The Sweetest Thing You Can Sing (14 page)

I thought I wanted to argue with him, but as I sit in Second Cup watching wispy bits of white dance in the wind outside I suddenly feel drained and empty. This hasn’t been a good day, and fighting with some random guy I barely know over the phone won’t make me feel any better.

“Serena?” Gage prompts.

“What?”

“I gotta go.”

“I know. You said that before. So
go
.” My voice cracks on the word
go
. It’s not even him or what we’re talking about in particular. Everything has just backed up on me. It’s probably a good thing I haven’t been able to find Devin. If he said something cruel to me, like that day in June, I would either dissolve into tears or scream at him until both our ears bled.

“
Listen
.” Gage’s anger has eased up, making it obvious he heard my voice break. “If you still want me to call later … Sorry I got so —”

He’s doing that thing where he can’t stop apologizing again, but I don’t want to listen. “Look, I’m having a really shitty day here,” I say, talking over him, “so whatever you …”

Behind me somebody hiccups out a laugh. I noticed a guy with a laptop and a latte sitting at one of the tables behind me when I first grabbed my seat. Whatever he’s looking at must be hilarious because now he’s laughing so hard that it’s a wonder there’s enough oxygen getting to his brain. Someone will probably have to call an ambulance for him any second now.

“Where are you?” Gage asks, so I guess he can hear hyena guy too.

I sneak a look behind me. The guy’s bent over in his chair, his shoulders shaking. I wish he’d shut up already. His manic laugh, the smiling homeless guy on the street with his dog, Bucky, and me, out on the pavement looking for someone who doesn’t exist anymore — it’s all exhausting and wrong.

“Toronto,” I mumble, my voice still unsteady. “I was looking for someone, but it hasn’t worked out.”

“I really have to go,” Gage says. “But if you …” He doesn’t sound sure of his words. “Do you … have a ride home?”

Together, last night and my follow-up phone call have warped whatever potential Gage and I had before. I don’t know that I want to sit in his car knowing that he just feels sorry for me, the girl who never seems to have a ride.

“I’m off in thirty minutes,” he continues. “If you don’t have another way home I can come get you.”

“Why would you want to do that?” I ask, and then I’m crying.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

~

AN HOUR AND A
half later Gage calls my cell and tells me he’s outside. He looks nervously over at me when I open the passenger door and sit down next to him. I guess he’s worried I might freak out on him about last night again. Instead I thank him for picking me up and lean my head against the window.

Gage has a news radio station on low and we listen to it as he heads for the highway. A report about a mid-air small plane crash that killed three people concludes that there’s too much congestion around the Toronto airport. Meanwhile, some ex-
NHL
player has just signed a deal to star in his first movie about a time-travelling bounty hunter, and in real life a twenty-two-year-old man was stabbed at King and Jarvis this afternoon and is in stable condition at St. Michael’s Hospital.

“That’s not too far from where I picked you up,” Gage says, mostly to himself. Then there’s more news (mostly bad) and about ten minutes later he clears his throat and goes, “Last night — it’s not that you did anything wrong — it was just really fast. It’s not …” He glances out the driver’s side window before fixing his eyes back on the road ahead. “It’s not what I’m looking for.”

I keep my head snuggled against the window and slouch down in my seat, wishing we could drive and drive and never really get anywhere. There’s something comforting about being on the road. You’re fixed in place while still in motion.

I stare into space, processing what Gage has just told me. “I thought you wanted to go to that place after the movie,” I say evenly. Less than two hours ago I wanted to pour my hot chocolate over his head and now it feels like we’re well past yesterday’s drama, like it happened a long time ago and can be discussed rationally.

“I did. It just got out of hand.”

The thought that I was the one who made things get out of hand comes as a surprise. There was a moment in the parking lot when I thought he was losing interest, but it never occurred to me that it had anything to do with me overstepping boundaries. Maybe he only really lost interest when he started seeing me as slutty. Gage could be the religious type that wants any girl he’s with to be one hundred per cent pure. It’s not like I’d normally go down on a guy during a first date, but if I explain that to him it will only sound like I feel bad about having done it in the first place.

