Six
So wrapped up in what a disaster her life had managed to spiral into in such a short period of time, the next hour blazed by in a haze for Viola. She couldn’t even remember re-entering the house, sitting down to dinner, or making herself a plate. Yet, somehow, there she was, with Milo on her left, Adam fuckin’ Brand on her right, and Jon Baca straight ahead. A full plate of untouched food had somehow found its way onto her plate, as well as an un-sipped glass of red wine. She couldn’t eat or drink. There was too much going on in that room, and in her head, for her to enjoy it. As she went in and out of the blinding haze encasing her, she noticed there seemed to be an argument underway at the table, one she could hardly contribute to considering the rapidly declining state of her sanity.
“I just wish you boys weren’t so attached to those bikes,” Mary said, her eyebrows pinched. “They’re so dangerous. Do you know that Jon’s been in three separate accidents on that godforsaken thing, and still won’t stop? I just can’t understand it. He’s going to get himself killed.”
“Maybe then I’ll finally get some sleep,” Jon grumbled.
“I don’t like that. That’s not funny.”
“Lighten up, Mom.” Jackson chuckled.
“I will not lighten up. I’m supposed to be light at the thought of my first-born crashing and burning on that miserable bike? I can’t think of anything darker.”
“How about this conversation?” Adam jumped in. “Seems pretty dark.”
Noodle pointed his fork at Adam from the seat next to him, nodding softly.
“Not dark,” Mary said. “Realistic.”
“Is there a difference?” Jon asked. “Life is dark too.”
“Only if you allow it to be,” Robert jumped in from the head of the table, directly across from Mary.
“Because it’s so easy to make the choice?” Jon asked, his silver utensils joining in with all the others in the room, clattering against his plate as he sawed at his steak.
“Happiness is a choice,” Robert added.
“I actually agree with that,” Adam said. “Happiness is a choice. And a damn hard one at that. It’s a lot easier to choose misery than happiness.”
“Of all people, I’d think you’d understand that.” Robert nodded to Jon. “You sure as hell never hesitated to choose what made you happy over everything and anything—to hell with all the rest—and it’s rubbing off on your brother too.” He jammed his fork toward Jackson, who was in the seat next to Jon.
Officially yanked from her haze of self-pity, Viola’s wide eyes shifted to her fellow outsiders—Adam, Noodle, and Shaun—who appeared to have grown just as uncomfortable with the sudden turn this conversation was taking as she had. Then she looked at Jon and found his blue orbs were lowered, locked onto his plate, jaw tight as he smirked and shook his head softly. It seemed as if a million words begged for release from his lips, but he sealed them together in an attempt to stop them from spilling out.
He failed. “You really think that was me—choosing happiness, Dad? That was me spiraling. And I always tell Jackson to follow Milo instead of me. I always tell him that.”
“I don’t wanna be like Milo. I wanna move to LA and live with you.” Jackson spoke to Jon hopefully. “I wanna major in music at UCLA.”
Jon shot Jackson a look as if he couldn’t have chosen a more unfortunate moment to jump in with his heart’s deepest desire. “You need to focus on graduating high school. Getting a scholarship like Milo.”
“And just so we’re clear, poor attendance, C grades, and after-school detention do not a scholarship make,” Milo said, raising his eyebrows. “Hard work, study, and dedication do.”
“That’s boring,” Jackson grumbled.
“No, that’s life.” Robert abandoned his food to focus all his energy on glaring at Jackson.
“Jon didn’t even graduate high school.” Jackson’s voice hitched. “And he’s a millionaire!”
“We talked about this outside,” Milo said. “Jon got lucky.”
“Yo, Jon didn’t get lucky,” Adam jumped in, unable to bite his tongue, even as an outsider. “He didn’t just wake up one day, shredding. He didn’t wake up one day the greatest player alive. That wasn’t an accident. He worked for that. He worked his fuckin’ ass—” His voice broke when Betty cut him a look. “His… friggin’ tail off for that. Every single day.”
Noodle nodded, eyebrows raised high.
“And if I work hard, I could be great one day too,” Jackson said.
“That’s right, bro.” Jon squeezed his shoulder.
“Don’t encourage this.” Robert shook his head. “That’s why he’s in the position he’s in now. Because you drop in every once in a while, sell him a dream and then disappear all over again. Leaving your mother and I to pick up the scraps. Forcing us to be the bad guys.”
“I won’t tell him not to dream. I won’t tell him hard work is the wrong answer.”
“You’re telling him your path was the right path, even if indirectly, and it isn’t.”
