Comeback (2 page)

I just thought of another thing that makes my new plan so great. Dad has much more liberal ideas about young love than Mom does.

Colin doesn't know that's what I'm thinking, but he can see I'm happy, and that makes him happy too, which makes me even happier. I take a slurp of my milkshake. I don't care that it's got 80,000 empty calories. Everything is different now. Everything is going to be all right.

We get back to school with only minutes to spare before the bell rings. I'm dying to talk to Dad right now about my plan, but there won't be time. That's okay. It can wait until tomorrow. Elliot and I are staying at his place this weekend. We'll work it all out then.

Tim/Tom gives Dad a man hug and heads into class. Colin goes to hand back the keys, but Dad pushes them away.

“I'll make you a deal, Moose. You can keep the car for the weekend if I can have my little girl alone for a couple of minutes now. Whaddya say?”

Colin has that stunned look on his face again. Dad laughs. “I'll take that as a yes. Now git! Tell your teacher Ria's on her way.”

Colin “gits.” Dad and I lean against the car and watch him go. Even from behind, you can tell he's grinning his face off. It totally cracks us up.

Dad puts his arm around me. “Listen,” he says. “I've got something I need to talk to you about. There's going to be a little change in plans.”

For half a second, I wonder if he has the same idea I do. I try not to look too hopeful.

“I won't be able to see you and Elliot this weekend.”

“What?” I feel like he just punched me.

Dad pulls his face back in surprise. It's not as if it's the first time he's had to make new arrangements.

“Oh, sorry, sweetie! I have to meet a bunch of investors up north to talk about one of our projects. Believe me, I tried to change it, but it's the only time everyone can get together.”

I look away. My breathing has gone shallow and stuttery. I try to act like I'm fine, but I can't. I
need
to see Dad this weekend. I
need
to talk to him about my plan. I suddenly can't stand living with Mom anymore.

“Can I come?” I say. I sound all chipper and fake. Desperation is so embarrassing.

“Aw, honey, you'd hate it. I'm going to some cold little lake in the middle of nowhere. You'd go crazy. There're no shops, no Internet, no cell-phone coverage…”

I know he's making a joke, but I say, “I don't care! Please…please!”

He puts up his hand and says, “Nope. Sorry.”

I get this quivery little smile on my face. Dad goes, “Oooh, sweetie pie,” as if I'm four and just got a boo-boo on my knee.

“Ria. You
know
I'd take you if I could—but I can't. I've rented a little two-seater plane, and I'm flying it up myself.”

“So what's the problem?” I say. “Two seats. One for you. One for me.”

He looks at me like I'm missing something obvious. “My point is—I can't fly a plane and clean up your vomit at the same time.”

There's nothing I can say to that. He's right. The motion sickness would kill me.

My eyes start filling up with tears, and my smile gets shakier and shakier. I can't believe I'm making such a fool of myself.

Dad squeezes me. “And…,” he says.

“And…,” he says again, waiting until I pull myself together, “there's another reason you can't go.”

I wipe my nose with the tip of my fingers and say in the most mature voice I can, “Oh? What would that be?”

He pulls an envelope out of his pocket. “I've got four tickets for the Chaos of Peace concert this weekend.”

I laugh even though there are still tears running down my face. “Dad! How did you get those? They were totally sold out!”

He wags his finger at me. “I never divulge my sources…”

The bell rings. I go to grab the tickets, but he jerks them away. “Ah-ah-ah. Sorry. These come with a couple of strings attached, I'm afraid.”

This is so not like Dad it almost scares me. What other crap is going to land on me now?

“One,” he says. “No more tears. We Pattersons pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and get ready for the next party. Okay?”

I nod. As crap goes, that wasn't so bad.

“And the other string?” I say.

“Two of the tickets are for your mom and Elliot.”

Is he crazy? Elliot's too young to go the concert, and Mom's too mad. Hasn't he learned? Even just
offering
her the tickets is going to piss her off.

But I don't argue. I'm dying to go to the concert. I say, “Yeah, sure,” and try to make it sound like it's a great idea.