“I wish you’d said something instead of jumping out of the car,” I tell him. I actually do feel bad about it now, but mostly because it turns out I was almost forcing myself on him. It’s not that I think a blow job is a dirty thing by definition, but the truth is that I’m not really happy that I did it just to get his attention either.

“Yeah.” Gage’s grey eyes gaze at me as he nods. “I can see how that would’ve been a good idea now. You made me nervous. I don’t know …” He shrugs, his light leather jacket hanging open so that I can see the striped zip top he has on under it.

It’s hard for me to believe that I could make anyone as gorgeous as Gage nervous, and I feel a measure of annoyance creep in under my calm. Why do I insist on judging people based on their looks?

“I didn’t realize I was doing that,” I admit. “I know you said you were nervous that night, but I just thought you didn’t like first dates. I didn’t realize it was
me
putting you on edge.”

“It was both, I guess.” He frowns. “This might sound weird to you, but I just want to stay away from sex stuff for a while.”

I laugh into my coat collar. He’s got me so wrong.

Gage shoots me an uneasy look, frown cementing on his face. “I’m not laughing at you,” I say. “It’s just, you make me sound like some kind of sex addict and I’ve never actually done it. I’ve barely even … I mean, there’s only been one other guy that I’ve done
that
with.” I fight a blush.

The surprise shows in Gage’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you sound like a sex addict.” He smiles ruefully. “I guess we didn’t get a clear picture of each other last night.”

“I guess not.” I shift my head away from the window and sit up in my seat.

“I told you I wasn’t great at first dates,” he says.

“I didn’t believe you.” I’m kind of teasing and kind of not.

“I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or what,” Gage says, but he smiles wider so I guess he’s flattered.

I hope having this conversation will make things less weird the next time he comes in to Total. Jacob’s still giving off hostile vibes every time he sees me; I don’t need any more guy tension in my life. “At least we’ve had a chance to clear things up,” I say and thank him again for picking me up. Most guys wouldn’t do that if you’d gone off on them over the phone after only having been out with them once to begin with.

“No problem,” he tells me. “You seemed pretty upset so —”

“Yeah,” I cut in. I don’t want him to think the crying was because of him; I’m not that pathetic. “Going downtown today was a waste — I went looking for my brother. No one has seen him in months.” I briefly explain about Tuesday night and Devin’s drug problem. Not the details of what happened the morning he left, just the bare facts of him walking out on us.

“Devin LeBlanc?” Gage’s expression turns curious. “
That’s
your brother?”

“You know him?”

Gage scratches his chin. “Not personally, but we went to school together. I was a freshman when he was a senior. I remember him getting some math award near the end of second semester. Wasn’t he practically a genius?”

“He was. I don’t know how many brain cells he’s got left.” I feel guilty as soon as I say it, like being negative will invite more bad things into Devin’s life. “I didn’t know you went to Laurier.”

“It feels like ancient history,” Gage declares, and I remember him saying something similar last night. “I don’t know if this is a good time to ask this, but depending on your answer, there could be something I should tell you.” He goes quiet and points his sombre grey eyes at me.

I stare back, suspense rising until I have to ask, “What’s your question?”

Gage blinks, shifting his weight a little in his seat. “Do you think we’ll be hanging out in the future at all?”

“I don’t know.” I’m definitely not mad at him anymore but after this bizarre beginning I can’t picture how things would go with us. “Do you still want to?”

Gage tries to smile, but he looks like he’s about to break out in a sweat. “That’s what I’m asking
you
. Okay, look, I’m just going to come out with it anyway.” He motions over his shoulder. “You see the car seat?”

I peer into the back seat at the blue child’s car seat. It wasn’t there when we went out last night and when I climbed into the car a few minutes ago I was too upset to notice it.

