Niko nodded slowly, thinking about what it had been like to date Helene. How she’d chastise him for interrupting her, when it seemed like she’d just been staring off into space. The nauseating jolt the first time he’d recognized himself in one of her poems. On the other hand, she’d never complained like some of his other girlfriends had about him losing hours painting, or cutting plans short so he could wake up early enough to catch the light.
“Anyway,” Merritt continued, “my mom mostly writes short stories, but she published one novel, six or seven years ago. About a writer and her famous musician daughter, who moves back in with her after an overdose.”
Niko inhaled like he’d been sucker-punched. “Wait. I thought a novel meant it wasn’t true?”
She let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, thatiswhat it’s supposed to mean, in theory. But I moved back in with her for about eight months, after I first got out of treatment. She was pretty hands-off during the period when I was really struggling, which, fair enough—I was an adult, I had my own money, I was on the other side of the country, there wasn’t much she could’ve done short of a full intervention. Olivia even tried that at one point, and I totally cut her off. But after everything, I really did need some mothering.” She was looking down into her coffee again, her voice wavering, the fingers gripping the cup going white. “I thought this would help bring us closer. I didn’t think she’d see it as an opportunity for material.”
“What the fuck,” Niko said, unable to summon anything more articulate than that. “Merritt, that’s—”
She shook her head, a quick jerk, cutting him off. “It’sprobably hypocritical of me to hold a grudge about it. It’s her right to write about her own experiences. I’m sure there are plenty of people who wish I’d never written about them, so maybe it’s what I deserve. But when I did, I would always consider their privacy, their reaction, if this was a relationship I’d want to risk. There were some things—people—that felt off-limits.” Her mouth twisted. “I guess she doesn’t feel the same way. And of course, my name was in every fucking headline while she was promoting it.”
“Have you read it?”
“Fuckno. Olivia did, though, and she told me I shouldn’t.”
“What did she think? Was she upset about how your mom wrote about her?”
Merritt met his eyes again. “She wasn’t in it.”
All Niko could manage was a small, quiet “Oh.”
“I have read some of her short stories, though. A lot of her work is pretty autobiographical. I’m sure they’re great if you don’t know her, but reading them as her daughter…it’s rough. There’s some stuff about my dad in there…I mean, he definitely had a dark side, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to be married to him, but I just…sometimes wish all our business wasn’t out there like that.” She shook her head. “I respect my mom a lot as an artist. But as a mother…I have some notes.” She leaned forward, intertwining her hand with Niko’s on the countertop.
“Has she ever apologized?” he asked, running his thumb over her knuckles.
Merritt lifted her shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Sort of. It was very ‘I’m sorryif…but…’ So, it is what it is. We’re not totally estranged—mostly for Olivia’s sake—but I don’t think I can ever really trust her again. My point is, whatever your mom went through with your grandparents…I don’t know the details, but I’m sure it’s extremely painful for her. I’m not sayingtheir relationship can’t ever be repaired, but it’ll take a lot of work, on both their ends.”
With her other hand, she reached forward, brushing a curl behind his ear, then lingering on his jaw, her voice low and hypnotic. “And if it can’t, I hope you know it’s not because of anything you did, or didn’t do. This isn’t something you broke, and it’s not your responsibility to fix it.”
Niko nodded slowly. When she said it like that, he was almost able to believe it.
“Thank you,” he murmured. He finished his coffee, then switched gears, preferring to head to steadier terrain. “You said you have an older brother, too? You never talk about him. I thought it was just you two.”
“Yeah, Jamie. He’s a photojournalist, so he travels a lot, and it’s not always easy to get in touch with him. He’s five years older, and once Olivia and I came along, it was like…the two of us, and then him. We always say we don’t blame him for ditching all of us the first chance he got.”
Niko ran a hand through his hair. “Sounds like Olivia was actually the odd one out, then. Since he also ended up doing something creative.”
Merritt huffed out a laugh. “I know, poor Liv. The only STEM girl in a house of tortured artists. She has a beautiful voice, you know that? Better than mine. She was just never interested in that path. Maybe she would’ve under different circumstances, but I think it was her own little form of rebellion.” Her expression turned downcast, her bottom lip rolling pensively between her teeth. “I don’t know if we’ve ever celebrated her as much as she deserved. She’s fucking brilliant, she was just in the wrong family to fully appreciate her.”
“It’s kind of funny that she ended up marrying someone who does the same thing as your mom.”
Merritt let out a sardonic laugh. “Yeah, and I married a guy in my backup band. We’ve both agreed not to think too deeply about that one.” Niko laughed, too, ignoring the strange twinge he felt at the reminder of her marriage.
“Dev’s pretty pragmatic about his work, though,” she continued. “Except, one time he got drunk and we had a heart-to-heart about how frustrated he was that he’s stuck writing those Jack Cobalt books under someone else’s name, while the books he published as himself didn’t do as well. But I guess putting yourself out there always means getting your heart broken one way or another, even if it seems like you’re succeeding on the surface.”
“Sure,” Niko said, “but never putting yourself out there at all can be its own kind of heartbreak.”
She looked at him with a thoughtful, searching gaze. He was a little surprised he’d said that, unsure where it came from. But then, maybe he should learn to stop being surprised at what Merritt brought out of him.
They studied each other for a long beat, the mood between them serious at first, but the longer he held her eyes, the harder it was to stop the slow smile spreading across his face.
“What?” she asked, a suspicious one taking over her own.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Just thinking about how when I first met you, I could barely get you to say two words to me.”
“And now you can’t get me to shut up?” she finished dryly.
He hooked his foot around the leg of her stool, pulling her closer, the sound echoing in the cavernous space.
