“We can go together. One of the best private colleges in the state is only a twenty-minute drive from the lake.”
“Then why aren’t you there?” I asked.
His shoulders fell. He couldn’t give me a reason.
“How about next summer?” I said. “If there’s still something between us, then we’ll meet back here next summer and try again. But you have to promise me that you’ll work on your music.”
“I promise. And Iwillwait for you. I waited this long, and I will wait for years if I have to. We are not broken up.”
“Okay,” I said, laughing through another burst of tears. “If you need to break up with me, though, just text me. We know that works.”
“Fuck that. The next time I see you, I will still be yours.”
“The next time I see you, I hope that dead girl is off your arm.”
He wiped at his nose. “Oh. Shit. I will fucking burn it off my shoulder with a blowtorch.”
I closed my eyes. For a moment, I didn’t think I had enough strength to do this. But every time I worked through the math of me and him here, it didn’t add up. Every scenario I could imagine ended up with me stuck. Between him and Eddie. With no way for me to grow. I really knew that I loved him, because it felt like I was trying to separate from myself.
It felt unnatural.
But how could I stay if it was only just to spend time with him? I didn’t have that luxury. I wasn’t born into wealth. I didn’t have a talent like he did. Even if Eddie weren’t in the picture, if I was going to be something more, I had to step outside of my comfort zone and push myself.
“Thank you for saving my life,” I told him, pulling away until our fingers ran out of room. “See you next summer.”
“Next summer.”
Track [29] “Santa Monica”/Everclear
Jane
I’d been wrong about alot of things in my life. But there were two things that I was wrong about that actually turned out all right. The first was thinking that my father would never forgive me for asking him to drive me all the way back to L.A. from the lake. He wasn’t even mad.
Okay, he wasn’tthrilledabout asking Mad Dog for the time off, or when he had to listen to me tell Mad Dog that I was quitting service with no notice whatsoever.
The point is that Dad wasn’t angry. And he forgave me. And he rented a car that night and drove me back to L.A.
The second thing I was wrong about that actually turned out okay was discovering that my dad wasn’t just in a seemingly healthy relationship with the mystery person who was always texting him, J.H.; that person was, in fact, a real-life guy named Jay.
Jay the celebrity helicopter pilot was not only real, but he also had a really nice two-bedroom apartment in the Ocean Park neighborhood of Santa Monica, just a couple blocks from the pier, that he let us stay at. It wasn’t precisely oceanside, but close enough. It was inside a three-story stucco building with two othergarden apartments, and it had an amazing little patio balcony in the back that overlooked a sunny, palm tree–lined alley with a narrow view of the beach, just a half a block away.
A few days after we got back in town, Dad and I sat out there most of the afternoon, watching surfers and beach bums while sipping cherry Kool-Aid in our shorts and no shoes in the dry, hot heat; the Santa Ana winds came early. I forgot how much louder it was in the city, with everyone’s car radios thumping and the neighbors fighting late at night. All the smells. Very different than lake life. That’s the California I knew. Who needed Condor? Not me.
Anyway, Jay was still in South America, so I hadn’t actually met him face-to-face yet. He just loaned us his place to crash while I was sorting out my life. He wouldn’t be back for a while, so I basically had this place for about three weeks. After that, I was on my own.
“Oh, here’s one, cub,” Dad said from the other side of the patio table, squinting into the sun as he browsed want ads. “It’s part-time at a pet store. The pay’s not bad. Wait, it’s way out in Pasadena.”
“That’s close to Glendale.”
“So? What’s in Glendale?” His face scrunched up. “Forest Lawn cemetery…”
Fen’s grandparents.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. I couldn’t think about that. Not in front of Dad. Had to hold it together. I was the one who dragged us down here. Now I had to make it work.
Dad helped me put together my resume—probably theshortest resume in history. Dog walker and PA. The end. We had to pad it out with my education. Exie said she’d give a stellar reference for any future employer if I needed one. Surprisingly, Norma said she would too.
“I need full-time work anyway,” I told Dad as he continued to scroll through job listings. “Stop looking at part-time stuff. I’ll never afford an apartment on part-time pay.”
