21
VICTORIA
By the time we load the Suburban and bid Tara and Adrian goodbye, I’m ready to go back to the city of my heart, to my family’s home base: San Francisco. While standing on the corner of Telegraph and Ashby, where the crowd has thinned considerably and the sun is taking a hiatus behind some clouds, I’m impatient and hot, disappointed and antsy.
To be surrounded by the ones who know me best becomes my only focus.
I only wish Joel weren’t coming with me. With him nearby, I can’t think. My attraction to him clouds my logic. Looking at his handsome face fuzzes my insecurity and anger, and I want a couple of hours to be alone in my head.
“How are you feeling?” Joel asks, not for the first time since we’ve been on our own. He’s asked me the same question in different ways to get a conversation going. “Will you be able to eat?”
I shrug. “I’m better. But no, I won’t be eating too much.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“Yep.”
I pretend to scroll through my Twitter account on my phone. The truth is that besides the rigmarole of recovering from, possibly, food poisoning, I’m sick that Joel did so well. Yes, I asked him to step in, but he was only supposed to be a substitute. He wasn’t supposed to outshine me. He wasn’t supposed to confirm that the network chose wrong.
Then again, he probably saved all our jobs. Because of him, Tara has something to send to the network.
My ruminations keep me occupied as we wait for our ride. Our already sparse conversation dwindles into nothing because it’s usually me trying to spark up a discussion. In the Uber, we both simply look out our windows and watch the scenery roll by. We cross the Bay Bridge, drive down narrow roads. We pass neighborhoods with distinct cultures and personalities divided simply by a street. The crowd thins and the air thickens with the heady scent of the salty ocean air of the Sunset District, and finally, we are on the Great Highway. By the time we approach True North, my hand is already on the door handle so I can jump out of the car.
Right now, I need something stable, something true. This restaurant and my family are it.
I pop the car door open when the vehicle stops, but Joel grabs me by the hand and interlaces his fingers in mine. “Can we sit here for a second?” he asks the driver.
The driver’s eyes, reflected in the rearview mirror, cut from him to me and back. He shrugs. “Yeah. Okay.” He slips on his earbuds and turns up his phone so that the treble and base, as well as the words, can be heard from the backseat.
“Duran Duran.” Joel grins.
I shake my head, not understanding.
“ ‘Ordinary World’?” He lets go of my hand, and sighs. “You don’t know it?”
“Nope.” I start to swing my other leg out of the car, when his voice halts me.
“Get back in here.”
“We’ve got folks waiting for us.”
“Okay, but get back in. We need to talk.”
His voice is firm and direct, and it makes me turn to look at him. “You can’t talk to me like that.”
“Like what? Disrespectfully? Sort of how you’ve ignored me this entire trip out? Do you think that’s any better?”
I settle back into the leather seat, pull my legs back in, and shut the door. Clasping my hands in my lap, I focus on the friction of the skin between my fingers to keep my emotions at bay. Because no, it’s not any better, and this attitude isn’t me. Normally, I don’t avoid hard discussions. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Us.” His dark eyes focus on mine. “It’s like you woke up this morning and did a complete one-eighty. It isn’t cool. I mean, fuck, Vic. Just yesterday we were making plans to spend the night. And the festival—you shouldn’t be pissed at me for trying to do a good job. What was I supposed to do, mess up on purpose? Prove everyone right that this wasn’t the job I was supposed to get? Am I supposed to be apologizing to you for succeeding? Because I will, if only to keep the peace. Just so we can get through the next four days without us being pissed at each another. I can’t get with this hot and cold.”
I relent, hands flying to my forehead, to what feels like the start of a headache. “No . . . no. That’s not it. Though that’s partly it.”
“Then what? I don’t know about you, but I’m not willing to walk into your family’s restaurant like this. They might only remember me as the cameraman at Paraiso, but they’re wise enough that they can see through bullshit like a clear window. They’re going to know something is going on, so we need to smooth this out. Right now.”
Herein lies the problem: I don’t know where to start. So I let my first thought plop out of me. “You weren’t supposed to do so well.” Then I wince at the shallowness of my words. My emotions are like a whirlpool: up above is the easy swirl of water, and below, in the depths, is a vicious twist of emotions I can’t sort out.