“I’m not telling him to walk my path. I’m telling him to walk his own.”
“Sounds a lot like the path that left Dad 10k in the hole,” Milo grumbled. “Maybe more this time, if Jackson decides to really follow your example.”
Jon shot Milo an open-mouthed look.
So did Viola, stunned. Her eyes searched Milo’s profile, noting the way his jaw was rolling like a pin as he watched Jon over the table.
“Honestly, baby, Los Angeles might be out of the question anyway,” Mary said, attempting to keep her voice even as she spoke to Jackson. “Your father and I have already told you we’ll have an easier time paying for your schooling if you stay in Utah. All you need is a B average to qualify for that in-state scholarship program—”
“Jon can give me the money for school—”
“Jon’s not giving you anything,” Robert spat. “That’s his money, not yours. Stop with the entitlement.”
“If he needs money for college, of course I’ll give it to him. It’s his. I’ll pay every dime—”
“No you won’t,” Robert interrupted Jon mid-sentence, cheeks red.
Jon continued on as if he hadn’t heard, looking directly at Jackson. “Every dime. You hear me? But there won’t be any reason to pay for college if your grades stay in the gutter. UCLA won’t look twice at an application dominated by Bs and Cs. Start focusing on As or this conversation is moot anyway.”
Jackson pouted down at his plate.
A long silence dominated the table. Not even the clatter of plates and silverware rose to fill the air.
Viola watched Jon.
He looked up and locked eyes with her.
She drew in a sharp breath that made her chest swell.
He curled his top lip at her. The tiniest lift. Barely enough to be visible to the naked eye.
But Viola caught it. I’m not the woman you think I am! It’s all a sham! I’m 100% single and your brother loves the cock! It scared her how close those words came to leaving her mouth, so she bit down on her tongue. Hard enough to nearly bite it in half.
Jon raised an eyebrow at her as his gaze fell from her face to her breasts—still heaving in her sweater dress—and down to her ribcage. He kept his eyes low as if he could see her fingers tangling together under the table. Her knees bopping incessantly. Her pussy, which, amazingly, had still managed to find itself slippery and wet even given the current circumstances. His lowered eyes darkened as if he could feel just how wet her velvety walls were. Like he could smell her essence across the table, even over all that fragrant food and drink. His gaze slowly climbed her body once more, making her breathing come a little heavier with every inch they traveled until they met hers again.
“Yo, this house is really old.” Noodle’s voice was the first to break the silence, his blue eyes dancing all over the log cabin. “To hell with Jackson’s education, Jon needs to buy you guys a new place.”
“Jon tried,” Jon grumbled.
“And Robert declined,” Robert said. “Because Robert understands the importance of tradition. Robert never forgot that this house has been in the family for generations. Robert works his fingers to the bone to take care of this house so it’ll remain in the family for another generation.”
“Well, Jackson thinks this house blows.”
“Adam thinks it’s pretty weird how everyone’s referring to themselves in the third person.”
“And Shaun thinks Noodle still hasn’t mastered the art of thinking long and hard before he speaks.”
Noodle’s eyes widened, clearly having no idea he would touch another nerve with a comment meant to be a lighthearted change of subject.
Still, somehow, he went on. “I don’t get it, though. It’s not like you’d have to get rid of this house if it has sentimental value. Jon could still buy you guys a new one. In every city, every state, every country, if you wanted. Why the hell not? He’s got money to burn. Can’t take it with him when he’s dead. My mom has a vacation home in every city in Italy—she has a thing for Sicilians…”
“Really, Noodle?” Shaun leaned over in her chair just to shoot him a look of disbelief that begged him to shut up already.
He shrugged his shoulders high, sputtering. “What? She likes Sicilians!”
Shaun’s chin fell into her chest, shaking her head softly as her admonishment flew right over his head.
“And they wonder why I’m selling the place in Yalecrest,” Jon said around the bite of food he’d just shoveled into his mouth.
Mary gasped. “You’re selling the house?”
“Yes, Mom, it’s just sitting there. I bought it for you guys, and you haven’t even gone to look at it.”
“It’s such a beautiful home, baby. Why not keep it? You could give it to Milo!”
“What am I gonna do with it? I live in New York, Mom.”
“Yeah, but you’re obviously coming back home eventually…”
“I am?”
Mary’s voice slowed. “After you graduate, I mean…”
“Mom…” Milo took a moment to choose his words carefully. “I’ve told you a million times how much I love New York. New York is it. New York is my home now. Forever.”
