Surge

24

Great. Now if I say I’ll go to the grocery store, too, I’ll look like I’m running away from Dixie.

I couldn’t be sure if Maeve was setting me up or not. At this point, I was starting to learn that she had creative ways of getting what she wanted and somehow making people think that it was either their idea or that it happened by accident. Her demure, wide brown eyes, French schoolgirl bob, and pixie nose made her appear both younger and more innocent than she was.

But I knew about the nipple clamps. And where there were nipple clamps, there was trouble.

I was one to usually clear the air. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to have some big discussion. Dixie and I needed to eventually say what needed to be said. Truthfully, she needed to apologize for being nasty all those times when I’d first started coming around. I wanted an apology more for Maeve than for me. Dixie’s behavior had been a huge source of embarrassment for Maeve, and that wasn’t fair.

Suddenly, I wondered if Dixie was going to act entitled and simply pretend it hadn’t happened. Maybe she would just let time pass and tell herself that because I didn’t mention it, I’d forgotten. And that? That was something I could deal with and tolerate but I didn’t want to be close friends with it. Hell, I didn’t want my mom being close friends with it. I was a guy who liked most people but the ones I couldn’t get along with were those who didn’t understand what accountability was.

Maybe I’d grown suddenly bitter with the diagnosis. I didn’t want to waste my time with any bullshit anymore. One thing was certain. I didn’t want this right now. I’d already told Maeve we’d talk about my dad today.

Thankfully, it wasn’t my move to make. When my mom and Maeve left, I excused myself, too. “Thanks for breakfast, Dixie. It was delicious.” I hitched my thumb. “Just going to see if I can work on some music.”

“Oh?” Dixie leaned her elbows on the kitchen counter and peered at me. “You feelin’ up to it today?”

“I can’t imagine a day I won’t. Anyway,” I turned to leave, “thanks again. You really didn’t have to. I’ll see you laaa…”

“Drake, can you sit down for a minute? Just give me five?”

Aaaaand cue the soap opera…

I turned on a dime but didn’t take a step toward her. “Yup. Course. Everything all right?”

“Just…” She walked around to one side of the island and pulled a stool out. “Sit. It might be five. Might be more.”

Much as I’d thought I didn’t want this today, much as I also began to question how a frank conversation might ruin all of this for my mom and make her being in LA more stressful, Dixie found the courage to break the ice, and when someone did that, well, you gave them the time.

I perched on a stool, and she took one across from me, propped her feet on a spindle, placed her hands on her knees, and drew in a deep breath. Maeve’s figure was a lot like Dixie’s. They were both petite in stature but somehow appeared larger than life. Optical illusions that would fuck you up. A lesser man stood no chance.

But that I wasn’t. Neither in size, nor in heart, and I reminded myself of this as I shook the sixteen-year-old boy off my shoulder who just wanted to be alone with his guitar.

“I didn’t want to play house for too long before having a proper sit down with you, Drake. The way I treated you when you first started coming around was not acceptable.”

Well, there we have it. Good. “I get it. You were having a tough time.”

“That doesn’t mean I was allowed to use you as a human punching bag. And really, you need to know, it wasn’t even the thing with the ashes that set me off. It was…” She shook her head and dropped her gaze. “It was how, just how much like Mitch you are.”

What? This was the last thing I’d expected her to say. I’d thought, hoped rather, that she might just admit to having a tough time, apologize, and we were done. This was a can of worms almost as big as my dad. “Really?”

“Yes. You really, really are. I mean, you look very different, of course. He was a kind of dark Irish type of guy, not quite as tall as you, but you two are almost carbon-copy souls. Maeve told me all about you. Before you even came that first time. She told me about you, after you visited in Seattle. And then I met you? You would have been best friends with my late husband, I tell you.”

Flattering as it was to be compared with the legendary Mitch Lewis, worshipped by everyone I admired myself, so this was saying a lot, I couldn’t let a little compliment wash us clean. “It’s some way to treat a person you should in theory like.”

She nodded then quickly tapped her nails on the counter, getting up with a start. “Would you like another coffee?”

“No, thanks.” I really didn’t. But it probably came off like I was trying to get to the punchline quickly.

She sat again. “Drake, I’m ashamed to admit this… and I actually haven’t told anyone but you.” She swallowed hard. “When I was in therapy, I—and this is damn hard to say—but I realized that I couldn’t bear to see love blossoming around me in my grief. Especially not when it would be like watching myself and Mitch falling for each other, playing out like some movie.

“Now I hope you don’t take it lightly, me sharing this with you. It would have been easier to look you in the eye and tell you my grief took over and all along it’d just been the bourbon talking. But really, it was a bit like,” she inhaled and let it go loudly, “you know when a friend starts seeing someone and you feel…”

“Jealous?”

She nodded. “I know it sounds terrible. But that was my path of grief. I settled into the angry stage real quick, and unfortunately, both you and Maeve got the short end of that. But especially you. She broke up with you because of me…”

“Not entirely.”