Lucky Caller(49)

“What is it?” Rose repeated.

“Dad’s not coming,” Sidney said.

I blinked. “What?”

“He said he can’t make it. Something came up.”

My stomach seized.



* * *



I took the elevator downstairs to make the call. The chances of being overheard in the hallway felt too high.

I stood in the doorway of the Papa Bear ballroom. The overhead lights were half on, the chandeliers off. A cluster of round tables and bamboo chairs were out, but they weren’t set yet, instead standing bare in preparation for whatever decorations the weekend’s weddings would bring.

Dad picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hey, Nina, what’s going on?”

“You’re not coming for Sidney’s show?” I said without preamble.

He let out a sigh. There was a long pause. “I really hate to miss it, but something’s come up at work and I—”

“You said, though.” There was a plaintive edge to my voice that I tried desperately to quash. “You said you’d come and that you could do the thing for my radio class.”

“That’s just it,” he said. “I can’t get out of work on Thursday, so I’d miss your show for sure. Even if I made it in time for Sid’s play on Friday, I couldn’t choose between the two of you like that. I can’t. It’s not fair to either of you. So I’m just gonna have to sit this round out.”

Silence.

“So you’re not coming at all. Even though you could make it for Sidney. If you wanted.”

“I couldn’t do that to you, kid.”

There was a lump in my throat. “Forget about my radio thing. Just come for her show. It’s important to her.”

Silence. And then:

“I’m sorry, Nina. You know I am. I’m really—”

I didn’t hear the rest. I had already hung up.





43.


ROSE CAME DOWNSTAIRS EVENTUALLY. I was sitting on one of the bamboo chairs in the ballroom, mindlessly scrolling on my phone.

I passed a picture of a fancy dessert from Alexis’s account. Joydeep and two other guys posing in front of a car. Three celebrity #sponsored posts. I didn’t absorb any of it.

Rose leaned against the doorway. She was wearing workout clothes. “Wanna go to the gym?”

“No.”

A pause. “Couldn’t get Dad to change his mind?”

“That would be a no as well.”

I paused on a photo of a beach with a heart drawn into the sand.

“That sucks,” Rose said eventually.

That was an understatement. “I don’t know how he can do it. Just bail like that.”

“Seriously? It’s kind of his whole deal.”

“That’s not true.” I shook my head. “I know that you and him fight about stuff, but…”

“But what? Seriously, Nina. Where is he right now?”

He hadn’t mentioned on the phone, though I hadn’t given him much of an opportunity. “I don’t know. The grocery store?”

“He’s on the other side of the country.” It was quiet for a moment. When Rose spoke again, her tone was measured in that way that reminded me of Mom. “You know, there’s this thing we learned about in psych class called a parasocial relationship. It’s when there’s a false sense of connection between you and a famous person. Listening to Dad’s show every day makes you think that you know him. But you don’t. Not really.”

Like the Deadnoughts thinking they know Tyler or how he would act: He’s faking us out. He’ll definitely show at the interview! A classic TB denial!

I shut off my phone screen, looked up at Rose. “When did you take a psych class?”

“Last semester. It was a gen ed thing.”

“How’d you do?”

She smiled a little. “Pretty well. I liked it.”

“You know, art therapy is a thing.”

“Are you saying I need some?”

“No, I’m saying you could, like, give it—be an art therapist.”

She just looked at me for a moment and then said, “Let’s stick to one life crisis at a time.”

“This isn’t a life crisis. It’s just…” I shrugged. “It is what it is.”

She nodded.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “It’ll all be okay.”

I didn’t believe her for a minute.





44.


WHEN I WENT BACK UPSTAIRS that evening, Sidney was in our room, going through some dance moves in front of the mirrored doors on our closet. I watched as she swung her arms above her head, jumped forward, pivoted, kicked one leg out …

“Yes?” she said eventually.

“What number is this?”

“It’s right before the act break.”

“I’m not seeing a lot of jazz hands.” I leaned against the doorframe. “I hope this show’s not light on jazz hands.”

“There might be some jazz hands.”

“I won’t sleep well without absolute confirmation.”

It was quiet. She spun in one last circle and then struck a pose, arms in the air, one hip cocked. Shooting me a look, she jazzed her hands. “You’re welcome.”