What You Always Wanted (31 page)

He laughs and cups a hand over my shoulder. “I'm not sure if anyone ever told you this, but the audience doesn't really notice the little mistakes. You're not supposed to point them out.”

I try to laugh but it comes out a little blubbery because I'm suddenly holding back a sob. “Yeah, but if you
did
see my mistakes and I said nothing about them, then you'd think I thought I was wonderful, and I can't let you think that because it's so far from the truth.”

“You girls and your complicated minds.” Brian leads me to a less crowded space closer to the exit door at the end of the hall. “To me, you
were
wonderful. So chill.”

My eyes water, and everything around me gets fuzzy. “But I did
not
think I was wonderful,” I continue in a higher pitch. I don't even care if I sound whiny at this point; I just need to get it out. “I thought I was terrible and I had a miserably stressful time and I want it all to be over.”

He takes a step back, likely frightened of my blatant honesty, and tucks the stems of the flowers under an arm. “You really didn't have any fun?”

I shrug and lean against the wall and calm my breathing so I can speak coherently. “Yes and no. I mean, I've always wanted to do a musical, so tonight was partly a dream come true. Back at my old school, I'd get so mad that my teacher didn't like them. We always did straight plays, and I'd beg him to let us do just one musical, but no. Now I feel like I should thank him for saving me from premature disappointment and humiliation. I'm not sure I could have handled this before.”

“Why not?”

I shake my head. “Because I didn't have the friends I do now.”

He smiles and squeezes my shoulder.

“I don't know, I guess I thought this void inside me would be filled. That musical theatre was part of my ultimate destiny. But I feel let down. Betrayed.”

“Betrayed by your
ultimate
destiny. Leave it to you never to feel anything halfway.”

I dab at my eye with my sleeve and search for a distraction. “Are those for me?” I ask, nodding at the flowers.

“Oh! Yes!” He hurriedly hands the bouquet to me and relieves me of my bag. “Sarah picked them out. They're from all of us—me and Sarah and Ryan. They're sorry they couldn't make it, by the way.”

“Sarah's only apologized a dozen times.”

“And now you have a dozen flowers.”

“They're perfect,” I say, fingering the bright petals.

He switches my bag to his other hand and digs a set of keys out of his pocket. “So, is someone bringing you home, or do you need a lift?”

“I was just about to call my dad to have him pick me up, but if you don't mind . . .”

Brian convinces me to tell my dad I have a ride, and I follow him through the parking lot and down a couple blocks to the overflow parking, hopping over the occasional puddle and lamenting that it's not frozen so I can slide across it. Here it is almost February and I haven't seen so much as a flurry.

A black Chevy truck
chirps
to my left. I glance around, but no one else is near it.

“After you,” Brian says, opening the passenger door and tossing in my bag.

“Whose truck is this?” I ask, stepping on the running board and settling in my seat.

“Mine!” He shuts me in and walks around to climb in the driver's side. “My dad just bought a new truck, a big Dodge diesel, so he passed this down to me.”

An abundance of vehicles. How nice for them.

“What about your car?”

“Selling it,” he says, without any emotional attachment. “Interested?”

I perk up. “Uh, yeah!” Then I deflate just as quickly. “But considering I don't have much saved and there won't be a lot of help from my parents, it's not feasible.” I cross my arms over my stomach and let out a huff of air while Brian makes a contemplative grunting noise.

We begin the drive in silence, but I realize quickly it's only an opportunity for my brain to replay everything I did wrong tonight. I see every shuffle I did instead of a flap, how I turned left when everyone else turned right. And again I hear Jesse barking instructions at me.

Jesse.

I dig my phone out of my bag, thrilled to see he sent me a text about two hours ago.

Jesse:
Sorry I'm missing your big night. Hope you're having fun. You'll do GREAT! And we're killing it out here, in case you were wondering. ;)

Me:
It was . . . an experience. Happy baseballing!

“So how's Kristi?” I ask Brian, pocketing my phone but keeping my smile.

“Good,” he says. I catch a glimpse of his grin by the light of a passing car. “I'm actually driving up to Dallas to see her for the day tomorrow.”

“Whoa. Your parents don't care?”

“No. They met her and her family when we were in Colorado. My mom's a little
too
excited about it all, honestly.”

“Uh-oh. Parental approval,” I tease, remembering how my dad said he liked Jesse, though it didn't bother me. “It's been known to cause adverse reactions.”

He laughs from his gut as he makes the turn onto my street. “Nah. My mom's opinion actually means a lot to me.”

As I stare at the side of his face, pondering his genuine confession, it occurs to me that maybe we're too much alike. Maybe that's why the kiss was such an awkward disaster. We make good friends, but anything more just feels off.

He pulls into my driveway and I slide down from the truck. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem,” he says, still behind the wheel.

“And the flowers,” I add, cradling them under my arm and reaching for my bag. “See you Monday.”

I'm about to close the door when he says, “Hey, wait. I was thinking . . . about my Camry. If you want it—”

“I really don't see how I can afford it, though. I don't make a whole lot.”

