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I’m already out of bed, looking for clothes. There’s no point in ever suggesting she go look for him herself. My mother only has two modes where my father is concerned: defensive outrage on his behalf or disabling despair.
When I was small and my dad wouldn’t come home, she’d cry and say, “He always said he didn’t want to settle down. I should have listened.”
Even as a small child, I resolved not to repeat her mistakes. If someone says they don’t want a relationship, you take them at their word.
Sleep dazed, I have just opened the garage door when Brendan appears, so unexpected that I gasp in fear.
“Where you going, blondie?” he asks.
The person in the world I most do not want to know about these trips is Rob. The person right after him is Brendan, as he won’t hesitate to run and tell Rob everything.
I swallow. “Nowhere.”
“You’re going nowhere at 2 AM?”
Every bone in my body wants to lie to him, yet my brain is blank, without a single plausible excuse. Maybe I’m just too tired to lie, exhausted not just from tonight but from all of the past years, all the lies I’ve told and the effort it takes.
Standing under Brendan’s penetrating gaze, I just don’t feel capable of lying even one more time. “My dad had a little too much to drink. He needs a ride home.”
“Isn’t he in Denver?” Brendan asks. “Can’t he just take a cab?”
“We don’t actually know where he is,” I mumble.
I see understanding dawn on his face. “Does he do this a lot?”
“No, of course not. I think he just had a bad day.” My answer is too hasty and too defensive. I sound like I’m lying. Which, obviously, I am. “But can you…can you not mention this to Rob?”
I can’t imagine why I’m throwing myself at his mercy here. Brendan doesn’t like me. He has no reason to show me any kindness, and I’ve never gotten so much as a hint that he’d be willing to.
“Okay,” he says, putting a hand on the small of my back. “But I’m driving. You’re half asleep, and my face is way too pretty to wind up smashed into a tree.”
“You don’t need to come with me.”
“You’re not going alone.” Something in his tone tells me this is non-negotiable. He’s coming, or he’s telling Rob.
“You’re not going to get any sleep.”
“My dad used to drink a lot too,” he says quietly.
I finally meet his eyes, wondering if he’s making this up, if this is all some elaborate ruse to pry my secrets from me so he can offer them on a platter to Rob, in a file titled See? I told you I was right about her. But his face is open and honest and serious in a way it isn’t normally.
He leads me to his car. I don’t resist.
* * *
We are silent as he takes back roads to the interstate. I don’t know how to be around him anymore unless I’m being spiteful or guarded, which I don’t entirely understand. It’s not like I’m cruel by nature. Why is it so hard with him?
He yawns. “Okay, blondie, you’ve got to keep me awake here. Tell me something.”
“Like what?”
“Tell me something no one knows about you, not even Rob. Other than this.”
I wouldn’t normally engage in this kind of game with him—or any game, really—but I’ve already handed him one of my worst secrets. The rest seem minor by contrast.
“Every time I go to Denver to visit my parents, I stop by the Ducati dealership and test drive one.”
He laughs. “Bullshit.”
