Something Real (30 page)

“Drink that up, or I’ll never hear the end of it from your mother.”

Is he playing cool dad—or is this how he would have been anyway? I open my mouth to argue, but then the room starts to spin, so I bring the glass to my lips.

“I still don’t understand,” I say. “Why didn’t you try harder to see us?”

“I did. But you always refused to come to the phone. You never answered any of my letters or e-mails. The last thing you said to me was that you hated me and never wanted to speak to me again.”

“Yeah, but … but you’re not supposed to give up!”

Dad keeps his eyes on his plate. Something about the sagging defeat in his face causes all those hurtful memories to add up.

“You never wanted this, did you? You didn’t leave because of … because of
her.
You left because of
us
.”

My voice is soft, not accusing. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I’m finally getting it. It’s despicable—
he’s
despicable—but I now understand season twelve, when he bought sports cars and took “business trips” to Vegas.

“It all happened so fast,” he whispers. His eyes are glassy, far away, like he’s watching his life play out on a big-screen TV.

“It was a joke between your mother and me—a baker’s dozen! We were only twenty-two, you know. By the time I was twenty-three, we had you, Ben, and Lex.”

Four and a half years older than I am right now. Shit. Here he is, a divorced father of thirteen … and he’s only forty. Most of my friends’ parents are the same age as my grandparents. No wonder Dad freaked out. Still, that doesn’t make it okay to do what he did.

He looks at me, and I nod for him to go on.

“We had both just finished college, and I had a crappy job in a cubicle. Your mom wanted a baby so badly, but the doctors said it was impossible. We knew we could never afford the fertility treatments. She was so sad … it broke my heart. Hell, we were high school sweethearts.”

That’s the most depressing part about the whole thing. People who have prom pictures together should never get a divorce.

“Anyway, she wrote MetaReel, told them about our plans. I never expected them to be interested. I thought, What was the harm in letting Beth have a little hope? But then we got the call. You should have seen the look on her face. She acted like she’d won the lottery. And, I guess in a way, she had.
We
had. Once they interviewed us and decided on the show … I mean, it seemed like we’d be crazy to turn it down. And when the treatments worked, and we got you … it felt like it was all worth it. For a while, it was great. It really was.”

I don’t realize I’m crying until I taste the salt on my lips. Dad reaches out and touches his fingertips to my cheek, and this makes me cry harder. For just a second, I lean against his upturned palm.

“Daddy, I…”

Mom never has time. Even after Kirk, there’s only so much of her to go around. She doesn’t know about Patrick, that he even exists. I want to tell Dad how I have this fantasy of Patrick coming to my house to pick me up for a date and how he would call Dad
sir
and shake his hand. Dad would make jokes about having a shotgun and then I’d say
Dad, you’re embarrassing me
. The only person who’s always had my back in this whole world is Benny, and he’s great, but he’s not a substitute for the man sitting in front of me.

“I tried my best to be a good dad, I really did,” he says. “But I was so young. It was just … too much.”

“But we’re still here,” I whisper.

“Yes. You are.”

We don’t stay at the restaurant much longer. Though there are a million things I could say, I feel like I need to let this soak in for a while. I’m glad Dad doesn’t make any promises, and I don’t ask him to. Will I see him again? I honestly don’t know.

“Are you sure you can drive?” I ask.

He nods. “Of course.”

I watch him walk ahead of me, and he doesn’t stumble or sway. He must be drinking quite a bit for three margaritas not to affect his motor skills. They made him pretty honest, though.

When Dad pulls into the Taft lot, I hesitate, my hand on the door handle. We lock eyes, and I’m surprised to see parts of myself in his face—the green eyes, the long bridge of my nose.

“I love you, Bonnie™.”

I can’t say it back, and I’m not sure if I believe him. Instead I nod and open the door. There’s a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, but he smiles. The bell rings—if I hurry, I can make it to Spanish. I watch him drive away and then I turn back toward school and the life I’ve made for myself without him.

SEASON 17, EPISODE 20

(The One with the Notebook)

There’s a soft knock on my bedroom door later that night. I was expecting it earlier, but Mom was busy with tantrums and dinner. My head is pounding from too much tequila—too much Dad
—
and I really don’t want to have this conversation, but I slide my journal under my mattress and open the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Mom sits on the edge of my bed, and I sink into the desk chair. “You doing all right?” she asks.

I nod, but just that one motion makes me wince.

“Yeah.”

She crosses her arms. “You don’t
seem
all right.”

I shrug. If she finds out Dad let me drink, the fallout will be fodder for next week’s episode. “I mean, it was hard. And unexpected. I wish you’d told me about it.”

I play with a pencil, to give my hands something to do. I don’t know if Dad told her how he never wanted all of us, but now I will always see her differently. Not as a mom, but as a woman. I wonder how bad the hurt is when someone falls out of love with you.

“I couldn’t,” she says. “Chuck would have found out, and the cameras would have been there. I wanted to give you privacy. I felt like … like I owed you that.” She hesitates, and I notice the lines in her face, the wisp of gray showing at her roots. “Honey, I’m so sorry about Thanksgiving.”

I have a whole rant I was saving up, about how I couldn’t trust her anymore and she was letting Chuck control our lives, but now it seems beside the point. I’m finally realizing that
both
my parents left a long time ago. She just happens to still live here.

“I heard you and Chuck—the night Benny and I were babysitting. You
let
him talk you into it. You knew about it.” I stare at her. “How could you do that?”

