Page 83 of Miss Behaved
“About Carson.” She teases his name the same way she did when she was eleven and I was eighteen. There’s a playground whimsy to it. “Mom said you saw him.”
“She told you that?”
Merry shakes her head. “I heard her talking to Dad.”
Wonderful. He never liked Carson, always saw right through to the trouble and thought he was a copy of his father. Which he wasn’t.
“He was at the retreat.”
“And?” she pushes.
“And nothing.” I lie to both of us. “It was good to see him; now he’s back in LA. That’s it.”
“Dinner,” Mom calls up the stairs, and I’m kind of glad she’s saving me from another Carson conversation.
The man is already on my mind enough. I don’t need the opinion of my sister, who was too young at the time to know what even happened between us. Thankfully, Merry drops it, and I follow her down the stairs.
Dad is coming in the back door as we make our way into the kitchen. He’s dripping wet, leaving a river of water behind him on the floor as his body shields a tray of meat.
“You have a problem, dear,” Mom says to him.
My laugh catches his attention.
“You made it,” he says with a wide smile that crinkles his eyes all the way to his temples. Gray patches of hair meet the wrinkles of skin.
“Hi, Dad, happy birthday.” I walk over and give him a hug—now I’m wet again. “I can’t believe you’re outside grilling in this weather.”
“Wait until you see that beauty, then you’ll get it.” He points his thumb over his shoulder, and Mom rolls her eyes.
I doubt I’ll get it, but I nod anyway.
“Maybe when the sun’s out.” I laugh. “I brought you something.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out two folded pieces of paper. Dad sets his tray down on the table before taking them from my hands. When he unfolds them, his eyes widen.
“Grill Kings tickets!” He pulls me into a bear hug, and I can barely breathe. It’s his favorite television show, so I knew he would love it.
“They’re bringing their competition to Seattle this summer, thought you’d want to go.” My words squeak from his hug.
He lets go and plants his hands on my shoulders. “Thank you. Best present ever.”
Mom clears her throat, and he looks at her.
“Well, second best present.” He fumbles for her hands. “I love my grill, honey.”
“Mm-hmm,” Mom hums. “Let’s see if it’s worth what it cost and try out some of this meat.
We all take our places in the same spots we sat when Merry and I were children, and I appreciate the ease that takes over whenever I’m back home. The comfortable conversation. Dad biting his tongue when Merry talks about the tour. Mom rolling her eyes when Dad looks at the Grill Kings tickets for the tenth time.
This is exactly where I need to be.
It was an early dinner, and Merry disappears to hit a bar with her friends after. Mom and Dad head for the couch, and I decide to spend some time in my favorite porch swing with a notebook to try and find the energy to write.
There’s no break in the rain, but the downpour has turned to a drizzle, and the sound calms my nerves.
Off in the distance, there’s a break in the clouds where the last bits of sun peek through as it’s about to set. I listen to the sounds of the forest, birds and leaves whispering to each other. Sounds of my childhood.
And for the first time since leaving Arizona, I write.