“It’s not for a little brother or sister,” he continues, his cheekbones flaring and his eyes focused doggedly on the highway. “It’s my daughter’s.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

~

I’m conscious of taking too long to answer him, but in my mind I’m doing math — that’s not a baby’s car seat, just how old is his daughter, and how old would that have made Gage when she was born? My brain splutters with questions about his daughter’s mother — is she still in the picture and if so what does he think he’s doing asking me to hang out — as Gage glances at me from the corner of his eye with a resigned expression.

“Her mother and I aren’t together,” he says, like he can read my mind.

The honesty in his face and tone makes me nod that I believe him. Someone who wants to have a fling with me behind his girlfriend’s back would hardly tell me he wanted to stay away from sex. But the truth is a shock.

“You took the seat out of the car before we went out last night?” I ask finally. It was there the first night he drove me home from Total Drug Mart. I remember that now. On some level I must’ve assumed the most obvious explanation about a little brother or sister was the truth. The miniature chair hadn’t even formed a concrete question in my mind.

Gage slowly bobs his head. “It’s a lot to bring up on a first date. Not everybody can handle it, and I didn’t know if we were really going to click.”

I guess I wouldn’t want to drag out all my personal issues in front of someone I’d just met either, not that I’m calling his daughter an
issue
. I’m still just struggling to catch up with him.

“So how old is she?” I ask.

“Four.” Gage’s eyes mirror my surprise. “
I know.
I was really, really young. Thought my life was over and all that.” He taps the steering wheel. “But she’s great, so I can’t regret it.”

I think of the ladybug hairclips he bought at Total and the glittering pink heart sticker with a wobbly “A” printed on the other side and try to let the reality of what he’s saying sink in. “What’s her name?”

“Akayla.” He digs into his back pocket and hands me his wallet. “I have a couple of pictures of her in there.”

I flip it open, ignoring his driver’s licence and collection of bank cards, etc.

“In the side compartment,” he tells me, and the first thing I see is a photo of a sleeping baby with long eyelashes and dark curly hair. Her complexion’s pretty dark too, much darker than Gage’s, so her mother must be black. In the second picture a child-sized Akayla’s sitting on a couch with her legs crossed, her arms planted on her knees, and her fists tucked under her chin. Her hair is tied back, and she’s beaming into the camera like she loves getting her photo taken — either that or she loves the person taking it, which could very well be Gage, the nineteen-year-old guy next to me.

“She’s gorgeous,” I say honestly.

“Thanks.” He smiles proudly. By this time we’re almost at my turnoff and I have yet to answer his question about whether we’ll be seeing each other again in the future. Something tells me that he’s not going to ask again, that he’s just going to pull into my driveway and let me off the hook.

I slip the photos back into his wallet and set it down in the compart ment behind the gearshift. Since he’s been so truthful with me the least I can do is not leave him hanging. “Um … I’m not really looking for anything seriously long-term myself at the moment so …”

“Why would you be?” Gage says, like he agrees with me that casual is the way to go. “I’m not either. I just don’t think it’s fair to hide such a major thing from someone if we’re going to be hanging out. It’s the same as lying.

“But anyway,” he continues, “it’s cool if you’re not into the idea anymore. No harm done. I just thought I’d ask.”

“Hey,” I say it loudly, the same way I did last night when I told him to hold still so we could get down to some heavy kissing. “That wasn’t a no. With all the miscommunications we’ve had so far I just didn’t want to be unclear and lead you to believe that I’m ready to get ultraattached.” I’m making it sound like he asked me to marry him and become his daughter’s stepmom. I bite my tongue and cut to the chase. “But it’s cool with me if you want to call sometime.” I think I still want him to. I haven’t been able to calculate all the ways that Gage having a four-year-old could change things, but why get ahead of myself when he’s only saying he wants to hang out? “We can arrange a do-over.”

Gage gives me a grateful look. “I’ll wear a warmer coat,” he says, grin inching onto his lips. “I think maybe that’s where things went wrong. You did try to warn me.”

