really intense day yesterday, and I’m still wiped out.”
“You’re probably starving. Why don’t we take you out for lunch?”
“We? As in you and Darren?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get my own food.”
“Samantha, no. I’ll bring you something. What do you like?”
A question she has to ask because of course she has no idea. So I tell her, “Mac ’n’ cheese and salsa. Or chicken salad with grapes. Or a tuna wrap with kalamata olives and cucumbers.” And before she can say anything about my food choices, I ask, “How come you can get in touch with Hudson and Grams and I can’t?”
“They call me. And where am I supposed to get a tuna wrap with kalamata olives and cucumbers?”
“Well, could you please tell them to call me next time they call you?”
“Sure. But what about the wrap?”
I sigh. “I don’t care about the wrap. I really just want a nap.”
So I get off the phone, try Hudson’s again, hang up, and since I really do feel totally wiped out, I actually do take a nap.
What wakes me up is not Grams calling.
What wakes me up is my mother coming through the door.
“Nooooo,” I moan, ’cause she’s got Darren with her. “I’m in a horrible mood,” I tell him. “You probably don’t want to be here.”
He gives me a hopeful look and hoists some plastic bags. “We brought lunch?”
And that’s when I realize I’m starving.
I sit up and rake back my hair. “What about Grams?”
My mom starts laying out the food on the coffee table. “She’s getting her hair done.”
“Getting her hair done? Doesn’t she know I’m dying to talk to her?”
“I told her, Samantha, but you know how she can be.”
“How she can be? She’s the way she is because you’re the way you are!”
“Hmm,” she says, like a fully coronated diva. “Have you ever thought that maybe I’m the way I am because she’s the way she is?”
“Grams is nothing like you!”
She raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow at me.
That’s all.
Just an eyebrow.
Then she says, “Let’s eat, shall we?” which is one of her ninety-six ways of changing the subject.
There’s nothing resembling mac ’n’ cheese and salsa. Or chicken salad with grapes. Or a tuna wrap with kalamata olives and cucumbers. Or even PB&J. But there is an egg salad sandwich, so I take that and an apple juice.
r /> “Thanks,” I tell Darren in a very grumbly way.
My mother reaches into her vast catalog of disapproving looks and shoots one at me, but Darren doesn’t seem fazed. He just shoves a bag of salt and vinegar chips over and says, “Goes great with egg salad.”
Which for some reason takes the edge off the way I’m feeling.
Then he adds, “So does Frank’s, but we don’t have any, so …”
“Frank’s?”
“Hot sauce,” he says, and when he can tell I’ve never heard of it, he explains. “It’s like Tabasco but infinitely better.” He gives my mom a little grin. “Some of us can’t take the heat, but I slather. Great on carrots, too.”
“Hot sauce is?” I ask him.
“That’s right.” He takes a bite of some kind of cold-cut sandwich, and after a few chews he says, “We could definitely use some Frank’s here.”
So okay. Now I’m actually smiling ’cause this guy is … well, let’s just say he’s way easier to be around than my mother. So I dig into my sandwich, too, and the vinegar chips give it some kick. “That is good,” I tell him, then shake the chip bag at him.
“Thanks,” he says with a grin.
So Darren and I eat bad sandwiches with good chips while my mother takes dainty bites from some fruity-looking yogurt cup. And I’ve just polished off the first half of my sandwich when I notice that Darren’s trying to figure out how to say something.
“What?” I ask him.
He eyes my mom, then focuses on me. “Lana and I were bouncing around ideas about ways I could get to know you better.” His eyebrows twitch up and he gives me a little look. “Unless you’re not ready for that.”
Maybe it was the vinegar chips talking, but I said, “Sounds good.”
He and my mom exchange another look, and then he says, “Cool.” He takes a deep breath. “We have some options, but the one that sounds like it might be the most fun for you would be joining me on a cruise where the band’s been hired to play—”
“A cruise?” I look at him, horrified. “The guy who wrote ‘Waiting for Rain to Fall’ and ‘Dead Weather’ and ‘Heal This Heart’ is playing a cruise?”
“Wow,” he says, studying me. “As if that decision wasn’t hard enough.”
It takes me a second, but I finally look away. “Sorry.”