Dad isn't falling for that. He looks straight at me for a couple of seconds, then sighs. “She's a good woman, Ria. She just has a lot on her plate at the moment. We've all got to give her a break.”

I get up my courage. “Dad, that's what I wanted to talk to you about…”

The second bell rings. I only have a minute. I don't know where to start. I fumble around. “You know… I…well…”

Dad puts his hands on my shoulders. “Hold that thought. You're late already, and Colin's good looks will only distract the teacher for so long. Why don't I book a table for two Monday night at Da Maurizio's, and you can tell me all about it then? Deal?”

Dad and his deals.

“Sure. I'd like that.” I'm trying too hard to be brave, and it shows.

He musses up my hair, then gives me a hug. He hugs me so hard, I can hear a little bone in my shoulder squeak.

I head into class. The last I see of him, Dad's got his thumb out and is hitching a ride back to his office.

Chapter Three

I'm in the front row, ten feet from the stage, with my boyfriend on one side and my two best friends on the other. I've got vip seats, signed cds and some of the most amazing photos you've ever seen on my iPhone. Helena and Sophie haven't stopped screaming since the band hit their first note. Colin is so pumped, he keeps picking me right up off my feet.

I'm the happiest girl in the world—and I'm laughing at myself.

Seriously.

Yesterday, I'm in the total depths of despair, then Dad gives me concert tickets and
poof!
All my problems disappear.

I'm either easy to please—or really, really shallow.

The music is so loud, I can barely hear it anymore. It probably means I'll be deaf by the time I'm twenty, but at the moment I'm loving it. In a weird way, that much sound is almost like total silence. You can get lost in it.

My mind wanders all over the place. I think about Colin (of course), about the English paper I should have started last week, about how I'm going to decorate my room in the new house, about whether it's normal for the drummer to sweat that much, about a fabulous pair of boots I saw at Project 9 the other day.

Mostly, though, I think about Mom.

For three months, I've been so mad at her. It's as if she wasn't even my mother anymore. She was just bad, mean, inconsiderate, evil.

The truth is, it's
Dad
who should be mad at her. He's the one she kicked out. And yet the only thing he's ever said to me is, “She's a good woman.”

Is he really that forgiving—or does he just not know?

I wonder if he'd have said the same thing if he'd seen the look on her face yesterday when I told her about the concert tickets.

You hear about people turning their noses up at something. You think it's just a figure of speech—but Mom actually did it. She actually put her nose up in the air and said, “Oh”—loud clearing of throat—“I'm afraid I'm too busy for that type of thing at the moment.”

Then she smiled—or at least made an attempt.

Even with the band playing one of my favorite songs and Colin grooving away beside me, I feel mad all over again. That pitiful attempt at a smile. Why even bother?

If Dad hadn't asked me to cut her some slack, I probably would have yelled at her, but I held back. I knew Helena and Sophie would be thrilled to go to the concert. I wouldn't have to worry about
them
having a good time.

Frankly, Mom saying no to the tickets was a good thing. Why fight with her over it? It was her loss. I could afford to be big about it. That's what Dad would do.

So I just smiled and said, “Oh, too bad.” Then I asked her if she wanted me to help her pack. (The sooner she moved, the sooner we could.)

Mom turned and looked at me. I almost didn't recognize her. She'd been so blank in the face ever since Dad left. Right then, though, standing by the sink with a pile of dirty dishes, she almost glowed. It was like seeing light coming out from under a door in a dark hallway. I realized there was a human being in there after all.

She went right back to stacking the dishes. I could tell she was trying not to act too excited about my little offer.

“Well, I'd certainly appreciate the help. Are you sure Colin doesn't have any plans for you this evening?”

“I thought maybe he could help too.”

That did it. She leaned against the counter and her face cracked into this huge smile.

Is spending a night with her kids, packing boxes, really Mom's idea of a good time these days?

It's hard not to feel sorry for her.