“I did.” I feel a smile burst onto my face too. This has been one weird day. My brain is still sorting through the backlog of emotions — disappointment (at not being able to find any trace of Devin downtown), last night’s anger with Gage (which no longer seems to make any sense), and Akayla’s existence. On top of that Gage is looking better than ever as he watches me beam at him, like my smile is making him grin even harder.

We flirt a bit, recovering some of the vibe we lost in a deserted industrial parking spot last night, and when he pulls up to my house I’m sorry that it’s time to get out of the car. “I’d ask you in,” I tell him, “but I don’t think you really want to sit down to dinner with my parents.”

“That could be weird,” he agrees. “I’d invite you over to my place, but that could be pretty weird too, and anyway, I’m low on food. I think all I have right now is a box of mac and cheese and frozen peas.”

“We’re not very gourmet at home these days either.” When Devin was home Mom made meals from scratch, but now most of our dinners come from the freezer or the deli next to my dad’s work.

“’Scuse me?” Gage says, pretending to be insulted. “Macaroni and cheese out of a box is better than gourmet if you know what you’re doing.”

“If you know what you’re doing?” I echo. “You mean, like, if you can
read
the instructions on the back of the box?”

Gage explains that there’s much more to it than that and says he’s ready to prove it if I want. I hesitate, wondering if we’d be eating with his daughter and whether that’s such a good idea. He reads my mind and adds, “Akayla won’t be around if that’s what you’re worried about. I have her a couple of nights a week but I’m on my own tonight.”

So we drive back to his place just around the corner from the rec centre on Laird. There’s a black Toyota Camry already in the driveway, which must belong to his mother. But since Gage has his own private entrance around the side of the house it turns out we don’t even have to see her. He leads me down to the basement and through a cozy-looking family room with matching floor lamps on either side of the chocolate brown couch. I understand right away why he told me we couldn’t come back here last night. Evidence of his daughter is everywhere. A folding pink castle, with three wooden royalty figures propped up against the interior walls, is spread out on the beige carpet. Two horse figures have been deserted on the couch next to a shimmering purple baseball hat with butterflies, flowers, and a mermaid pasted on its front. An empty plastic glass sits on the coffee table, which has some kind of stamping kit half-pushed under it. Gage reaches down to scoop up the glass as we head for the kitchen.

I’m impressed that everything’s as clean as it is. Sure there’s stuff left out in the family room but the carpet’s been vacuumed recently and the kitchen’s tile floor is spotless. “This is really nice,” I tell him.

Gage has a list of emergency numbers stuck to his fridge along with a wipe-off calendar that has Akayla’s visiting days clearly marked. I see another picture of her there too — a large fridge magnet with a photo of her in a crushed red velvet dress, sitting primly on an uncomfortable-looking wrought iron chair. She’s holding a plush lamb doll and smiling with her mouth closed. I stare at the image, trying to spot a resemblance to Gage but not finding one. Maybe she looks more like her mother.

“Thanks.” He motions to my coat. “Hey, you want me to hang that up? We missed the closet on the way in.”

“Oh, okay. Sure.” I wriggle out of my coat and hand it over. He said he wanted to stay away from sex and I know his daughter isn’t around so why am I so nervous? Messing things up more than we did last night doesn’t seem possible.

“So let me see this mac and cheese magic,” I say when he steps back into the room minus our coats. Suddenly my mouth is so dry that I’m afraid my smile will dissolve into dust on my lips.

“Maybe I should blindfold you first so you won’t give away my secrets,” Gage says. My cheeks burn at the mention of the word
blindfold
as though I really am a sex addict liable to pounce on him at any moment.

“I kinda don’t believe you have any secrets,” I joke, pushing my nerves down under my rib cage so he won’t be able to hear them in my voice.

“I think I’ve actually told you one of them already,” he says with a half grin. “Sit down.” He cocks his head at the fifties-style Formica table in the middle of the room. “You can watch me do my chef thing.”

