As the little crowd dispersed, my cousin Will reached out and shoved me gently, his big paw still making me side-step a little. “Everything’s gonna be good,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
“Sure,” I replied, taking a step backward toward the truck.
I looked over at the bikes, where Leo and Dragon were already waiting. To be honest, I’d never expected a warm reception from anyone in the club and it was always a surprise when I got one, but the fact that neither of them had said a word to me stung.
“Forget it,” Mark said as we climbed into the truck.
“What?” I asked blankly, peeling off my soaking wet sweatshirt.
He started the truck and reached forward to crank the heat. “Forget it,” he repeated. “That wasn’t about you.”
“What wasn’t about me?” I asked, checking on Olive. She was still completely passed out.
“That Leo bullshit,” he said. His hand was so tight on the steering wheel that his knuckles were white. “That was about me, not you.”
“Why would it be about you?” I asked, dropping into my seat.
“No love lost, you know?” he said, running his hand through his hair. “He’s always had a problem with me.”
“That’s stupid,” I huffed.
“No,” he said quietly, glancing at me. “That’s loyalty, baby.”
“To who?”
“To you.”
“Bullshit,” I said with a laugh.
“It’s not bullshit.”
“Uh, yeah,” I argued. “It is. If my family has no issue with you, then why would he?”
“Don’t know,” Mark said with a shrug. “Just is.”
As landmarks grew more and more familiar, I sat trying to figure out why Leo would have any loyalty for me. We hadn’t spoken much since I left for California. Like I’d told Mark, even my family had let the stuff from the past stay in the past—from what I could see, they weren’t holding any grudges. So why the hell would Leo? It didn’t make any sense.
Whatever Leo’s issue was, I hoped that he’d keep it to himself when we got to Eugene. I was going to have a hard enough time making nice with Lily without her boyfriend causing a bunch of bullshit. My stomach knotted in a mixture of anxiety and excitement. I’d always want to see my siblings, no matter how fucked up our relationship was, but I also dreaded it.
It was impossible to explain the feeling of being an outcast in your own family to people that hadn’t experienced it. Knowing that they loved you, but didn’t necessarily want you around was… heartbreaking. It made you unsure of yourself in a way that you hadn’t been before. It made you question your worth.
“First hurdle is over,” Mark said, reaching out to cover my hand with his. “Painless, right?”
I didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble. I hadn’t been worried about the men. It was the women who’d make snide remarks and talk shit about me behind my back. Before I could say anything, Olive’s wail filled the cab of the truck.
“Just climb back,” Mark said, glancing in the mirror. “We’re not stoppin’ until we’re behind the gates.”
“Never in a million years,” I grumbled as I climbed over the seat, “did I ever think I’d be nursing a baby in a moving vehicle like it was 1972.”
“Cost-benefit analysis,” Mark said, leaning out of my way. “Better to keep moving.”
“I know,” I replied. I shushed the baby as I unbuckled her seatbelt and pulled her into my arms. “I promise it won’t always be like this,” I crooned. “Some day, I’m going to nurse you in a rocking chair, with sun shining through the window and the Beatles playing.”
“The Beatles, huh?” Mark said.
“What can I say,” I said with a shrug. “I’m a fan.”
“No lullabies?”
“I doubt I even know any,” I replied as I quickly and awkwardly changed Olive’s diaper. “Farrah wasn’t really a lullaby type of parent, but I can probably sing every Beatles song from start to finish.”
“My mom was more of an Alabama fan,” Mark said.
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t really sure what to say, because anything even remotely nice would’ve sounded insincere. At some point, maybe I’d be able to say something kind about Mark’s mother, but not yet. Not when I could still remember the satisfaction in her voice when she’d told me he’d left me.
“Dad was more of a Zeppelin guy,” he said, clearing his throat. “The Who. Pink Floyd. Bob Dylan. Creedence.”
“Really? I would’ve thought The Monkeys,” I replied sarcastically.
Mark barked out a laugh. “Oh, they were top ten, for sure.”