Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(10)
“I don’t know that. What I do know is that you’re very talented.”
I gave her a quelling look, speaking as frankly as I could. How many times did we need to have this conversation? “No, I’m moderately talented. I don’t have the level of talent it takes to be great without training, and I never got the training to make anything more of what I do have. So it’s karaoke and shower singing for me for the rest of my life.”
I knew my limitations. My family had never let me forget them. They didn’t enjoy my concerts and shows, my style of music wasn’t to their taste, and if I dared to feel optimistic that I might actually get the part I auditioned for, they could always be relied upon to remind me that I didn’t get the part last time so why should this time be any different?
Mo sighed. “You’re doing it again, you know.”
“Huh?”
“Coming up with excuses to not do the things you want to do.”
Oh. That. I looked back out over the harbor and didn’t answer, not that Mo expected me to. There was nothing I could say, and we both knew it. Talking myself out of wanting most things that meant anything to me was less painful than being reminded that I wasn’t good enough, though I could never make her understand that.
I squirmed, but we’d reached the restaurant, and the vinegary, oceanic smell of seafood surrounded us. Yay, distraction! I was off the hook.
I didn’t think Mo got how anxious it made me when she kept pushing me to go after something like that. As someone who had never been denied anything in her life, she didn’t understand that it was better to tell myself no than wait for someone else to do it. The pragmatic approach was definitely less disappointing, but it had taken me years to let go of my pipe dreams and get real. They say addiction runs in families. I might have dodged the bullet with drugs and alcohol, but cutting myself off cold turkey from my grandiose fantasies of ever being anything other than ordinary had been brutal.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally said, knowing I wouldn’t. “I don’t know if I’ll ever go through with it. I’m just too much of a perfectionist, I guess. I’d rather be nothing than be middle-of-the-road.”
She hugged me tightly. “You’re not middle-of-the-road, Topher. You’re fast lane, all the way. You just, you know, need to find the right car.”
I squeezed her back, sighing against her shoulder. I’d miss her. Something about the upcoming summer felt off as it hadn’t the day we arrived, and I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was all the discussion this past week about my family issues and my lost opportunities and my present situation, but I was now uneasy about the months ahead, like something was bound to go wrong. I didn’t know where that doomed feeling was coming from. Whatever it was, I had to find a way to stop it. I had enough to deal with this summer.
Maybe I just needed my meds adjusted again.
I pulled away, squaring my shoulders. “Come on, woman. Feed me some scallops before you dump me for two weeks.”
I can’t keep away from you
Even though I know what I must do
The cruel hand of fate, with you
Is slowly closing around this
—Casey Stratton, “Cruel Hand of Fate”
Despite my resolution to spend as much time as possible away from Brendan and have a life, the first few days after Mo left, I really didn’t get out much except to swim and look for work. I signed on with some temp services in Holland the first time I went to the pool for a long, hard swim, and drove into Saugatuck occasionally for coffee, and to check for anyplace that might be looking to hire. No one seemed to be taking applications, but temptation and the echoes of Mo’s encouragement on our last visit to the coffeehouse proved too much for me. I ended up asking permission to use the piano for practice when I went in, and Aubrey, the gay and geeky manager, permitted it.
Other than that, I spent most of my time in my room, listening to music, playing my keyboard, catching up on reading, and searching for jobs online. When I made it clear that the sum total of my culinary expertise was ramen and mac & cheese (which was actually a bit of a lie, but I didn’t feel like explaining that my mom had taught me to make oatmeal and fry eggs and bacon when I was six so I wouldn’t have to wake her up when she was hungover), Brendan declared that he would cook if I did the grocery shopping and dishes. It was a fair deal and I jumped on it. Aside from meals, though, I was going to stick by my decision to avoid Brendan as much as possible until I got over my idiotic crush, before I did something awkward and made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t that I was actually tempted to act on it (though, true confessions time: I did spend a couple nights with my hand in my shorts, having fantasies about Robert Redford in his prime. Sue me.). I was just embarrassed by it.
What I should probably have done was get laid, preferably by someone without red hair.
And why wasn’t I out doing that, anyway, huh? Here I was, a pretty, pretty princess in full bloom, in one of the premier gay vacation destinations in the Midwest. Available gay men were practically jumping out of the water like hungry trout at sunset, and what was I doing? I was living like a monk on a private beach, nursing an awkward case of puppy love for someone upon whom I had no actual designs and who—even if he weren’t straight, married, and way too old—was my best friend’s father. Even if I did have designs on him, he was off limits on so many levels it wasn’t even funny.