I slip into the nearest chair and watch him pull the macaroni and cheese box from one of the higher cupboards. Then he checks the freezer and reports, “I have broccoli and peas. You want both of them, or are you the kind of person who’s not really into vegetables?”

“I like everything,” I tell him, my entire face on fire because of the multiple ways that sentence can be misconstrued. “Let me do something to help.”

If I could kiss him I wouldn’t have to think so much but there’s no way in hell I’ll be the one to make the first move — or even the second — after the way things went down last night outside J.N. Maltzar/Malezar.

“Okay.” He closes the freezer and swings open the fridge to reach for a package of shredded cheddar. “You boil the water and chuck the macaroni in. I’ll heat up the vegetables.”

We make macaroni and cheese Gage Cochrane–style, which is essentially what comes out of the box plus lots of extra shredded cheddar, a tablespoon of Dijon mustard, and peas and broccoli mixed in. It tastes pretty good, so I have to agree with him about his gourmet skills. We sit across the table from each other swallowing sparkling grape juice and pretending it’s not weird to be having dinner together in the place he sometimes shares with his four-year-old daughter.

“So is your daughter with her mom tonight?” I ask.

“Yeah.” Gage sets down his fork. “She spends a lot more time there but she has a room here too.”

I nod, thinking he’ll have more to say on the subject, but instead Gage goes, “I’m glad you came over. Every time I saw you at the store you looked so cute I couldn’t stop staring.”

“In that gross Total uniform — you have to be kidding.”

“Even in the uniform,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Out of the uniform’s better still, but even in the uniform.” Gage blushes as he realizes what he’s just said, and I’m glad to see that I’m not the only one who feels self-conscious.

We wash the dishes together and then try to find something on
TV
. Upstairs I can hear his mother walking around, banging cupboards open. The noise really carries. “So you and your mom normally do your own thing?” I ask. Gage stops clicking the remote and lets the
TV
rest on a
Game of Thrones
repeat.

“Mostly. She spends a lot of time at work. She and her best friend own a hair salon together. It’s their whole social hub.”

I pick up one of the wooden horse figures lying next to me on the couch and run my fingers down its tail. Gage smiles and motions to the pink castle on the floor. “You can play with it if you want. She wouldn’t mind.”

“I better not, I wouldn’t want to break anything,” I kid back. The urge to kiss him is so strong that it’s making my cheeks flush all over again.

Gage’s stare inches from my eyes all the way down to my knees and back again. “Maybe we could come up with something else to do instead. What do you think?”

“I think I’m kind of scared to after the way things went last night,” I say truthfully.

“Don’t be. We just won’t let things get out of hand this time.” He sets his palm down lightly on my thigh. “I’m sorry I flipped last night. I didn’t mean to scare you off.”

Gage’s front teeth peek out from under his top lip. His hand moves from my thigh to my hair. He lets a strand slip between two of his fingers before burying them in my hair, massaging the back of my neck. “I really wish …” His thought floats suspended in mid-air.

“What?” I can’t catch my breath.

“Nothing.” He leans in to kiss me, his bottom lip urging my mouth open. We kiss slowly, pacing ourselves. “You taste like macaroni and cheese,” he tells me, smiling into my face.

“You’re not supposed to tell me that.” I poke his stomach. “You’re supposed to say I taste good.” No way did I just say that. I blush so brightly that I could easily be mistaken for a Cortland apple.

“You do,” he says. “You’re delicious.” He cups my neck in both hands. I push my lips against his and then we’re all tongues swirling, his hands in my hair and one of mine up the back of his shirt. His chest’s so taut that I can’t keep my hands off him. Whatever he’s hauling around at the warehouse is obviously doing him a lot of good.

We kiss and kiss. Fast and slow. Deep and shallow. Soft and rough. The both of us tasting like Gage’s macaroni and cheese and me filling up on a warm, fuzzy feeling that used to wash over me whenever Jacob was being especially sweet.

“See,” Gage whispers in my ear, “nothing to be scared of.”