But he surprises me with his next words. “Look, I didn’t think I was going to do so well.” He grins. “I’m grateful I didn’t fuck up.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing. I’m glad you didn’t either.”
We both grin.
He looks at me, contemplative. “But I can’t lie. It was fun.”
I scrunch my nose as the familiar prickle of competition runs up my spine. This job is mine and mine alone—I know that his appearing on air was a one-time thing—but the need to build a cage to protect it is strong. Before, I was worried about how credible I looked to the outside world, but now, my worry is about my cameraman.
Someone who I slept with. Someone who has found his way under my skin.
Because it’s not solely about the job. It’s also the uncertainty of him, of us.
“There’s more.” I sit up. “I heard you on the—”
A slap at the window startles me, and we both turn to the face staring at us. It’s Ellie, eyes narrowed, appraising our mood. Both Joel and I smile, our conversation sliced in half. I press the button to lower the window and infuse good vibes into my voice. “Hey!”
“Are you guys going to sit here all afternoon?”
“On our way,” Joel says.
I climb out of the car, taking a cleansing breath. I look back and catch Joel’s eyes. They convey exactly what I’m feeling.
This conversation isn’t over.
Ellie shuts the door for me. “You aren’t giving anything away with that face of yours.”
“I’ve had a rough day, is all.”
Her eyebrows lift as we walk toward the front door of True North. From behind, the echo of the car door slamming and Joel’s footsteps let me know he’s right behind us. “So, will it be a good thing for all of us to watch tonight’s segment, or not?”
Before I can answer “hell no,” Ellie opens the door to a round of cheers from my whole family. Family, meaning blood and otherwise: My dad and sis, Bryn. Her boyfriend, Mitchell. Drew and his fiancé, Camille. The entire crew of True North, many of whom I worked with throughout my school years. True North’s regular grandparent-like customers, Mr. and Mrs. Villa, smiling brightly.
They’ve all got party hats and blowouts, and as soon as I step in, someone throws confetti at my feet.
I laugh. “What’s all this?”
My dad emerges from the crowd, arms out. He’s not in his usual suit, but dressed down in jeans and a Polo, collar up. I walk into his embrace and into the familiar smell of Calvin Klein cologne. “There’s so much to celebrate. Where’s the rest of your group?”
“Tara and Adrian are caught up in work. But Joel’s right behind me.”
“Ah, that’s okay, more food for us.” My dad lets go and says, “Oy, iho!” Hey, son, to Joel, who was just greeted with confetti. Shocked at the reception, his face breaks out into a worried smile when he sees my dad. His eyes flash up to me as my dad gives him a shoulder bump.
I shrug, equally surprised. This might be the first time my father has ever, ever liked a man that wasn’t part of our extended family. Soon, Joel is swallowed up by my father’s questions, so I leave them be. The smell of the kitchen is luring me deeper into the dining room, and I’m bowled over with relief that I have an appetite despite my afternoon.
But I don’t get to eat, not until the rest of the family has their way with me. The questions are relentless as they ask me how things are going. How is it to live and work with the same people? How can you stand each other? Is barbecue all you’ve been eating? Can we meet you at your next spot? Can we get on TV, too?
I lob answers back and say, “You guys act as if I’ve never left home.”
My cousin Drew, who has been handing out San Miguel beers to everyone, puts one in my hand. He taps his bottle against mine before taking a swig. “Yeah, but usually you’re online all the time and we know exactly what you’re doing. What’s up with that, anyway? I haven’t seen an update on your blog or social media. Hell, you haven’t even been texting.”
I tip the beer up and drink deeply, feeling the bitterness of the hops go down my throat.
“Hey, babe,” Camille interrupts, voice sweet and cajoling. She puts a hand on Drew’s forearm. “Can you help bring the food in?”
“Oh, yeah. Course.” He excuses himself, forgetting what he asked me altogether. Thank God. Camille winks at me as she follows him into the kitchen.
So I guess she knows, too. I mouth a thanks.
“Hey, sis.”
I turn and Bryn’s at the bar. She jerks her head for me to come to her, so I hitch myself onto a stool. I set my beer bottle down onto a cork coaster, not wanting to mar the beautiful sheen of the mahogany wood top.
She slaps Post-its onto the bar next to the coaster.
I lean in. The words are upside down, and the scrawl of my uncle’s indistinguishable handwriting is that much more unreadable. “What’s that?”
