out who you are away from your family, and if you can’t do that here in Cecil—”
“You don’t understand.”
He shrugs. “Maybe I don’t. But maybe your mother does. She can be a jerk and still have some insight on this, you know? She grew up here, in the same house, with the same man.”
“He’s a good man,” I say.
“I know. He’s given me some incredible opportunities. But if he’s pushing you so hard that you’re about to break—”
“I’m not!” I prop my hands on my hips. “I’m not the kind of girl who breaks.”
Connor shrugs again. “Everybody breaks at some point. It’s how you patch yourself up that counts. If he’s trying not to make the same mistakes with you that he made with your mother, maybe he doesn’t realize how hard he’s pushing you. Maybe it’s not about you at all. It sure as hell isn’t because you’re inherently flawed.”
But I am. I feel like I am.
Connor moves toward me slowly, like I’m some wounded animal he might scare off. I hate that he sees me being so insecure. I want him to see me as strong and confident and clever. But as he wraps me in his arms and holds me close, I feel like I can be all of those things.
“Just think about it, okay?” he asks. “Think about what you want. You, not your granddad. What would you do if you weren’t a Milbourn?”
But I can’t even imagine that.
• • •
That evening, after supper, Granddad and I walk into town for an open mic night at Java Jim’s. Connor helped organize it and he’s going to read two new poems. When Granddad heard that, he decided to come support his star student. Which puts me in the awkward position of pretending that Connor and I are just friends.
I guess, technically, I put myself in that position.
It’s nice to be out of the house though. When we left, Erica and Gracie were watching a movie in the living room and Iz was sulking upstairs. She was not a fan of the first day of theater camp. She called Miss Saundra a pretentious asshole and Granddad threatened to extend her grounding. It made me laugh though. I tried theater camp the summer I was ten, at Granddad’s insistence. I had major stage fright, and Miss Saundra’s constant barking to “e-nun-ci-ate” did not help matters. I spent most of my time painting sets.
Granddad pushes open the door to Java Jim’s and we’re greeted by a blast of air-conditioning, followed by the scents of espresso beans and chocolate. The couches and chairs at the front have been shifted to create a small performance space. Connor’s coworker Katrina is perched on a stool, a mic in front of her, her guitar across her lap. With her short, ivory lace dress and bright-pink hair and nose ring, she totally rocks the quirky singer-songwriter look. Peyton Cavanaugh, a girl from my class, is sitting on one couch with two of her friends, nervously clutching a black-and-white composition notebook. I don’t recognize the girls on the other couch. Maybe they go to the college?
Connor’s going to be thrilled with the turnout. The tables against the brick wall are filled with people chatting over iced lattes. I spot him at the end of the line, talking with Jay and Josh as they wait to order drinks. Connor’s talking with his hands, shifting from foot to foot. I wonder if he’s nervous.
Granddad hesitates as we pass the clipboard with the sign-up sheet. “Are you sure you don’t want to read your poem?”
“Very.” My voice is curt.
“It would be good practice,” he wheedles, and ghosts of departmental Christmas parties past come parading through my memory. I was too young then for Granddad to take my reluctance seriously. He always chalked it up to stage fright.
“I would really prefer not to,” I say.
“Maybe next week? You could practice reading it out loud to me first.”
His voice is so hopeful. Jesus, I hate disappointing him. “Maybe,” I agree, though I know I am just prolonging the inevitable. I have to tell him about the poem.
Two women leave, grumbling about the noise, and Granddad snags the now-open table along the wall. “Decaf?” I ask, and he nods, handing me a rumpled ten-dollar bill.
Connor grins when he sees me. I’m wearing red shorts and a black tank top printed with ladybugs, with my hair in two braids courtesy of Gracie. I worried it looked too childish but didn’t have the heart