Chapter Eleven
Gabby
Marissa picks where she wants to have lunch after discovering I have no opinion, then calls an Uber to come get us. “It’s a little local restaurant that I found on a list of places to try in this area. Whoever wrote the article raved about it, especially their pulled pork.”
“You want barbecue in LA? When we grew up in the heart of barbecue country?”
She shrugs and gives me a grin. “I’m feeling the need for comfort food.”
“Okay. Let’s go.” I want to push for what’s making her want comfort food, but she made it clear earlier that she doesn’t want to talk about it. Instead, I swipe on some tinted lip balm and pull my hair back before we head out the door. The heat here is different from what I’m used to in Texas—drier, which somehow makes it worse. I’ve had to slather on way more lotion than normal, and I’m not sure my travel-sized bottle will last the whole trip.
The restaurant she picked is small and charming, and we get a seat right away. My extra long practice/composing session means we missed the lunch rush. A few stragglers sit at the bistro tables that dot the floor in a variety of colors paired with mismatched chairs. The walls are painted a bright teal, with large black and white architectural photographs decorating the space. After we’re settled and the waiter takes our order, I sip my water, staring at my sister while she pokes at her phone.
Finally, her eyes lift and meet mine. “What?”
Shaking my head, I set my water back on the table. “You’ve just been on your phone a lot more here than I think I’ve ever seen you.”
She makes a face, her eyes flicking to the device sitting on the table. Her hand reaches for it, but only to turn it face down before she looks at me again. “There. I’ll ignore it while we eat. Happy?”
“I wasn’t unhappy. Just making an observation.” I hesitate for a beat, not knowing how much to push. But she’s been a little off this whole trip. Even before, now that I think about it. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”
She shakes her head and gives me a smile, but it looks forced. “Not a thing. Why would you ask that?” And she drops her gaze again.
“Do you just miss being on the phone all day since you’re not working while you’re here? So you have to make up for the lack of office phones with that?”
That gets a real laugh out of her, and her face softens. “God, no. I actually wish I could turn off this phone and leave it alone. I mean, I read on it a lot, but I’ll go buy paperbacks just to get rid of the tether for a while, y’know?”
I nod, even though I haven’t ever experienced that feeling myself. “Do it, then.”
She sighs, her fingers sliding over the back of the phone again. “I wish.”
“Why not? I’m not saying you have to leave it off for the whole trip. That clearly wouldn’t work. But for a few hours? Why not?”
Her eyes meet mine again, and her expression is a combination of pain and sadness. “I promised Mom and Dad they could get ahold of me whenever.”
I flick a hand in dismissal. “So you can’t even turn your phone off to go see a movie or something? What if you’re in the shower? You jump out to answer your phone just in case Mom or Dad is trying to reach you?”
She snorts. “No. Of course not.”
“Right. So a few hours without it should be fine. If it makes you feel better, text Mom to let her know you’re going to turn it off and that she should call me if she needs to check in. And we’re both adults, anyway. Do they really need hourly updates?”
Marissa gives me a pointed look, expressing her opinion of me applying the term adult to myself. But I ignore her and keep talking.
“No. They don’t. They didn’t get them from me this year. We talked a few times a week at most, and that was only when things were extra crazy and they were worried about me. And you’re twenty-six. You live on your own. They can deal.” When she doesn’t respond, except to glance at her phone again, I push more. “Unless there’s some other reason? Like something to do with Peter?”
Her nose wrinkles, and she makes a low sound that doesn’t tell me anything.
“What’s going on with you and Peter, Marissa? Something’s wrong.”
She lets out a big sigh. The waiter brings our food before she can answer, and from the relief on her face, I know she thinks she’s saved by the distraction. She obviously hasn’t spent much time around me lately.
I wait until we’ve both taken a few bites before I push more. “So, you were about to say about you and Peter?”
Her shoulders slump, and she lays her fork back on her plate. “Do we really have to talk about this now?”
I cock my head to one side, pretending to think. “Hmm. Well, I’m here. And you’re here. And later I’ll be with Jonathan, and you’ll be having some phone-free time. I guess we could talk about it tomorrow, but I’ll need to practice again, which will send you exploring again I’m sure. And after Jonathan’s done with recording, I’ll be spending more time with him. Even if you tagged along, I doubt you’d want to discuss this in front of him. Oh, and I got hired to play for a recording next week, so I’ll be busy with that.”
Her eyes get wide at the last part. “What? When? Where? How? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Giggling, I shake my head. “Who, what, when, where, why, how? You sound like my high school journalism teacher.”
“Shut up.” She sticks her tongue out at me, and suddenly things are more relaxed, like they’ve always been with us. “Seriously, though. Fill me in. When did this happen, and why am I just now hearing about it?”
I point my fork at her. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But don’t think this will distract me from our other conversation. Once I give you all the details and ask your opinion about something, we’re wrapping back around to you and Peter.”
She narrows her eyes at me, but mumbles, “Fine.” Her excitement is genuine when I tell her about meeting Shane yesterday at Jonathan’s rehearsal and the subsequent job offer. She claps her hands, then reaches across the table to grab my hand. “I’m so happy for you, Gabby. This is awesome.” Giving my hand a quick squeeze, she withdraws and picks up her fork again. “Okay. You said you wanted my opinion on something. I think I have a guess, but go ahead and ask anyway.”
Shifting in my chair, I poke at my food. “Well, apparently Shane knows about more gigs, and he says I’m perfect for them. If I can stay, I can work pretty much all summer.”
When I look at Marissa, a small smile is playing over her lips. “Well, doesn’t that just work out nicely. How’re you planning to convince Mom and Dad?”
“Um, well, that’s what I was hoping you could help me with.”