“Messages. All for you, from Luke.”
My body jerks backward. After my sister erased all traces of Luke from my contacts and blocked his number before I left for Vegas, I’ve had a reprieve from his pressure. It’s also helped with the healing process, since forgetting doesn’t seem to be an option. Over the last three weeks, the phone messages he left at Paraiso had dwindled, and I thought he’d finally given up.
I’d forgotten that he knows I used to work at True North. “I don’t want to read them.”
“These ones, you’ll want to.”
My fingers tremble as I fiddle with the edges of one of the Post-its. My anger had kept me moving forward. It acted as fuel. It dragged me all the way to Vegas, and it’s kept me on this trip.
But I’m afraid that if I read something, feel something else . . . I might not want to get back on the road. I might want to find out how and why. Luke’s last email to me proclaimed that I didn’t know the whole story, and he begged for a chance to explain. Truth is, I do want his version of the story from his own mouth.
I’m not so much of a fool as to think that he didn’t lie, but my curiosity about why is eating me up.
I stack the Post-its and flip through each page. His number is on every one. On one note, Please call back is written. On another, Let’s talk. And on the last, I need to explain.
My heart breaks again, as if it could. Not one of these notes says he’s sorry. It’s still about him. I crumple the notes into a little ball. “He’s not even remorseful.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“Good.” She smiles. “I was worried you were going to give the guy a chance. Maybe one day you’ll want to know why and how, but you owe yourself a chance to start over.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing now?”
“Right. So don’t look back,” she says. “Speaking of, Joel can’t stop looking at you. What’s up with that?”
I sip my beer, shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My father’s bellowing laughter grabs our attention, and we both look toward the group of men. Joel’s with my dad and Mitchell, chatting without a trace of fear on his face—like he already belongs.
“Look, I feel a zillion times better that he’s around to keep an eye on you—”
I roll my eyes. If she only knew. “Keep an eye on me?”
“Oh, come on, Vic. You’re camping with strangers. At least you’re with someone we can trust. Someone who, you know, knows how to kick people’s asses.”
In the middle of taking a pull of my beer, I choke on the liquid. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“What? That he’s fucking strong? Look at the man. He carries that camera all day long.”
“I guess.” I pretend not to care, though my body hums with the memory of every muscle I’ve touched.
“But”—she pauses, giving me the eye—“I’m not too keen about something coming up between the two of you. It’s much too soon.”
I keep my gaze on my beer bottle.
“Oh shit.” Her eyes widen, knowingly. “You’re doing that thing . . . with your cheek. Something is up. Tell me everything.”
“What for, so you can give me a hard time?”
She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so bossy. Wait. I take that back. I don’t care if you think I’m bossy. I want you to be happy, and I would hate to see you get hurt again. He’s a nice guy, but he’s totally the opposite of you. You’re going forward, and I feel like he’s kind of . . . hanging.”
I shake my head, thinking of Joel’s performance today. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. He’s plenty driven. Anyway, we’re still figuring it out. It’s complicated and confusing.”
“Honey, it’s always that way.” She smiles sheepishly. “Okay, I promise I will try to stay out of it.”
“I appreciate it. And, please, nothing to Dad until there’s something to tell?”
My dad is notorious for intimidating my and Bryn’s boyfriends and love interests. Mitchell and my sister have been seeing each other since June, and my dad still finds ways to test him. It’s par for the course, and Mitchell understands, but it’s sometimes a stress point in their relationship.
“Fine. And you’re welcome.”
“To be honest, the job isn’t helping the situation. I sucked today. Or, I didn’t get a chance to suck, and Joel stepped in for me. I feel like my job is on rocky ground.”
My sister leans on the bar top. “You’ve got to suck at something, sometime. You’re used to being accepted, of being successful right off the bat. This time, you’re going to have to hustle. Keep going, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I mean it. Sometimes you have to take steps in the wrong direction to get back to where you need to be.”
The doors of the kitchen fly open, and chefs Ellie and Ritchie—my uncle—walk out, followed by the serving staff carrying platters of food. While the rest of the restaurant is ogling the dishes, all I can think of are my sister’s words. I wonder if, with what I’m doing right now with my career and with Joel, I’m going down the wrong road, or if I’ve finally turned the corner.