The Sweetest Thing You Can Sing (21 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

~

IZZY SIDLES UP TO
me as I leave history class the next day and asks when I was planning to tell her the news. She says she knows we’re not as close as before I started hanging out with Nicole and Genevieve but she thought we were still friends.

Of course we’re still friends. At least, I hope so.

I spend most of the day wishing I’d kept my relationship with Gage under wraps. Marguerite ignores the topic entirely but acts like she’s semi-pissed with me anyway. When I try to talk to Genevieve about it she tells me she doesn’t think there’s any point because the subject will just make us fight, which is true but doesn’t make me feel better because the strain between us is just as strong as it was yesterday. Nicole’s communication with me is as minimal as possible, and even Mr. Cushman, who couldn’t care less who I’m dating, is extra mean to me, complaining that I’m obviously a million miles away and that he’s tired of seeing the “keen disinterest” in my face day after day.

“What did I just say?” he demands. “Would you care to prove me wrong and quote what I said to your classmates while you were zoning out moments ago?”

“Sir, we weren’t listening either,” Jon Wheatley quips.

Most of the class laughs, but the most I can manage is a smile, which I direct at Jon Wheatley as a kind of thank you.

By the end of last period I’m so drained that I could curl up at the foot of my locker and take a nap, either that or devour a six-slice Bacon Chicken Mushroom Melt pizza solo.

Aya’s leaning against my locker when I get there, which means the napping idea is out. “Hola,” she says with a smile.

“Hi.” I haven’t had the Gage discussion with Aya yet, and I wish we could skip it entirely.

“I just thought you should know that Joyeux and I are going out this Saturday,” she says. “So you’re not the only one who hasn’t reformed herself.”

“You and Joyeux? Are you serious?” I flash a smile back at her. “What are you going to do about the height differential?” I knew something was up when I saw them together yesterday. They looked abnormally happy in each other’s company.

“What can I say, I like tall guys.”

“You and Joyeux,” I repeat. “That’s good news. You see?” I bump her arm. “You’re not bitter.”

“I think I still am a bit,” she confesses. “Just not with Joyeux. And you” — she raises one eyebrow — “you can really keep a secret, can’t you?”

“It looks that way. Did you hear about Gage’s daughter and everything too?”

“From Nicole,” Aya tells me. “She wasn’t badmouthing you or anything, just filling me in.”

“Hey!” someone booms from behind me. I know the voice too well to be pleased to hear it address me. Aya’s eyes sharpen as she casts a cutting stare behind me.

Jacob leans his shoulder against the locker next to mine and lowers his voice. “With all the shit I’m hearing about you lately, I don’t know where your head is at. But I didn’t think you were the type who liked to share, so maybe you want to talk to your boyfriend about his habit of hooking up with his ex.” Jacob smirks, pushes his weight off the locker, and struts away from us.

“I’m sure that’s complete
B.S
.,” Aya tells me. “Jacob’s been mad at you ever since you dumped him. He probably doesn’t even know Gage.”

“I know. I just wish everyone would stay out of my business.” I realize how that could be misconstrued and backpedal. “I don’t mean you. I mean people who want to tell me what to do.”

“Like me with my cousin the other day,” Aya says wryly. “Sometimes people are just concerned. Not Jacob, obviously!”

“Obviously,” I repeat. I’d never take Jacob’s word for anything, and I hate to admit it, but doubt is lining the bottom of my stomach. How do I know Gage hasn’t hooked up with his ex recently? He sees Christabelle all the time. Her brother is his very best friend. But would they still be best friends if Gage hadn’t seen his daughter for years? That doesn’t seem likely. At least
some
of what I’m hearing has to be a lie.

***

Work’s the best cure for my racing head. The weekend shifts can get pretty crazy, and on Saturday Ki jokes that they should provide us with free adult diapers so we can skip bathroom breaks. “And hook us up to an
IV
,” I suggest. “That way they can eliminate the concept of breaks altogether.”