Mary stared at Milo, mouth agape. She seemed to struggle for the right words to say, and when they didn’t come, tears filled her eyes to the brim. She clapped her mouth closed to try and compose herself, but that only caused her taut lips to tremble.
Robert groaned softly, along with his three oldest boys.
Even Shaun cupped Mary’s shoulder from the seat next to her with a soft pout, as if the emotion glimmering in Mary’s eyes were actually filling her own.
The moment Shaun placed a kind hand on Mary’s shoulder, the first tear popped from her eyes and raced down her cheek. “So I’m officially the only mother in the neighborhood who’s driven all her children away.”
“Mom, you know it’s not like that,” Milo said.
Mary’s voice hitched as she dabbed her cheeks, staining her white tablecloth with mascara and foundation as she motioned to each of her boys. “Milo’s madly in love with New York, Jackson’s already planning his escape upon graduation, and Jon didn’t even bother to graduate before he fled to LA and never looked back—” She sucked in a breath.
Robert dropped his utensils onto his plate, causing them to clatter, before motioning to Jon. “You see what you’ve done now?”
“Oh, of course, this is my fault. Sure. It’s all my fault, Dad. Whatever you say.”
“Stop it,” Mary cried, slamming her fists onto the table. “Stop fighting.”
“Dad’s right, man,” Milo said to Jon. “Only when you’re here…” He didn’t finish.
Apparently, Jon didn’t need him to. “Only when I’m here?”
Milo raised his eyebrows with a shrug.
Jon nodded, letting the words sink in for a long moment before wiping his mouth with his napkin, throwing it down on his plate and standing from his seat. “Maybe I won’t be here, then.”
“Sweetie, please don’t…” Mary begged.
Jackson clawed at Jon’s arm with both hands as he gathered up his leather jacket and the keys to his motorcycle. Jon ignored Jackson’s silent pleas for him to stay, his fiery gaze shifting to Viola.
Viola swore she saw it in his eyes. The words he was seconds from saying. The words he knew—or assumed—would hurt Milo the most. The words that would blow everything up.
“That’s why I kissed your bitch.”
She waited for Jon to say the words. It was what she’d likely do if she were in his shoes, after all. Spew the petty words that she knew would to hurt Milo as badly as he’d hurt her. Just to touch the deepest nerve she could and walk out of that house with the last word.
“Merry Christmas,” Jon spat instead, keeping his eyes on Viola. He craned his arm out of Jackson’s grip before turning and leaving the dining room, with Mary calling after him the entire time.
The front door slammed closed a moment later. Every pair of wide eyes in the dining room stared, stunned, after the blaze of smoke Jon had left in his wake. Silence dominated. Every soul remained motionless, save for the darting of their bulging eyes back and forth between each other.
Viola held her breath as she looked off toward the front door. Every bone in her body yearned to follow the furious trail Jon had just left. Dying to go after him, catch up to him, and ask if he wanted to talk. To take him in her arms and give him the biggest bear hug she could manage. The wounded look on his face right before he’d walked out the door felt branded into her brain. It turned her stomach inside out like she’d just inhaled an entire plate of bad sushi. It made her yearn to fix it even though she wasn’t quite sure what was broken. It made her want to comfort him—but of course that would look insane. If anything, she should’ve been comforting Milo, whose chest was also heaving as quickly and heavily as hers from the seat next to her.
But as she cut a look at Milo and confirmed that his face looked as disturbed as her heart felt, she couldn’t bring herself to give him so much as a squeeze of the shoulder. If anything, she found herself fantasizing about punching him instead.
“Well…” Adam spoke in a polite tone that didn’t suit him, teeth clenched as he set down his napkin and slowly stood to his feet. “This has been such a lovely dinner, Mrs. Moore.”
“So lovely,” Noodle said, nowhere near as subtle as Adam in the manner with which he shot up from his seat, like a mosquito darting a fly swatter.
“But we should probably…” Adam motioned to the living room without finishing.
Shaun stood from her seat too, bending over at the waist to give Mary a hug goodbye and a soft kiss on the cheek.
Mary sniffled and accepted Shaun’s embrace, her eyes remaining lowered as she did.
“It was so nice to meet you all,” Shaun said, giving a wave over her shoulder as she, Adam, and Noodle shuffled awkwardly out of the room, eventually leaving only Viola and the family to stew in the thick, tension-filled air.
Watching them go, Viola couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d ever felt so conflicted. So torn in two. Like her arms were in Hong Kong and her legs in Brazil. One piece of her heart outside and the other in the seat next to her. One part of her Jon’s and the other Milo’s.
At that moment, she didn’t even belong to herself.