More Than Maybe - Erin Hahn Page 0,18

sure it’s played to the best of its ability.

I shake my head. “Um, n-not really. Not for Cull and me, at any rate. We learned in America. In London, we mostly used public transport.”

“But your parents?”

I consider. “Maybe for my dad. My mum has dual citizenship. She’s half-and-half, born in California, raised in England. My grandparents are academics, so she spent a lot of her life traveling between the States and Britain. My dad, though, he was a fish out of water for a long time. Still can’t drink cold lager—says it hurts his sensitive Kingdom gums.”

Vada snorts. “That’s funny. Phil thinks anything less than frozen is stale.”

“Not fit for a pub life, then.”

“I imagine not. Have you been to many pubs?”

I lift a shoulder, careful to keep the wheel steady. “As a kid, yeah. My dad used to do some low-key touring when we were really little. Then, as his record label grew, he started taking us along sometimes to the more hole-in-the-wall venues. Especially if Mum was traveling.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel,” Vada says dreamily. “Like, out of the States. I bought a passport with my first paycheck, but so far the farthest I’ve gotten is Windsor, right over the border.”

“I’ve never been to Canada,” I offer.

She grins. “It’s a lot like Detroit. But the money is prettier on the other side of the tunnel.”

“I’ll have to check it out. So, what does your mum—uh, Mary—do?”

Vada picks another song by lovelytheband, clearly feeling alternative tonight. “She’s a principal.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, elementary.”

“I can see that. She’s probably everyone’s favorite.”

Vada’s smile widens. “She is. She’s always late getting home from work because of former students who like to drop by. It’s maddening and awesome. She loves it. She’s been offered other positions in the superintendent’s office, but she won’t ever leave her kids. Actually, a position is opening up for a third-grade teacher at her school, and I think if it weren’t for me, she’d be tempted to take the demotion and have a classroom again.”

“Don’t you want her to have a classroom?”

Vada nods. “More than anything. But we need the money. Or I do anyway. For college.”

“Ah. Is that, um, why you were meeting with your dad?”

“Yeah. He’s got a solid job in insurance. But I turned eighteen last fall, and he couldn’t wait to stop paying child support. My mom has an account set aside for me. Education is, like, so important to her, obviously, and if I went in-state, it would be fine, but the music industry is out west, so that’s where I want to be. And California is massively expensive.”

“Your dad’s not helping?” I ask. I’ve guessed some of this from the things Vada’s let slip while talking to Cullen, but it’s nice to get the full scoop. To see what makes Vada tick.

“Marcus hates the idea of me working in music and doesn’t feel like he should owe me more money.”

“But he’s still your dad,” I say. I can’t imagine my dad cutting me off at eighteen.

“Only when it’s convenient,” she says. “He’ll literally say, ‘I have two kids,’ referring to my half sisters, and I’ll be standing, like, right there. Oh, this is our exit coming up.”

I flip on my blinker. “That’s … extra shitty, Vada.”

“Yeah. It’s not great.” She’s quiet a beat, and then, “You’re very cautious, Luke Greenly.”

“What do you mean?” A semi in front of us eases on its brakes, and I slow back a few hundred yards.

“Is this why you prefer your longboard? Are you afraid of the road?”

“What?” I ask, distracted. “I’m not afraid of the road. I just like my board. Gives me time to think and some quiet away from Cullen.”

“You drive more cautiously than my nan,” she muses.

“Nans love me, I’ll have you know.”

“I have no doubt. We’re gonna make a right off the exit. The venue is a little way down this road, so we should find some parking.”

I fight the urge to laugh. “I know. You realize it was I who invited you, right?”

“I remember. I just get excited.”

“I couldn’t tell,” I say.

“This is either going to be super weird or the coolest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Both, I imagine.” I chance a look in her direction, and she is glowing. She’s so beautiful. I clear my throat. “Thanks for doing this. Even if it is super weird and you end up hating it, thanks for being willing to try. I’ve always wanted to give it another go, and I can’t imagine anyone else being adventurous