Mr. Lapatas shows up in my line in mid-afternoon and buys paper towels, mouthwash, and echinacea. “I didn’t know you worked here,” he says, smiling like he’s glad to see me. He’s got what has to be at least day-old beard growth on his chin, and it looks good on him.

“Since before Christmas,” I tell him, holding up his echinacea. “Are you getting a cold?”

“It feels that way, but I’m not giving in without a fight.” As he grabs his bags he adds, “I’ll let Nicole know I ran into you.”

“Tell her I say hi.” I could call her anytime myself — I don’t think she’d hang up on me or anything extreme — but I don’t want to have to fight my way through her disappointment in me.

My Total Drug Mart shift’s over at eight, so it’s still early when Dad picks me up. Gage and I aren’t seeing each other until tomorrow, and I haven’t made any other plans. I lie on the couch and watch
Mamma Mia
on MuchMusic. In the movie nobody really cares that Meryl Streep slept with three different guys within the space of a few weeks and therefore doesn’t know who the father of her daughter is. Everybody dances and sings while looking blond, gorgeous, and like they know with absolute certainty that everything will turn out okay in the end. If Nicole were watching with me she’d make me get up and dance too.

Even without her,
Mamma Mia
puts me in a good mood and I’m sure I sound happy when I answer my ringing phone. “You must be watching Much,” Morgan comments. “I can hear Abba in the background.” I guess my brother knows the MuchMusic schedule by heart.

“They’re not bad,” I tell him.

“Of course they’re not bad, Serena. They’re Abba.” Morgan chuckles at my adolescent ignorance. He probably figured out Abba were good just after he stopped wetting the bed. “Listen, Jimmy was suggesting we have you over for dinner, but I was wondering if we should try to rope Mom and Dad into coming along too. You know, get them out of the house for a change. Hit a restaurant in Yorkville or something.”

“Sure, if you think you can convince them to go.”

“I’ll give it my best shot. Unless you’d rather keep them out of it. How’re you getting along with them these days?” Morgan and I had a similar conversation about ten days ago, during which I explained that my parents and I were back on an even keel, but now my assurances are followed by a more challenging question. “And what about that guy — you still hanging out too?”

I tighten my grip on my cell. “That’s kind of a nosy thing to ask, don’t you think?”

“I’m just making conversation, Serena. Sometimes I get the feeling you don’t want to talk to me.”

Poor baby. Excuse me if I don’t idolize Morgan the way everyone else seems to and make things feel like work for him from time to time.

“You’re touchy today,” I tell him, my voice brightening so he’ll sound like the one with the problem instead of me. “If you really want to know, I
am
still seeing him. I even met his daughter the other day.” I’ve decided to go with the casual approach, as in
doesn’t everyone have a kid with their ex these days
?

“His daughter?” Morgan repeats. “How old is this guy?”

“Nineteen.”

“Okay,” Morgan says after a moment. “Is that weird? I mean, for you?”

“I haven’t really seen her much.” My palms have broken out in a sweat. “She’s not with him all the time.” Time to bail out with a little white lie before the questions can get any tougher. “Anyway, Morgan, I should get off the phone. My friends are on their way over to pick me up. Let me know what’s going on with the dinner plans.”

“Yeah … will do,” Morgan says, like he’s still trying to catch up with the conversation.

I hang up and evaluate Morgan’s reaction. It was light years better than Genevieve’s and Nicole’s, but still, why does everyone have to get weird about Gage being a father? It’s not like he’s setting me up to be Akayla’s stepmom or something. We’re only hanging out with each other a couple of times a week max, and no one but Jimmy knows how I really feel about him.

I’m not altogether sure I know how I feel myself. Everything’s so confusing that part of me wants to stop thinking about him period. That same part wants to call Genevieve and Nicole to come pick me up like the past few days never happened.

