Page 59 of A Major Puck Up

My father watches me with his eyes narrowed, as if he’s finally putting the pieces together. That’s the last thing I want. I’m not interested in having a heart-to-heart over what I’m doing with my life. I just want to get through this awkward night, go back to my apartment, and curl up with Gavin. He’s my safe place. Everything else just feels daunting.

“It’s nothing, really.”

Gavin’s brow furrows deeper, and he frowns. His scrutiny makes the back of my neck heat. His brain is working, putting together just how much I’m hiding from my father. I can already hear the comments he’ll make later.

“You never talked to your father, did you? You’re using our relationship as a Band-Aid. You’re not really okay.”

Desperate to break the tension, though I’ll invariably make it worse, I’m sure, I force a smile. “I can do a number, I suppose.” My heart pounds wildly in my chest, but when Gavin’s shoulders ease, I feel like I can breathe.

I can do this. I can prove to him that I’m okay. I can show my father that this isn’t a big deal. Hell, I can show myself this isn’t a big deal.

My music is for me.

Even with that mantra in my head, my hands shake as I stand and walk to the edge of the stage.

The hostess smiles as I approach, already knowing what I’m going to ask. I sing here weekly, so this is nothing new.

It’s my therapy. My escape.

Yes, running to Paris was just that—running from my problems. But it was what I needed. A break from that life. Fresh scenery, where I could figure out who I was without my mother’s influence or commentary from the toxic girls in my music program.

But suddenly, as I wait for my turn, wringing my hands in front of me, the weight of all of their whispers sits on my chest like an anvil.

Can you believe she sang that song?

Millie, you should wear a little more lipstick.

Would you want to come out with us tonight? Don’t forget to bring your brother.

When the hostess tells me I’m up next, I focus on my breathing, working to quiet the insecurities that so often take the shape of the bullies of my past.

Though perhaps focusing on past hurts would be easier than considering the opinions of the very real people who mean the most to me and are currently watching me from a table only ten feet away.

When I step up to the piano, Gavin’s attention is the most potent. I keep my eyes averted, but I imagine he’s probably looking back and forth from me to my father, gauging his reactions and my mannerisms.

He’s always seen more of me than anyone else in my life.

Almost like he sees the person I hope to one day be. The woman beneath the girl. The woman who possesses a strength I’ve yet to master and knows precisely what she wants and how to get it.

The woman he fell for the night we met, the façade I put on before I realized he was more than I’d ever hoped he’d be.

I settle my hands on the keys, and as the first notes fill the space, the song I wrote for him bleeds out of me.

Every word is an explanation to my father. The words are in a language he doesn’t understand, but they’re a confession. The truth about how I fell in love with the person sitting beside him.

It’s freeing, baring my truth in this way. Telling it exactly as it happened. With each line, the weight I’ve carried all night diminishes until, as I finish, I feel lighter than I have in years. When I look up, finally brave enough to meet the eyes of the people I care about, I’m smiling.

Until I see Sienna’s face.

My stomach plummets as I remember that she speaks French. The expression she wears tells me she understood every single word of my confession.

On shaky legs, I walk back to the table, keeping my focus locked on Gavin. He wears a look that might give us away, if I haven’t already. Hearts in his eyes and a smile so big it’s blinding. As I approach, he pulls me in for a suffocating hug.

“That was incredible,” he murmurs.

Though I expect my father to question the gesture when he snatches me from his best friend’s arms, he spins me around, and when he sets me on my feet, his smile is almost as big as Gavin’s. “Millie Rosemarie Hall, what the hell was that?”

I shrug. “Just a little something I’ve been working on.”

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