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"That's what he was like. Everyone could see it. Mom and Dad could see it. But whatever I did, I couldn't get them interested. They'd promise to sit down and watch him play, then they'd get home late from work and delay until tomorrow. Then they'd do it again. And again. It took months to get them to finally listen to one song, and when they did, they sat there, their attention still at work."
"That must have hurt."
"It broke his heart. I hated them for it. I've hated them for a million things. But I still have this stupid fucking hope that things will be different. That Mom being sick is going to change things. My hope is a fucking weed. No matter what I do, it blooms."
"What's so bad about that?" She leans in closer. "Dandelions are beautiful. And the way they float on the breeze… it's a great shot." Her cheeks flush. "Sorry, I shouldn't bring it back to that."
I shake my head. "Don't be sorry." I do love the way her eyes light up when she talks about work. Her enthusiasm is still contagious. My heart is still beating. My blood is still pumping.
"People always insult weeds, but they're resilient. They survive everything. They thrive everywhere. They take what they want, everyone else's will be damned."
"You saying I'm a dandelion?"
"No. You're too strong. They blow away with the wind." Her eyes fix on mine. "Everyone holds onto hope. I did with Adam. I have with my mom, for a long time. I had that low point can I really live like this a million times before I decided I couldn't. With Adam and with my mom. Hope made me stupid. It made me hate myself. But it was the only way to keep going."
She's right.
But I still want to destroy every fucking wisp of hope weighing me down.
28
Mal
Lacey and I linger at the diner, talking about nothing over cup after cup of tea, for ages. Everything feels right at that table. On the walk to her car. On the drive back to the restaurant so I can pick up my car—she insists.
As I plant a long, slow goodbye kiss on her lips.
Even on the drive home.
As soon as I step inside the house, everything goes wrong.
Mom is sitting on the couch with a legal pad in her hands. Dad is sitting next to her, his eyes on the police procedural on TV, his thoughts on Mom.
He looks to me with a nod. "Malcolm, son. How is your girlfriend?"
"Good. She has a lot to do before our video shoot." I toss my keys on the counter.
Mom and Dad nod uh-huh. There's no enthusiasm in their eyes.
"We're scouting locations tomorrow."
They make that same uh-huh.
I have to be sure. "We're all going to be naked in the video."
They nod the same uh-huh.
I should change and head to the gym. I should get the fuck out of here. I should make like Piper and shatter whatever part of my heart creates this toxic hope.
Instead, I move into the kitchen and put on the electric kettle and a pot of coffee.
I stand there and watch the stainless steel appliance until it's steaming.
I pour tea. I fix Mom and Dad's coffee and bring it to them. I sit next to Mom on the couch and try to convince myself she's not always going to be a million miles away.
"How about I make dinner tonight?" I offer.
"Maybe sweetheart. I'm not very hungry lately." Mom offers a weak smile.
