Chapter Twenty-Three
Ryan checked his watch. Four o’clock. He’d made it through almost the whole day, and he was still standing. Sort of.
Maya had colored, run around the park, played with dinosaurs, started a puzzle, smashed a puzzle, drawn on the couch, scolded Ryan when he used the wrong cleaner on the couch, sat in the wet spot on the couch, changed her underwear three times while Ryan stood outside the door asking if she was ready yet, eaten half a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough—probably a mistake—eaten her weight in slightly burned chocolate chip cookies—another mistake—and was now looking at him expectantly, like what were they going to do next?
He didn’t want to admit that he had no clue—besides plunk her in front of the TV for, oh, about ten thousand hours. Which may have been the worst idea ever, but at least it bought him some time to sit down and take a few breaths.
He was just closing his eyes for what he swore was half a second when his phone buzzed. He bolted awake. Eddie, probably. Or Claire, and then he’d have to pretend that he wasn’t completely exhausted and out of his depth already.
But it wasn’t either of them. Thank God. It was a Seattle number Ryan hadn’t heard from in years. He could feel that old, familiar grin creep across his face. Cam played the drums in the very first band Ryan put together after high school, before he left to form Little White Lie. He couldn’t believe how long it had been since they’d been in touch—or how grateful he was for human contact with another adult.
“Cameron Fucking Sallister,” he said, and then realized Maya had whirled on him, her eyes wide.
He covered the mouthpiece with his palm. “Don’t tell your mom I said that,” he whispered. She clapped her hands over her mouth, but she nodded. Just another thing he was going to have to work on when it came to this whole “responsible adult” routine he was working on.
“Ryan Fucking Thomas,” Cam said right back. “It’s been a while! What’s up? Where are you? What’s been going on?”
Ryan laughed. He had no idea where to begin.
Keeping up with friends hadn’t been his strong suit over the years. He’d been a little busy with that whole getting-his-life-back routine. But hearing Cam’s voice, it was as though no time had passed.
“I’m good,” he said and looked down at his tattoo. “I’m actually really, really good.”
“I heard your last album,” Cam said. “It’s gold, man. So fucking solid.”
“Thanks. It’s been doing pretty well.”
“That’s awesome. Because I’ve got some ideas, and I’m hoping we can discuss in person. I heard a rumor you’re nearby. Gold Mountain? I’m actually heading your way as we speak—I’m meeting some buddies of mine right near there if you’re around.”
“For a little bit,” Ryan said, thinking Cam raised a good point. How long was he planning on being around, exactly?
Then he saw Maya fidget in front of the TV, and reality hit. “But I can’t tonight,” he said.
“You’re killing me. Why not?”
“Remember Claire?”
“Shit.” Cam laughed. “You guys still together?”
He paused. He had no idea how to answer that question, so he sidestepped it altogether. “I’m watching her daughter. She’s away for the weekend, so I can’t really go anywhere.”
That “her daughter” stuck in his throat, but it was better than getting into every sordid detail.
“If you’re still around Sunday night, I’ll hit you up,” he added.
“Shit. We only have the guys there tonight. I’ve gotta get on the road tomorrow. We’re heading up to Vancouver, starting a Canadian tour. I was really hoping we could talk.” Cam paused. “Can you bring the kid? Just for a little bit? I’ll teach her to bang out some riffs on the drums.” He laughed.
Ryan looked at Maya. Could he?
He knew Cam’s band had just won a bunch of awards. He’d seen it in Rolling Stone. And while he was happy for his friend…the truth was that it kind of sucked, too. He’d flamed out so spectacularly in his own career, while the guys he used to play with, the ones who didn’t practice as hard or take the risks or go to New York when the chance hit, had finally found their stride.
Of course he wished more people had still been around when he was on the bottom, instead of calling only now that he was climbing back up. But Cam was reaching out now, showing him a way back into a music world he’d left behind. Did he really want to still be left behind?
By now Maya’s eyeballs were practically fused to the screen. He couldn’t let her stay like that for the rest of the night. Claire would come home tomorrow asking what they did the whole time, and Maya would still be drooling, eyes vacant, snapping to attention only to beg for products from every single commercial now permanently seared into her brain.
At least seeing Cam and his band would give them something else to do.
“Tell me where to meet you,” he said, hoping he was making the right call. “We’ll be there soon.”
Cam named a bar Ryan had never heard of. That made him pause. He almost suggested the guys come over to Claire’s place instead, but that was the dumbest idea he’d ever had. They’d track their muddy boots through her house and leave empties around so she’d think he had some kind of party while she was away.
No. It was better to go somewhere else.
A café? Some place better for Maya…and better for him?
But Cam was meeting other friends. Ryan couldn’t ask everyone to change their plans just for him. And if Cam wanted to talk about new opportunities, he sure as hell didn’t want to come across like more trouble than he was worth.
It wasn’t late yet. As long as he got Maya home before bedtime, what was the harm?
“Hey, Sprout,” he called. “Want to go meet some really cool guys who play the drums?”
He played out a riff on the coffee table. Maya had no idea that he sucked at the drums. He could still do a few things, and the trick piqued her interest.
“I bet they’d let you use their drum set and hold real drum sticks. What do you say?”
It worked. He’d have to hope Cam had a set with him and would actually let the kid hold the sticks—Ryan would promise to wipe the grape jelly off her fingers first. But they’d figure it out later. At least she let him turn off the TV and then got in the car.
