She patted my face. “You were gone long before you left for Juilliard.”
She moved away, taking a stack of books with her.
She was right and wrong. I’d stepped away from them when I’d found music, but it had saved me from feeling alone when Cass had been the center of their world. Ever since then, there were parts of my life?me?I kept far away from this house and this family, but I was still grounded in it. I still felt the love…mine for them and theirs for me.
Now, all the parts seemed to be colliding together. Tristan’s face flashed through my brain because, somehow, she was at the heart of the collision. I took out my phone and sent a simple text.
ME: I miss you.
It took her a few minutes to respond.
CARI: You’re not missing much.
ME: What are you doing right this minute?
CARI: We’re on the couch, watchingMama Miafor the hundred millionth time. Trust me, it isn’t something you’re missing.
She was wrong. The thought of being with them, cuddled together on the couch…it made me ache. It made me want to walk out of the room and let my parents do their thing, but I couldn’t. Not when the trust I was rebuilding was so fragile. Not when Dad was going to bat for me in a way I’d never known him to do before.
ME: That sounds way better than the paint-fumed hard labor I’m putting in.
CARI: You’re painting? I love painting.
ME: HAR. Not that kind of painting.
CARI: I love ANY kind of painting. Color layering over color. It changes things.
Change. God, my entire world had been flipped on its lid since coming home. I’d been aching for something since Christmas, but I hadn’t expected what I found to make me think the wild thoughts crossing my brain these days, like thoughts of staying in Grand Orchard permanently.
ME: You’ve changed me.
I texted it before allowing myself to doubt it, but then I immediately worried I’d said too much. Pushed her when she was barely acknowledging what was blooming between us. The dots came and went, but finally, she responded.
CARI: You’ve changed me too.
Those words filled my entire being with hope and pride and fucking joy. I needed to do something for them. For us. Together. Something more than just practicing music, and eating dinner, and making out like teens on the couch. Although, the making out was pretty damn good.
Dad saw me texting and the goofy smile on my face, and he stopped, taking me in for a second before smiling also.
“You’ve met someone,” he said. “Someone more than just a passing fling.”
More.
“How can you tell?” I asked, shoving my phone in my pocket and turning my attention to the painter’s tape and the baseboards.
“That expression. It isn’t just…you know…lust.”
I wanted to laugh at my dad trying to talk about sex with me. He’d failed completely and horribly when I was twelve, confusing me so much that Mom had to fix the bumbling images he’d created with real ones from a book.
“It is more than lust, and I’m worried I’ll screw it up,” I told him truthfully. “That I won’t be here for them like I haven’t always been here for Cass. For you.”
Dad stared at me for a long time. “You’re a good man, Cormac. Let your heart guide you, and everything else will work out.”
Then, he turned away to start mixing the paint.
I stared at the back of his head for a long moment. I’d never had a problem following my heart, but when I was younger, that had been wrapped in teenage selfishness. My heart had always directed me to my music. Now, it seemed to be directing me to people. My family. Tristan. Hannah. Those thoughts were accompanied by a sudden rush of lyrics and a melody, but I pushed it aside so I could be present with the people in the room.
The music could wait.