She shifts her weight, looks at her hands. “I have to choose my battles with MetaReel. I really felt this was one I had to let them win.” Tears spill onto her cheeks, a little river of mascara that trickles down her Lancôme mask. “But when everyone started fighting, I realized I’d made the wrong choice. And I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

I can feel my pulse in my head, and when I touch my cheeks, my skin burns my fingertips. The Excedrin isn’t helping. I can’t deal with a hangover and two broken parents in one day.

“Sure, Mom. Whatever.”

There’s a heaviness between us. Maybe it’s always been there, but I feel it now more than ever. Because
sorry
just isn’t good enough. How do you say sorry for damaging someone’s life?

“Do you want to talk about lunch?” she asks, wiping at her face.

I gesture to the notebook and piles of textbooks on my desk. “I’ve got a ton of homework, and I’m pretty tired.”

I know this is the part where I’m supposed to hug her, tell her it’s okay. Give her a tissue or something.

I don’t.

She stands and rubs her palms against her skirt. “All right, then I’ll leave you to it.” She crosses over to me and kisses my head. “I really am sorry.”

I ignore her and turn to my homework, but when she opens the door, she stops. “Look, I know this is terrible timing, but I don’t want you to be confused tomorrow. They’re going to start assigning individual cameras to you, Benny, and Lex.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

She shrugs. “Chuck thinks it’d be good to get you guys on your way to school or when you go out with your friends.” Her eyes flick over my panicked face and her voice takes on that high I’m-lying-to-you tone. “It’s no big deal, Bonnie™. It won’t be every time. Just to give some context to the whole show. You three are gone so much.”

“Mom, that is so not cool. No one is going to want to go
anywhere
with me!”

I was hoping that the Vultures would get bored with us after a while and I’d be able to go out more. Patrick and I still haven’t had a real date, and I miss the Tower District and hanging out at Mer’s or Tessa’s.

“Sweetie, I think your friends would be really excited to have the chance to be on TV. The guys Kirk works with don’t mind. The cameras are always on-site with him—half the time they forget they’re even there. It’s no big deal.”

The condescending tone grates on my nerves, and my head hurts so freaking bad, why did I drink those margaritas, why did Dad
let
me? I don’t even think, I just throw. I gasp as the notebook leaves my hand and flies toward her. She shoots out a hand and knocks it down, and we just stare at each other for a second, panting. Then she crosses the room in three quick strides and slaps my face. Hard.

I cry out—from the shock or the pain, I’m not sure—but she just stands over me, her mouth a straight, hateful line. Everything in me begs to slap her right back. I’m not sure why I don’t.

“You’re really turning into a little bitch, you know that?” she says.

Mom’s voice slices into me, cutting away the shred of respect I have left for her. I want the world to see this, right now. This is Beth Baker-Miller in all her glory.

“You hit me,” I say, hardly able to believe it. My parents have never hit me. Ever.

Mom’s jaw tightens as Kirk and a cameraman step into the room.

“What’s going on in here? We heard you all the way downstairs.”

Me, talking over Kirk: “Get out,” I say to the camera. “You’re not allowed in my room. No bedrooms, no bathrooms.”

But he doesn’t leave.

I can see Benny and Lex and a few of the other kids crowding in the hallway. Lacey Production Assistant stands behind them, furiously texting. The word
bitch
seems to echo in my ringing ears, over and over. I put my hand up to my burning cheek.

“I’m not going to live in a house where my seventeen-year-old daughter throws things at me,” Mom says.

“Then don’t have strangers with cameras follow me around everywhere!” I shout.

“Bonnie™, don’t speak to your mother that way,” says Kirk. “You need to channel your anger into something more productive, like—”

“Who the hell are
you
? You’re just some dude hitching a ride,” I snarl.

I don’t know if that was me or residual drunkenness speaking, but either way, it feels damn good to say.

“That’s it!” Mom screams. “Do you want to go live with your father? Would that make you happy?”

“Oh, you mean with the guy who never wanted any of us in the first place? Sure, why don’t I go live with him? That’s a freaking
great
idea!”

Two seconds ago, I thought I could never be angry enough with her to tell her what Dad had said. What kind of person am I turning into?

Mom’s face pales, and she shrugs Kirk off when he tries to put a hand on her arm. She backs away, toward the door, her eyes two sharp pieces of flint.

“Go to your rooms,” she says to everyone in the hallway. I hear whispers, but I don’t know what my siblings are saying.

She turns back to me, her hand on the knob. “You’re grounded.”

I can’t help it; I start laughing. “What do you call this?” I ask, gesturing to the air around me.

She slams the door, and I flip her off, though she’ll never see it. Hate is a lot like love. It’s warm and fills you up until every part of you is tingling to release it.

*   *   *

It’s Tuesday night, and the most recent episode of
Baker’s Dozen
is about to start. Though I’d been grounded since Friday, Mom said I could come over to Tessa’s to “study.” Truth is, I’d finally decided I was ready to watch an episode of the show, but I didn’t want to do it alone. Tessa’s wearing her Hello Kitty killing a TV T-shirt to commemorate the event. Her parents had refused to sign a waiver, so Chuck deemed it pointless to send a camera guy with me. Small victories.

“This is kind of bizarre, watching the show with you,” Mer says as she finishes up the glittery polish on her nails.

Tessa switches on the TV in her bedroom and flips through channels until she gets to MetaReel.

I nod. “Tell me about it.”

Tessa throws me a sympathetic look. “Are you
sure
you want to watch this?”