Everything You Are(52)

When he hears the shower shut off, he stands outside the door and calls, “Breakfast is ready. Come get it while it’s hot.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Breakfast. Then school.”

He walks back to the kitchen, holding his breath. This is the tricky part. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if she retreats to her room and barricades herself behind a locked door. She’s too big for him to drag her anywhere, and he’s not prepared to kick in a door.

But she walks into the kitchen looking pale and fragile. Slumps into a chair. Braden sets a plate in front of her.

“Eat.”

“I hate you.”

“Best thing for a hangover. This is the one thing I’m an expert on. Trust me.”

She picks up a piece of toast and nibbles at the corner. Small victory, but he’ll take it.

He sits down across from her, takes a bite of his own eggs and toast, even though he’s far from hungry.

“Now, do you want to tell me where you’ve been all week?”

“School.”

“No. You haven’t.”

Allie’s eyes meet his, then drop away. She pokes at the eggs with her fork. “I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to do this parental bullshit.”

“Because you were going to be responsible and not need a parent.”

“Fine. I’ll go to school.”

“Breakfast first.”

“Whatever!”

She swallows coffee. Breaks off a piece of bacon. Progresses to eggs. When she’s cleared about half her plate, she pushes it away and looks at him again. Her eyes are clearer, her color better. There’s also more fight in her.

“Can I go now?”

“Sure. Get dressed. Then school.”

Braden cleans up the kitchen while she changes, dreading the next phase of his plan. Maybe he should stop here. Count this as progress and let her off the hook.

But that’s the cowardly thing. When the cry of outrage comes, he’s ready.

Allie stalks into the kitchen, fully dressed, still a little pale and puffy but with makeup on and her hair combed.

“Where are my car keys?”

“Better question. Where is the car?”

He meets her glare with one of his own.

“None of your business where it is. It’s my car!”

“And if the cop last night hadn’t been so sympathetic, you’d be without your license for a year.”

“You can’t—”

“I can. We could get you a bicycle, if that would make you feel better.”

The exaggerated shock and horror that meets this statement would be funny if it wasn’t pounding the nails into the coffin of their relationship.

“Now, since the car isn’t here, if we’re going to make it to school on time, we need to get going.”

“What do you mean, we?”

“I’m walking you to school.”

“How about you walk me to my car—”

“I’ll be walking you to school for a while, I think. Your driving privileges have been revoked.”

“I don’t believe this!”

“Which part?”

“Any of it! I bought the car with my own money! I’ve been driving to school for over a year!”

“Yes? And how much school did you skip? How many parties did you get arrested at?”

“That’s not fair! None of this is fair!”

“Let’s go.” Braden walks into the living room, jingling the keys in his hand. He hears her footsteps behind him, hears her stop short when she sees the cello case waiting by the door.

“Maybe you can drag me to school, but you can’t make me go to orchestra. I’ll—”

“You want me to get rid of it, right? You need to go to school, I need the car. I’ll walk you to school and then go get the car. I will also pick you up after school. You’re officially grounded.”

She stands there, like he’s hit her with some sort of stun gun. All of the breath whooshes out of her in one long sigh.

Her eyes meet his for a heartbreaking moment before she turns away.

“Fine.”

Watching her walk out the door, Braden thinks she looks smaller, defeated, even though she just got what she said she wanted. Doubt hits him. The cello weighs a ton.

Dead weight, he thinks. It’s a long walk to the school, and he’s feeling less than marvelous himself.

“You could text me the address. Of the car,” he says, after he locks the door and takes a few running steps to catch up with his daughter.

“Parked on Ballard, outside Caffe Umbria.”

“Unless it’s been towed,” Braden says. “By the way, any particular reason why you don’t return any of my texts?”

“I lost my phone.”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“No, thanks.”

“You’re kidding, right? How does a kid navigate without a phone?”

His question is met by silence.

“I would like you to have a phone so we can communicate. I need to know where you are and when you’re going to be late.”

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “Are you going to track me, then?”