Sometimes, we just need people to hear us. It sounds like Andrea’s wanted someone to hear her for a long time.
And maybe I’m not the right one, the best one, the person who really needs to hear all of this.
Still, I can stand in, let her relieve some of the pressure until she’s ready to talk to the folks she truly needs.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Sometimes our friends are dumb when they’re trying to distract us. And our parents do even dumber stuff when they’re trying to figure out how to help us after…” I make a helpless gesture. “After all that.”
Andrea gives me a miserable look. I think she’s hiding behind her mug so I don’t see how her lips tremble to match her voice.
“What do you know?” she whispers.
Her hostility doesn’t bother me. She’s young, drunk, miserable.
I’ve been there.
So I just smile, taking a bracing sip of tea. “My dad died when I was a few years younger than you,” I say. “And my mom didn’t know how to handle it. She kinda turned into an asshole.”
Andrea’s eyes widen, as if she can’t believe an adult just cursed in front of her. She glances around quickly like she’s waiting for someone to pop up and catch us, before lowering her eyes to her tea. The steam piping up makes her hair curl and frizz, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “That’s…yeah. Mom died like today. Not today today, but…this is the day. Four years ago.” She swallows, her eyes glimmering. “And my dad’s so stupid. He always says the wrong thing.”
“Dads usually do.” I hesitate, considering what to offer, and then try, “Even my dad sometimes, and he was amazing. I think that’s what hurt the most, when he died and Mom changed. It’s like she forgot everything she loved about him that was so free, so wild. She turned into the total opposite. It felt like she was trying to erase every part of me that was like him, so I wouldn’t grow up to be him and then die and leave her, too.”
“Yes!” It comes out of Andrea in an aching cry, one that nearly breaks my heart. “It’s like, fine. I know Mom and Dad were gonna split up anyway, but I’d rather have her divorced and alive, but it’s like…like he doesn’t even want to think about her and doesn’t want me to either. Maybe he didn’t love her anymore, but I did!”
“Andrea…” I set my tea down on the coffee table and shift closer to her, carefully slipping my arm around her shoulders. “It’s probably just that he doesn’t know how to show his feelings in front of you. It’s complicated for him, I’d bet.”
Instead of pulling away from me like I half expect, she rests her mug on her knee so she can turn into me, hiding her face in my shoulder.
“It doesn’t have to be that complicated,” she mumbles against me. “If he’d just be honest.”
“Yeah, well, men are kind of like that.” I smile slightly, giving her a squeeze. “Hey. You ever been to Oahu?”
The distraction works.
She perks, lifting her head a little to peer at me curiously. “Isn’t that in Hawaii? No way, I’ve never left here.”
She says it with the scorn of any small-town girl who’s longing for new skies. I can’t help laughing.
“Yes, Hawaii. Home sweet home. You should ask your father to take you some day. I think you’d like it, even if it’s hot.”
“Awesome. I’m so sick of it always being rainy or snowy or just plain drab around here. It only gets really bright in the summer, and even then it’s never hot.” Andrea wrinkles her nose. “Plus, I doubt Dad would take me somewhere that cool.”
I frown. “Who is your dad, anyway?”
She doesn’t even get a chance to answer. There’s a knock at my door, sharp enough to rattle the doorframe, but with a certain restraint.
Who in the heck, at this time of night…?
The last thing I expect when I peer over my shoulder and through the glass of the door is him.
Blake.
Mr. Grumpy Silver Tongue himself.
From the frozen look on Andrea’s face…well, now I know who Daddy Dearest is.
And I also know Silver Tongue isn’t too far off from Silverton.
“Hey,” I promise her, giving her another squeeze before standing, keeping my voice low. “It’ll be okay. I won’t squeal about the liquor, but maybe take a few more sips of that tea.”
Wide-eyed, she nods, lifting the mug to her lips while I cross to the door.
Blake looks particularly intimidating in the light falling through the glass. Big arms folded over his chest, thickly honed forearms bulging against the sleeves of his coat, his mouth set like a steel trap.
Yikes.
But I smile ever so sweetly anyway, pulling the door open.
“Hey!” I say. “I’m guessing the lost kitten here is yours?”