“I know.” He nods, his floppy hair dipping toward his eyes. “But my parents said I could do what I wanted with it, so I was
thinking maybe we could work something out you can handle. Relaxed payments, you know?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“I mean, if you want it. I'm not trying to force you into a car payment here.”

“Of course I want it!” I blurt out with a little hop, my bag slipping off my shoulder. “I just want to make sure you understand exactly how
relaxed
these payments are going to be.”

“It's no big deal. I mean, I can't get that much for it anyway. My mom drove it for years before I got it. It doesn't matter to me if I get paid for it up front or over the next year or so.”

“Is this really happening? You're totally serious?” Hope swells inside my chest. A car. My very own car. One that can take me places as I blast music that
I
want to listen to, windows down with the heater on my feet.

He laughs and shifts his truck into reverse. “But don't think you can cheat me,” he teases, complete with wagging finger. “I'll be keeping strict records.”

“No cheating. Promise.” I cross the bouquet of flowers over my heart as an oath. “Can I get it tomorrow?” I ask, rising up on my toes like a giddy child.

“I'm going to Dallas tomorrow. Sunday?”

“Oh, right. Sunday!”

We say our good nights and as he drives away, I repeat “Sunday, Sunday, I'm getting a car on Sunday” under my breath all the way up to the house. I dig the house key out of my bag, but the front door swings open. My eyes scan Dad's outfit of business shirt and flannel pajama pants before I catch the panic on his face.

“Good,” he says, his shoulders noticeably relaxing but still a bit tight for this late at night. “You're home.”

“What's wrong?” I ask in a rush, every sore muscle in my own body tensing.

“Baby's coming.” He grabs the keys from the hook on the wall and drags a suitcase down the front steps.

“But it's still way too early. Are you sure it's not just a fake-out like last time?” I ask, looking through the doorway for a sign of Ma, but I don't see her.

“No.” He starts the car, loads the suitcase, and walks briskly back to me, frozen in place on the porch. “Her water broke. It's time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A boy. Just like Ma thought. They're calling him Christopher James Brooks. Christopher after Dad's father, James after Ma's. She confesses they considered letting me name him, but realized I would have gone with Gene Kelly Brooks—this is likely—and didn't think a modern boy would appreciate the name itself, or that it came from his teen sister.

In my new Camry—Dad made me practice driving near our house practically all day Sunday as a refresher—I follow Dad up to the hospital Monday morning before school. My heart skips with anticipation of seeing my brother for the first time—only my parents have been allowed in the NICU so far. Rider wanted to come into town right away, but they talked him into holding off at least until Friday so he wouldn't miss any school.

I'm led through a maze of swinging doors, past nurses' stations, and I'm handed a sterile robe to put on over my clothes
before entering the room Christopher's in. Ma beckons me over to his incubator to see four pounds of a skinny body, eyelids fluttering, legs kicking in irritation at all the tubes and wires stuck to him. He needs help breathing, but hopefully not for too long, and he'll have to stay in the incubator until he can hold a good temperature. The doctor says he's strong, and encourages my parents that he'll catch up in no time.

With a gloved hand, I worm my pinkie under the tiniest fingers I've ever seen, and he grips onto it with more muscle than I thought possible.

“Talk to him,” Ma says from just behind me, her hand resting gently on my back. “Let him know who you are.”

“Can he really hear me?” I ask, studying his funny ears, still a bit smashed against his head.

“Of course.”

I speak softly so as not to overwhelm him if he can, in fact, hear me. “Hey, Chris. It's Maddie. Your sister.” My breath catches on the word “sister,” and I work to convince my head that this little thing is related to me. I'm more than Rider's sister now. There are three of us.

“Isn't he perfect?” Ma asks through a sigh.

I nod. “It's so weird that he was inside you, and now he's right here. We can see him and touch him, like he's a real person.”

“He is a real person.” She laughs softly. “And it's not too weird for me yet. I did just push—”

“Whoa,” I say, nudging her with my hip. “You can stop. I get it.”

She nudges me back. “Want to know what
is
weird, though?”

“What?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the new fingers holding mine.

Ma moves her hand to my shoulder and pulls me against her. “That you and Rider were each inside me at one time too, and here you are, practically full grown. I mean, Rider's taller than me now, so it's a little harder to comprehend that he's the same baby I brought home from the hospital nineteen years ago.” She pauses, and one of Christopher's machines goes through some sort of dance. “Nineteen years.”

The crack in her voice makes me recall all my initial thoughts when I found out they were having another baby. Here they were about to be empty nesters, smooth sailing until retirement, which can't be that far away because they're old, and now they have to raise a child all over again.

But this time, at least for the first couple of years, she'll have my help.

“He's going to be okay, right?” I ask as Christopher tightens his grip, demanding my full attention.

“He has us as a family,” she says, hugging me even closer to her and kissing the top of my head. “He's going to be just fine.”

Looking at him now, so small and pink, I'm thankful my parents were smart enough not to give me the responsibility of naming a human. Because he is real. Totally and completely, a real person.