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Of course, I know that. I nod.
"She can ask Mom how to do it as painfully as possible too."
"Are you done?" I ask.
He smiles, enjoying torturing me. "Is it serious?"
"We're not talking about forever." That's true, at least. "She's just out of a relationship."
"And if you have to let her use you, huh… I remember when it felt like that with your mother."
That is way too much information.
"Does she know you're sober?"
I swallow hard.
He takes that as a no. "You should tell her."
"I know."
"Trust me. If she finds out from someone else—"
"I got it."
He leans back, satisfied with torturing me. "You don't want advice from your old man. I get it. I'm not cool anymore. I can't hang."
Hang generally means get wasted, so, yeah, he can't hang. Neither of us can hang. Not that anyone still says hang.
"Do you and Cassie need a ride?" he asks. "I'm on my way out?"
"I drove. It's fine."
"You sure? It's late."
"It's only late for an old man like you."
He chuckles, stands, motions come here. When I do, he pulls me into a tight hug. "I'm proud of you, Damon. It's not easy to stay sober. Especially at first."
No. I'm not doing this. I'm not playing this game. But, this time, I am doing the smart thing. I accept the hug. I put on my best I'm serious about this voice. "Thanks, yeah."
"I don't say it enough. I'm sorry for that."
For a brief moment, I feel okay. Easy. At peace.
Then he says the one thing that ruins everything. "I hope it sticks this time."
For the next hour, I hang out at the pool. Two guys in suits come outside to smoke and cut a deal. A couple makes out on a lounge chair. A former teen star in her rebellious adult phase jumps into the water in her bra and panties.
She shoots me a wouldn't we look good on DeuxMoi look? Or maybe it's wouldn't we look good on some TikTok channel you've never heard of, old man.
I can't fault her. I'm doing the same thing she is. Only it doesn't feel the same.
Cassie and I do care about each other. Maybe the majority of her feelings for me fall into the hate column, but I can't find much to dislike about her at the moment.
Yes, she's a music snob, and she dresses like she wants everyone to believe she's a rock star, and she can't listen to a song without dissecting the lyrics, and she doesn't understand that sometimes people don't want to think about what something means.
And I love all of that about her.
I miss her.
It's been an hour and a half, and I miss her.
I need her here, to erase the memory of my father's distrust. To ease the pain of it.
After the former teen star shoots me another join me smile, I give up on the pool. I return to the ballroom, sipping club soda, watching people flirt and trade info, and order drinks at the bar.
They smile when the bartender drops off their glass. They drop their shoulders in relief. Finally, the liquid courage, the distraction, the extra boost of pleasure.
Then Cassie steps into the party, meets my gaze with a smile, and I feel it. That same sense I used to get after I ordered my first drink.
Maybe things aren't going to be great. But at least now they can feel a little bit better.
I meet her in the middle of the party. Even though we're surrounded by people, I know exactly what she needs.
"Let's get out of here," I offer.
She nods yes and takes my hand.
I lead her through the ballroom, past the front desk, to the valet stand. "How was your private meeting?"
"Oh my god, Damon, just because I'm bisexual, that doesn't mean I want to fuck every hot girl I meet."
"She's your type, isn't she?"
"She does love music."
"There's more to the formula than that?"
She flips me off.
Finally, my shoulders soften. My chest eases. This feels good. That's the entirety of it.
"I have other criteria."
"Name one other criteria," I say.
"They need to make me laugh."
"Frederick made you laugh?" I ask.
"Not the way you do. Not with the same bite." She says it as a compliment.
She likes the edge to my humor.
We both match there, I guess. We both see the cloud, not the silver lining.
She continues, "He was really sweet, for a really long time. I don't know why it changed." She shakes her head. "No. I'm not going there tonight. Not anymore. I had a great talk with Lisa. I feel good about the album. I drank enough I'm silly. But it could go the other way. To that miserable nostalgia. So no more of that."
"Okay."
She looks at me with surprise. "I was expecting you to object."
"Why would I object?"
"Why do you ever torture me?"
"'Cause it's fun?"