Her mouth pulls to the side in a crooked grin. “Uh huh. I’m sure. What do you think I can do?”
“Get Mom on my side. She can make Dad come around.”
She sits back in her chair, taking a drink of her water and looking me over. “Normally, yeah. But you’re the baby. It’s going to be a hard sell no matter what.”
I chew on my lower lip. “I could just sign the contracts and tell them it’s a done deal. They wouldn’t want me to break a contract. Not even Dad. And it’s paid work. They wanted me to get a job this summer anyway.”
Marissa’s eyes widen when I suggest the contract, then she snorts and shakes her head. “That’s a ballsy move, baby sister. And I’m pretty sure they were thinking something more along the lines of waitressing or working at Dillard’s. Back home.”
“Yeah, well. I’ll make more money doing this.”
Marissa nods, chewing and looking thoughtful. “I think the contract thing might backfire on you. Or at least make Mom and Dad feel like they have no say, and even though you might think that sounds good, it’ll make them way less likely to go along with anything else you might want in the future. And unless you’re prepared to support yourself, you can’t quite cut those ties. Which I don’t think you really want to do, anyway.”
I close my mouth, which I’d opened in protest, and nod. “Yeah. True. So what should I do?”
“Wait, for now. Tell Mom and Dad that you got a job for next week. Let them get used to the idea. Then tell them that you’ve learned about more opportunities. Get the contracts if you can, but don’t sign them yet. Have everything worked out. All of it—what you plan to tell Mom and Dad, your living arrangements, what you’re going to do with the money, how much you expect to earn for the summer, everything—lay it out for them. They recognize valuable opportunities when they see them. And if you can allay their fears at the same time and show that you’re being responsible and mature, they’ll be much more likely to land on your side. If you do all that, I’ll back you up. If you go rogue, even me on your side won’t do you any good.”
Nodding, I digest all of that. “Okay. Yeah. That makes sense. I’ll call and talk to them this afternoon, let them know about the job next week, and tell them how excited I am.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Narrowing my eyes at her, I set my fork down and fold my hands under my chin. “Now. Fill me in on you and Peter. You didn’t want to talk to him the other night. Something’s wrong. ‘Splain.”
She sighs, seeming to deflate with the drawn-out exhalation, and sits back in her chair again. “It’s stupid, really.” Rubbing her forehead with the fingers of one hand, she shakes her head. “I just feel … stuck. My whole life. It’s the same thing all the time, every day. Work with Dad and Peter. Dinner with Peter most nights, except when we go to Mom and Dad’s. Peter stays over on the weekends, or sometimes I’ll stay at his place, but never on the weekday. We’re like an old married couple already, but without the satisfaction of actually being married. We squabble as bad as Mom and Dad, and any time I bring up moving in together or getting engaged or moving our relationship past where it’s currently stagnating, he clams up. Or we have a fight. Until I get tired of being mad, and then we pretend like the conversation never happened.”
Letting her hand drop, she meets my eyes. “I’m just tired of it.” Her mouth pulls to one side. “And, to be perfectly honest, I’m a little jealous of you. You have a boyfriend who’s crazy about you. You’re going to school. You’ve gone farther away than I’ve ever had the courage to go. You’re following your dreams. And it’s awesome.”
“But …” My brows draw in. Marissa is jealous of me? My polished, elegant, older sister? That sounds so crazy. “But I thought you liked working at the shop. That you always wanted to work there.”
She stares off to the side. “Yeah, well. We both know that Dad’s never going to let me take over. I wanted to work on cars with him. He used to let me, when I was a kid. And then, after I helped him put together my first car when I was fifteen and started driving it at sixteen, it was like he didn’t want me in the garage with him anymore.” Her eyes come back to my face. “You know when it really was? When that guy, Jason, asked me to junior prom my sophomore year. And Mom and I went shopping, and she took me to the salon to get my nails done and my hair done. Girly stuff. After that, he’d brush me off if I wanted to work on the cars with him. First, he said it was because he didn’t want me to ruin my manicure, even after prom was over. By the time I removed it all, he’d still make some excuse not to have me in there with him. That’s when I started going to get my nails done with Mom, and started getting more interested in clothes and makeup and stuff. I mean, I like fashion and makeup too. I feel good when I’m put together. But I like getting my hands dirty. I like working on cars. It’s like a big puzzle, especially the classic cars. Peter saves those cars to work on till the end of the day, because after Dad leaves, I get to work on them.”
She shakes her head, looking down at her hands. “But I’m tired of working on cars in secret. Letting Peter take credit for my work. And being stuck in the same boring place I’ve been for years. I’ve been with Peter longer than Lance has known Abby. Lance and Abby are married, for God’s sake, and I can’t even get my boyfriend to talk about an engagement. You’re flying off after your rockstar boyfriend. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in Denton, doing the same thing I’ve always done.”
Straightening up, she blinks a few times and reaches for her water again. “I told Peter I needed some time to think on this trip. And now he’s ready to commit to whatever I want.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “He offered to change my return ticket to Vegas and meet me there so we could elope.”
“Wow. Um, that’s … good? Right? I mean, you said you wanted to get married.”
Her eyelids lift, and her dark eyes meet mine, her crooked smile still in place. “Yeah. But I want him to want to do it because he wants to do it. Not just because I want to. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
She runs her fingers along her lower lids and blinks a few more times. “Anyway. Enough about that. I wanted to get away from that drama, have some fun, live a little while I have the chance. So, let’s get the check and go exploring some more before Jonathan’s done for the day.”
I smile at her forced cheer, recognizing the same tendency in myself to cover over things I don’t want to deal with by distracting myself with something else. If that’s what she needs, who am I to object?