I bring my mind back to the concert. I look at Colin. His head's cranking away to the music. He doesn't have the best sense of rhythm, and he needs a haircut, but that's why I love him. He doesn't care about that kind of stuff. He just wants to have fun and be happy and make other people happy. (Maybe it really is true that girls always fall in love with someone just like their father.)

Last night, he actually skipped a hockey game to help us pack. He lifted all the heavy stuff for us and got down all the high stuff and lugged all the gross stuff out to the curb so we wouldn't have to soil our delicate hands. He even play-wrestled for ages with Elliot to keep him out of our hair.

We were having a great time until Mom went and said, “It sure is nice to have a man around the house.”

She was only joking, but as soon as she said it she realized her mistake. Her face went blank again. We got all awkward. It was as if the words
Dad
and
Divorce
and
Lonely
and
Sad
were buzzing around our heads, and everyone was too afraid to swat them away.

Colin was the one who did something about it. He reached out and put his hand on Mom's shoulder. It was such a nice thing to do—even if it was the totally wrong thing to do. (I don't think she would have actually cried if he hadn't touched her.)

Luckily, right then, Elliot piped up and said, “Hey!
I'm
a man and
I'm
around the house!”

He was so indignant that we all laughed. Mom turned and squeezed Colin's hand, and I knew she was saying thanks.

The lead singer is clapping his hands over his head, trying to get everyone singing. I stand up and clap too, but my mind is totally on Elliot now. The poor kid is only five. Sometimes I think he doesn't understand what's going on at all. Other times I think he understands too much. I see how hard he tries to remember to put his toys away for Mom and how tight he hangs onto Dad when he comes over to visit. It's enough to break your heart.

Mom's really going to miss him when we go. I'm sorry about that, but it can't be helped. It will be better for Elliot.

I'm going to
make
it better for Elliot.

The crowd starts cheering. I realize the band has left the stage. Colin hustles us out the side exit so we don't get lost in the crush.

We drop the girls off at Sophie's place. Helena's hoarse from screaming, but she manages to croak out, “Tell your father I love him. Seriously. I loved him before he gave us the tickets—but
now
I want to marry the guy!
”

Sophie goes, “In-ap-propriate!” She slaps a hand over Helena's mouth, then whispers to me, “Though the truth is, I'm crazy for Steve too. You are
so
lucky!”

We kiss. We hug. We leave. Sophie's right. I am so lucky.

I'm in such a blissed-out state that it takes me a couple of seconds to realize Colin drove right past our street.

“Hey!” I say. “Where you going?”

He gives that one-sided smile of his. It gets me right in my chest.

“There are two places you absolutely have to go when you're driving a 1962 LeSabre. The Chicken Burger. And, of course…”

He turns down the road into Point Pleasant Park.

“…Lover's Lane.”

Chapter Four

Colin glides to a stop in front of the seawall. The moon is high and so bright it makes a long white Adidas stripe on the black water.

He lifts one eyebrow and pulls me across the seat toward him. This is all very tempting—I'm a fool for that pinecone smell of his—but I put both hands on his chest and stop him.

“No,” I say. “Next week.”

He lifts his face off my neck. “
Next week?
” He looks at me as if I must be joking. “Why?”

I tell him my plan. The move. Hiring Manuela again. Learning to cook. The whole thing. Even the part about Dad and his liberal attitude toward young lovers.

Colin leans against the car door, fiddling with my hair, listening, usually smiling—then he says what I was afraid he was going to say.

“What about your mom? Aren't you worried this will be hard on her?”

I explain all my reasons—the money stuff, how tired she is, how disruptive the move to a new neighborhood would be for Elliot. I'm being as reasonable as I can, but I'm still scared to look at Colin. I can tell by the tilt of his head he's trying to coax me into being nicer than I actually am.

“But it's hard on Dad too,” I say. “And remember. He didn't start this. She did.”

Colin's quiet for a long time. He plays with my fingers and looks out at the ocean. “It's sad,” he says. “They're both such good people. Your mom's so kind and responsible and everything…”