I shove a french fry in my mouth and watch her steal five from my plate. “And I think you’ve had too many years with a good dad to know what it’s like when one isn’t around.”
Sage snorts. “I know plenty about him not being around.”
“Okay, but there’s a difference between someone being gone because he’s working two jobs to support his family, and someone not staying long enough to meet his kid in the first place.”
“Yeah, I guess there is.”
The next day, I pull up the last DM from my father and respond with a few excuses about why I’m busy for a while. He doesn’t argue—maybe he doesn’t like to fight either—and we make plans for a couple of days after Supine plays for V, Riley, me, and any wayward country rock fans who might be drinking that night.
Supine. Lying on one’s back. Or passive in a way that suggests moral weakness—a failure to act, maybe. Submission. I’m well-versed in enough of those concepts to appreciate the band’s name, whether it has a deep meaning for them or was pickedwhen one of them threw a dart at a dictionary. If Drew Barrett and I run out of things to talk about at lunch, I suppose I could ask.
Either way, I have a lot going on at the bar, but I miss Jake, too. He makes it to trivia night, and when the host asks who sang backup on Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain,” something about the question leaves him staring at me before I stick out my tongue and answer—correctly—Mick Jagger. Still, everyone else is around us, and I can’t kiss the expression off his face. His goodnight is no different from the ones that came before the past few months, and I pretend I don’t notice.
I go in search of something better, though. After the first couple of bands audition, both of them entertaining enough for everyone to have a good time, V offers to close, and I wind up in WeHo, drunk in a club I rarely dance in. When grinding against strangers in the middle of a crowded floor leaves me sweaty and close enough to high, I come down on a walk that leads me past Mason’s studio and Adrian’s gallery. I wonder whether Jake ever went back to buy a picture, and hate that I haven’t been in his bedroom recently enough to check for one there.
I go home to sleep alone.
And I keep chasing things I can’t name.
Jake and I text. Beau and I text. I see Riley at work. Noah is the only one who stops by for a drink during trivia night that week. I visit Sage twice, and she doesn’t ask why. My apps bore me, so I go for a drive to nowhere and back, and I try so hard to avoid thinking about the man who doesn't think about me.Drew Barrett had texted to let me know he'll be at the upcoming audition, but I can't imagine I kept his attention long after that.
I hate that I don't know how to forget about him first, and I pace behind the bar the night Supine will play. Riley grabs a pen and a coaster, advice going in the opposite direction tonight.
Sometimes the keg room can be a good place to hide in the dark. It’s quieter there, too. You don’t have to bring anyone with you if you just want a break.
“Before or after I see my father?”
“Whenever you need it,” Riley says. “You’re not the only one who can cover for a friend.”
I smile, tucking the coaster into my back pocket. “Sometimes it feels likefriendisn’t the right word for whatever all of us are.”
“All of us?”
“I don’t know—you, me, Beau, Adrian, Jake, Noah.”
“Beau’s your ex-husband. Is that a better word?”
“No.”
“Darren! Great to see you again!”
Riley and I both turn at the sound of a too-friendly greeting, though I can’t tell whether it’s been made fake by dishonesty or nerves. My father is approaching the bar, and most people around don’t seem to care, but V steps closer to me, and it’s only now that I realize I should’ve given her a heads up. The back of Riley’s hand brushes against mine, and it means everything.
“Welcome back,” I say. Then I lean to look past him at the group of four loaded with instruments and other gear. “I guess that’s Supine?”
Drew nods. “Maxwell Kerr, Banjo Kaminski, Layla Martello, and Sebastian Sadler.”
Thick glasses and freckles for days. A long-ass beard and tight-ass jeans. A leather bustier and a purple braid to rival V’s gray one. A mess of soft caramel curls and striking green eyes.
My father still looks too much like me.
When I forget to say anything else, V speaks to the band, guarded on my behalf. “You can pile any extra stuff in the corner for now. Get everything set up and start playing whenever you’re ready. You’ve got an hour for your set—less than that if you cause everyone to leave.”
“What if they cause people to stay?” Drew asks.
“Darren and Riley already do that,” V answers. “And you are?”
She must’ve figured it out already, but the question pulls the cockiness from my father’s smile, and he holds out his hand. “Drew Barrett. Darren’s dad, and a friend of the band. Really just here for moral support, so I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”