Then there’s another part that makes me drag Gage into the house to meet my parents when he rings the doorbell on Sunday afternoon. Up until now I’ve made sure I was the one to answer the door every time, and if I subtract sex (which we pretty much ruled out after the first date) so far it seems as if most of the angst has been on my side.
I haven’t even told Gage what my friends have been saying about him because I haven’t worked out a way to soften the negativity.

On the upside, Gage is good with my parents. He shakes my father’s hand and says that it’s really icy on the road today. Mom says that she hates the way winter gets into your bones, and Gage agrees that it’s awful and says he thinks the entire country must have a mild form of seasonal affective disorder. Dad wants to know if Gage has snow tires, and they start discussing things like treads and stopping distances. That could go on forever, and after a few minutes I’m forced to interrupt and say we should get going.

We’re only heading over to the mall, but I don’t want to thoroughly turn Gage off with overexposure to my parents. I’m pretty quiet in the car, but when we’re crossing the parking lot Gage starts talking about how hungry he is because he overslept and skipped breakfast. Seems like he was at Denny’s half the night with Damien and some other guys, eating burgers and steaks after a late-night hockey game.

“I didn’t know you still played hockey,” I say. I thought he was all about soccer these days.

“Pick-up hockey. Yeah, sometimes.”

I can’t stop going over more important questions in my mind, and I suck in my cheeks and look away. “Are you okay?” Gage asks.

“I’m fine.” I toss my hair back, faking confidence. “I’m just having stupid issues at school, people saying stuff about us.”

“About us?” Gage echoes. “Is that asshole spreading rumours again?”

“Not him.” By this time we’re inside the mall, wandering past Tim Hortons. “My ex and my friends.” Why did I drag Jacob into this? Damn. “My friends are just concerned, with you having a history.”

“A history?” Gage stops walking. His eyebrows leap towards each other, his arms knotting in front of his chest. “What exactly do you mean? What are people saying?”

I’ve stopped too. I turn to face him. “My ex, who you know is a complete prick, said you still hook up with Christabelle, and one of my friends said you barely saw your daughter for years.” I feel my face drop, weighed down by tension and a gnawing sadness I haven’t been able to shake since I sat in the back of Genevieve’s car with her and Nicole. “My friends were pissed off that I didn’t tell them about you earlier too — well, most of them were. So now things are weird between us.”

Confusion whips across Gage’s face. He glances down at my feet in silence.

“And I’m confused,” I admit. “Because I don’t want to believe those things and I know they’re just repeating stuff they’ve heard. But where did it all come from?”

Gage’s eyes zoom up to meet mine, his arms springing apart to hang awkwardly at his sides. “So what if it’s true?” His pupils are solemn, and I watch him fill with a tiredness that spreads from the inside out.

“It can’t be,” I mumble. Hearing it from his own mouth, I still can’t quite believe it. He wouldn’t do this to me.

“Not exactly in the way that it sounds, maybe,” Gage says, “but I wasn’t around for Akayla as much as I should’ve been until last spring. For a long time I just couldn’t deal with it. And then when I could, Christabelle’s folks were still mad at me and didn’t trust me. I don’t blame them either. It’s not something I’m proud of or like to think about. It took a while to convince them I really wanted in on all the child care stuff.”

Gage’s hands lose themselves in his pockets. “I don’t see what any of that has to do with you, though. Unless it’s just blown your image of me.” He searches my eyes for confirmation, and when I don’t say anything he adds, “Christabelle and I aren’t together like that. We haven’t been in years.”

“How many years?” I ask in a thick voice.

“Two,” he says with a sigh. “I can’t believe the way high school has come back to haunt me.” He shakes his head, his cheeks reddening. “It was only for a couple of weeks, years after we’d broken up. But when Christabelle saw I still wasn’t ready to be a father, she stopped things. And it was for the best. She’s great, but we weren’t right for each other. We were only kids when we were first together; we hardly knew who we were ourselves. Everything’s changed since then, including me. Christabelle isn’t something you need to worry about — we’re over with for good.”

Gage turns and begins walking again. “So much for not getting serious,” he says over his shoulder. “Now you know my whole life story.”