Page 115 of All In
“You want money?” my father said. “Because I can tell you right now—”
“We don’t want money,” I said. “Please, Daddy. It’s been seven years. Can we just sit and talk for a minute?”
My father pondered this, and I searched his face for any sign of warmth or affection, regret or guilt. But if he felt anything at all besides cold disdain, he kept it locked tight.
“Fine,” he said finally. “But it can’t be long. I have work to do.”
Like a hostess at the world’s most awkward dinner party, my mother led us to the living room. My dad took the couch, sitting right in the middle, precluding anyone from sitting beside him. That left only two high-backed chairs for the remaining three of us.
“Oh,” Mom said, glancing around, almost panicked. “I’ll get a chair from the dining room…”
“I’ll stand,” Theo said, and took up a position behind my chair, arms crossed, like a sentry or bodyguard. My mother sat down, folding her hands tightly in her lap. My father sat leaning back, his hands resting on his thighs, his chin drawn back and mouth pulled down, waiting.
The moment unfurled before me. Probably my last chance for any hope of reconciliation. Behind me, Theo shifted, reminding me he was there, that he would always be there for me. I sucked in a breath.
“A lot has happened over these last years, since we last saw each other. And I’m not going to lie, I had some really rough times. Times when I needed you. Both of you.”
My mother sat perfectly still but her eyes closed for a moment, as if pained.
But my father pursed his lips, seemed to harden further right before my eyes. “You should’ve thought about that before you broke the rules of the house,” he said.
Theo’s hand touched my back. I swallowed hard and said, “I think, Daddy, I’ve paid for that mistake a thousand times over.”
Those weeks of being homeless after Chett ditched me came back. The months and years of scraping by with Lola. Then the blurry, alcohol haze of countless small shows we played with Rapid Confession, trying to get a leg up. Throwing all that in his face would get me nowhere. If we had a chance, it was this moment, right now.
“I’ve moved past all that,” I said. “I learned to stand on my own two feet. I have a successful career as a musician. Not with a band, but on my own. And Theo…” I raised my hand, and he slipped his into it. “Theo’s a tattoo artist and owns his own business. We’re going to live in Las Vegas. And we’re starting a family.”
My mother’s head shot up and she gasped. “You’re going to have a baby?”
Tears sprung to my eyes at the words. They suffused me with joy every time I heard them spoken aloud. Joy that could spill into this living room, flood this house, and break down the walls. It could. It had to. How could there still be animosity or regret in the face of a child on the way?
“Yeah, Mom,” I said. My hand tightened around Theo’s. “We’re going to have a baby, and that’s why I’m here. I want…Wewant you to be a part of our lives. And this baby’s life. This is your grandchild. I don’t care about anything that’s come before. I want to start over, okay? A new start as a family.”
Tears filled my mother’s eyes and she started to nod. Emotion rose up in my chest and throat as she leaned forward in her chair, her hand over her heart. Hope lighting her eyes in a way I’d never seen before.
“Oh, Cassie,” she whispered.
Her words floated in the still air, like bubbles.
And my father popped them one by one.
“A musician and a tattooist,” he said. “And you think these are good, steady careers by which to raise a child?”
“I’m signed with a label, Daddy,” I said slowly, carefully, holding on to the happiness. “I’m not out playing little clubs for $50 a pop. Not anymore. And Teddy is an artist. He’s been featured in—”
“The music industry is full of drugs,” my father said with a wave of his hand. “And criminals get tattoos. That’s a fact. You want to bring those kinds of elements around your child?”
“It’s not like that—”
“You know what I see?” My father asked. “I see nothing’s changed. Not one damn thing. You’ve been acting the rebel your whole life. Playing a rock star, fooling around with the same kinds of men.”
“That’s not true. Teddy is—”
“And now you come here, telling me you got knocked up by a tattooed deviant,” he gestured to Theo, “and I’m supposed to be overjoyed about this?”
I reeled as if I’d been slapped. Theo made a low noise in his chest. The heat of his rising anger radiated in the fingers clenching mine. I took hold of it and for the first time in my life, I hit back.
“Apologize,” I said in a low voice I hardly recognized.
