Firebug (37 page)

I wanted to be furious with him for being one of the small cogs that set the machine of fate into motion, but I couldn't. In his place, I would have made the same, choices.

 

 

I'D PICKED
Summer Stock
as the night's movie, because I wanted dance numbers and romance. I wanted humor and Judy Garland and Gene Kelly dancing into the sunset. After that, I was going to watch
Little Shop of Horrors
, because I needed to see people eaten by plants. I made Cade rent the funny version, though. The one where Rick Moranis gets the girl. In the original everyone dies, and I just wasn't up for that. Cade had explained that the original was more Faustian and much more powerful, but I didn't want Faustian. I wanted the good guy to win. And I wanted dance numbers. So help me, I wanted jazz hands. I
needed
spirit fingers.

I was still calling Cade by his first name. No need to get the townsfolk talkin'. Not that I cared about that. The real reason was that it was weird to look at Cade and use the words
father
or
dad
. Maybe I could call him Big Papa? No matter what, it all sounded funny in my head. I'd been calling him Cade my whole life. It wasn't easy to make a quick transition like that. He hadn't brought up those words either, so I think he was having similar issues.

I shoved a handful of popcorn into my mouth.

“Chew, Rat. You're going to choke like that.” Cade joined me on the couch, setting his own bowl on the coffee table.

I said, “I'm chewing!” but what came out was “Mm-chum-ging” and a few stray popcorn bits. I sighed and grabbed a napkin.

“No Lock tonight?” Cade asked, looking into his bowl.

“He's busy” is what I said.
He's on a date with
Bianca,
the sullen brat
is what I meant.

“I see.” Cade glanced at me, and I got the feeling that he'd heard both versions. He grabbed the popcorn bowl and tipped some of his into mine, because I'd already eaten half in some sort of popcorn-induced fugue state. “And this bothers you because you don't want to share your best friend, or because you're not on the date?”

I threw a piece of popcorn at him. “I don't want to talk about it,” I answered. “It's weird.”

“We've always talked about everything,” he said.

I poked my popcorn, pushing it around the bowl, hoping it might form a pattern, like tea leaves, and tell me the answers. All I got was salt under my nails. “I don't know what I want to say yet. Besides, what with … stuff … and things … isn't it kind of strange now?”

“Because I'm your dad?” Now Cade was examining his popcorn for all it was worth. “Does it really upset you that much?”

I could hear the brittle edge in his voice, the pain, and I knew I'd caused it.

Damn.

Ezra and Lock are right. I suck at this.

“It's not—I just.” I sighed. “I used to hope, you know? That you and mom … The happy ending and all that.” But that hope had died along with most childhood dreams. “It's not bad, it's just surreal. I've thought of you one way for so long that it's hard to make the shift.”

“I still can't believe she lied to me,” Cade said, his voice thick. “Lilia never lied to me. Not once. She might have hidden things, but she never out-and-out lied. We don't know your birthday.… You might even be eighteen now. An adult. I just can't believe it.”

“People do all kinds of strange things to protect the ones they love,” I said.

He reached an arm around me and squeezed me close, kissing the top of my head as he did. I tried to imagine for a moment a life without him in it, and I couldn't.

“Sometimes transition happens and it's hard, and it can hurt, but it can also be good, reevaluating someone.” He rubbed my arm. “You might want to consider it with Lock.”

I mock punched him. “I told you I didn't want to talk about it.”

“I'm your dad,” he says. “We'll talk about these things until you get really uncomfortable and never want to look at a boy again. It's a great tactic, actually. Works wonders.”

I burst into laughter then, and it seemed to cause pressure to lift. While not totally back to normal, it felt like things might be closer to okay again. I could get used to this.

Sometime later, after both movies and a lengthy discussion of why Gene Kelly was so damn amazing, I was walking up the stairs to my loft when I heard Cade pause.

“Rat?”

“Yeah?”

“I used to hope too.” And then, much softer and almost to himself, he said, “All the time.”

“I know you did, Dad,” I said, my voice barely audible, my throat was so tight.

He stared up at me for a moment before he smiled, and it was so open, so happy, that I knew this was the smile my mom fell in love with.

“Good night, Rat,” he said. Then he clicked off the light and went to his room.

I was in my loft before I realized that I'd said “Dad” instead of “Cade.” And I was all the way under my covers when I figured out that was what had caused the smile. I reached one hand up, pointed my index finger, and called a blue flame to the tip of it. I traced three words in the air, over and over until they were burned into my retinas. Then I closed my eyes and could clearly see
Cade
+
Lilia
=
Ava
.

Best. Equation. Ever.

I grinned, then wondered whose smile I had. Maybe in the morning I'd ask my dad.