The bar was one of those places off the highway that looked like trouble on the outside, but inside was mostly just sad. The lights were dim to hide the fact that it was just some concrete square with cheap booze running through it. Ryan had been to plenty of those in his day.
But this time it was different. He was sober, for one thing. And he walked in carrying Maya on his shoulders, because it was cute as hell and because she didn’t want to get her pink sneakers dirty on the gravel. Her fingers clung to his hair, but when he slid her down and plunked her on a bar stool, she was grinning like she seemed to think this was all pretty cool.
“No kids at the bar,” the bartender growled, so Ryan moved her to a table instead and ordered her an orange juice with grenadine, plus a seltzer with lime for him. He wanted what Maya was drinking but figured he shouldn’t push his luck in front of these guys.
He’d been afraid that it was a mistake to bring Maya—and for him to show up here at all. But Cam did actually teach her a few beats on the table, and she caught on pretty quick. The bass player, Seth, was a thin, reedy guy Ryan hadn’t seen in years, but now he had three kids at home and did a good job of peppering her with questions about school and her toys. Little did he know he was about to get an earful about dinosaurs as Cam and Ryan caught up.
“What are you working on next?” Cam asked, tossing back a beer. “You’ve got to follow that last album up with something big.”
“I don’t know,” Ryan said honestly. He knew what Eddie wanted the answer to be—getting Little White Lie back together. But he couldn’t say it out loud. What if Little White Lie was his past? What if his future was here?
“You’ve got to have a plan,” Cam said. “So here’s what I’m thinking. If you’re going to be in town for a while—”
“I’m hungry.” Maya tugged on his sleeve.
“One sec,” Ryan said and motioned for Cam to keep going.
“I’ve got some guys working on a sound I think would work with this direction you’re going in.”
“I can’t promise anything,” Ryan said.
“Of course not. And we’re leaving on tour. But when we’re back—”
“Yeah,” he said, thinking it through, feeling his fingers already aching to pick up a guitar. “We could try it.”
If I’m still in Washington. If I blow off Chicago altogether. If Claire really is going to be mine.
“Can I have a snack?” Maya pulled on his shirt again.
“How about another pink juice?” he asked. She’d already drunk two, but orange juice was a fruit, right? He could ask the bartender to go lighter on the grenadine this time.
But Maya stuck out her bottom lip and shook her head.
“Okay, we’ll get some dinner soon.”
He swore it was only a few minutes that he kept talking to Cam. No more than five. He just wanted to hear the guy finish his thought. He’d been so focused on jumping from Square One up to Little White Lie he’d forgotten there were other possibilities outside of Chicago and New York. Possibilities that might not have to take him away from here.
But it seemed like they’d barely launched into the opportunities for Ryan in the Seattle music scene when someone was grabbing his arm.
Ryan whirled around. Seth was lunging for him and yelling something he couldn’t make out.
“Get off me,” Ryan said reflexively, shoving Seth away as though this were the old days and being in a bar meant some kind of trouble was coming for him.
But then Seth pointed to Maya, who was half sitting, half sliding out of her chair, and Ryan remembered where he was. He remembered who he was.
He leaped up, shoving chairs out of the way. Maya’s eyes were glassy, her face puffed up and swollen, and she was clawing at her throat. When he felt her pulse, it was racing.
He lifted her up, supporting her in the chair so she didn’t slide down again. “What did she eat?” he shouted to Cam, his band-mates, the bartender—everyone in the goddamn bar. “What the fuck did she eat?”
“She said she was hungry,” Seth said helplessly.
“What did you give her?”
Ryan had never shouted so loudly in his life. He didn’t even know he could make such a sound. But he felt the flutter of Maya’s chest, heard her wheezing as she struggled to breathe, and a protective, animal instinct roared to life.
“She said she was hungry, so I asked the bartender for some of those snacks.” Seth pointed to a bowl on the bar.
Ryan stirred his fingers through it and saw pretzels, little spicy orange rods he was sure Maya wouldn’t have liked. And, sure enough, honey-roasted peanuts.
He didn’t know who called 911, only that he was shouting for someone to fucking do it already.
He didn’t know how he remembered where the EpiPen was, but somehow, he’d had the foresight to throw it in the glove compartment of the car. Hadn’t Claire said to never go anywhere without it? Wasn’t he doing the right thing?
Now he knew that “never go without it” meant having it on his person at all times. He couldn’t believe it took so long to race to the car and back. Then there were the precious seconds he wasted fumbling to figure out how to use the damn thing. He had to close his eyes before he stuck the needle into her thigh. He was terrified to hurt her—and even more afraid of what might happen if he chickened out.
And then he was rocking her in his arms, waiting until he heard the siren. Those long minutes felt like hours, felt like his whole world distilled to that one moment. He realized with a painful, sickening shame that this was the first time anyone in his life had truly mattered more than him.
He wasn’t sure if Maya could hear him, but he kept telling her to breathe, trying to keep her from panicking. Making sure she knew she was loved.
Finally, the paramedics came. Maya looked so tiny strapped into the stretcher, a tube down her throat. Ryan raced out to the ambulance with her, not leaving her side.
“I’m sorry, sir. You’re going to have to follow us to the hospital,” the EMT said as Maya was lifted into the back of the ambulance.
“I’m her father,” Ryan practically growled and pushed his way inside.
The shittiest father ever.
But he wasn’t letting go of her hand.