Page 108 of Score
“Hell no.” I take out two containers. “I have somebody who cooks for me. My time is precious, Vee. Don’t you know I’m a famous musician now?”
She settles onto the stool and sets her elbows on the counter. “Oh, I’m very aware, Mr. EGOT.”
“Not yet.” I shrug and turn on the oven to preheat. “Got the Grammy and the Emmy. No Oscar or Tony yet. It’s harder than it looks, or more people would do it.”
“You’ll do it. Only a matter of time. MaybeDessiwill deliver your Oscar.”
“I’m not pressed. Something to drink?”
“Just water.”
I get a glass of water and pull down two plates to set on the counter. “We’re pretty early in the film for me to even be thinking about awards season. Let’s get it made first.”
“Have you written much for it? Besides what I’ve already heard, I mean.”
“Yeah. There’s a song called ‘Walk Away’ I wrote for the riviera scene when Dessi finds out Tilda got married.”
“What a way to get dumped. Poor Dessi opening that letter from Tilda and it was her wedding announcement?”
“Sorry for her.” I waggle my brows. “But makes a great story for us.”
“That it does,” she says, smiling ruefully. “How was Thanksgiving? Your family okay?”
“Yeah, I ate dinner with my mom and stepfather. My brother and sister always split their time between the parents, but they ate with us.”
“You didn’t see your father?”
“He dropped by. We chopped it up.” I don’t mention how much of our conversation we devoted to her. “Things are a little better than they were when I was at Finley, when everything he did was pretty fresh, but I’m not sure we’ll ever be close again.”
“It’s been hard to forgive him.” She states it, doesn’t ask.
I nod, pop the pan of food into the oven, and set the timer.
“My therapist draws a straight line from my parents’ failed marriage to my resistance to a committed relationship. He theorizes that I wanted that white-picket-fence fairy tale like I believed they had, and once I saw theirs crumble, I gave up on commitment altogether.”
“Haveyou given up on commitment?”
“I didn’t think I had, but he pointed to a clear lack of longevity in my relationships since, so…”
I let the words trail off because if I keep talking, I might reveal that her betrayal disillusioned me as much as my father’s. And tonight is not for regret or resentment or recriminations.
Tonight is for fucking. No-strings, through-the-mattress fucking.
Bang and bounce, Bellamy. Bang and bounce.
“Can I say something?” she asks, shooting me a cautious look.
“Sure.” I lean against the counter and cross my arms over my chest. “Go for it.”
“I know your father did some shitty things, and it hurt your whole family, especially your mom, but time is one of life’s greatest gifts, and it’s not always guaranteed. I only had eleven years with my parents.”
Her throat works with a swallow, and she lowers her gaze to the counter’s shiny surface. “I always ask folks what they’d save in a fire, but I know exactly what I would have saved in ours.”
She looks up, a depthless sadness in her beautiful eyes.
“Them. I’d have savedthem. I’d give anything to have a little more time with my parents, Monk. I don’t want years to go by, or, God forbid, time with your dad to be cut short, and you regret not truly trying to repair your relationship with him if that’s possible.”
I stiffen, as much because of my father’s words echoing in my ears as the ones she’s saying to me now.
