on.” Her smirk breaks through just in time because I was about to get irrationally butthurt over her opinion. She finally lets go of my slip and pats my cheek in her overly coddling Midwestern mom way. “Oh, I’m teasing you.”
“Thanks, Maggie,” I say, my pulse beating fast from my emotional roller coaster.
“But I’m serious about the pot. No pot, you two!” She lectures over her shoulder on her way back to the phone. Hayden salutes her and pushes through the door into campus with his back. I follow along and wait until we get outside before I react out loud.
“I mean, it’s kinda late about the pot. Been there, done that, over it,” I say.
“Over it, huh?” Hayden says, slapping my back.
I’m pretty sure he and I both lit up a month ago out at one of McCaffey’s parties. I guess that’s recent to some people, but for me, shit I did a month ago is in an entirely different lifetime.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I’m over it.”
He gives me a sideways look, daring me to prove him wrong. I lift a brow and reach out my hand to shake on it and he takes it.
“All right then. I’m gonna hold you to it,” he says.
I shrug it off as if it’s no big deal, but in reality, I just haven’t been to a party in weeks. I’m the king of both enforcing and caving to peer pressure in those situations. Hayden has the resolve of stone, so for him this really is no problem. I might have to become a permanent introvert.
“Oh, hey.” He stops me just before we split up and head toward different buildings. “Abby’s birthday is in a few days. I want to do something special, but I’m stuck. This place is kinda void of special things. Got any ideas?”
Instantly, all of that good will we just forged collapses in my chest. I manage to keep that feeling from exposing itself on my face, though, and bundle it all up into a thoughtful expression. What kind of man am I? This is one of those forks in life’s road. I decide to take the path I know will make Abby happiest.
“You know what? You said she really liked that one song you were playing. Maybe you should learn it on the guitar, play it for her,” I suggest, the petty child that lives in my gut kicking me.
“Oh, I don’t know, man. You’re a way better player than I am. I could never really get it down,” he says, overwhelmed at the idea. Thing is, that song is really easy to play. And Hayden and I sing about the same. He’s just a lot shyer about stuff like that.
“Nah, I’ll teach you. It’ll take an hour, two tops.” I cross my fingers over my chest and feel the scorch of my decision.
“Seriously?” There’s a flavor to Hayden’s surprise that reeks of suspicion. My brother isn’t stupid, and while our little talk this morning focused on his envy over my relationship with our dad and my ignorance to it all, I can’t forget that his first words to me were about how I spent time with his girlfriend and made an impression.
“Sure,” I say. “What the hell else do I have to do? Go to McCaffey’s and smoke pot?”
His lips purse into a tight smile and one brow ticks up.
“I swear, it will be easy. She’ll love it, and you can talk about how many hours you put in to learn it just for her and blah, blah, blah.” I want to throw up just thinking about her reaction. She’ll think it’s sweet and thoughtful, and she’ll instantly realize how my brother picked up on her clues of liking the song but I didn’t. He’ll come away as the good guy and I’ll be the chump. As it should be.
12
Abby
Anymore, I don’t really know how to judge whether or not things go well with the lawyers. It might be my new hardened belief that court mediators and custody lawyers are greedy bastards. It’s probably not fair to lump them all together like that, but my experiences have been so tainted that it’s hard not to.
Sitting in that room while my mom and our lawyer hashed out what seemed like a fair deal for my father’s investment—in me, the daughter he left—was demoralizing. Add in his claims that he spent nearly a hundred thousand dollars making some sordid photos of me disappear, and today was basically an out-of-body experience.