Page 60 of Becoming Mila
“I might need you to play for me,” I admit, then hunch forward over my knees and press my hands to my face. Groaning, I tell him, “I’m having a rough day.”
I sense Blake rest the guitar into its upright stand, then head back around the couch to sit down next to me. His knee bumps mine, accidentally for once, and he presses a comforting hand to my back. “What’s up, Mila?”
“Popeye. . .”
“Popeye?”
“My grandpa,” I say, dropping my hands from my face. I peer at Blake out of the corner of my eye and feel at ease seeing his guitar resting on its stand. Maybe hewillplay some music for me so that I can focus on anything but the Harding family secrets. “Something is wrong with him.”
“Oh.” Blake inhales sharply. “I’m sorry.”
My eyes are fixed straight ahead, locked on nothing in particular, my shoulders swaying. It makes me feel dizzy, knowing that one day Popeye won’t be around anymore and that I missed out on so many memories with him that I would have had if circumstances had been different. I know Popeye is aging, that much is guaranteed, but what if something really isseriouslywrong? Something that’ll take him from us sooner?
I manage to gather my thoughts enough to speak. “He seems okay for now, but it sounds like they’re trying to figure out what the problem is. He doesn’t want my dad to know. My dad, who doesn’t even visit. . . Maybe if he did, he would notice for himself.”
Blake rubs soft circles on my back with his palm. “You seem pretty angry at your dad,” he says gently.
“Of course I’m angry!” I snap, tearing my eyes away from the wall and setting them on Blake. Exasperated, I fling my hands up in the air, daring the world to throw me one more curveball. “Dad ships me over here for the summer and sets secret orders for me to essentially be held captive at the ranch. And then I find out there’s something wrong with my grandpa and my dad is off living his glamorous life, totally oblivious, because he doesn’t ever bother to go call. Oh, and how could I forget – I find out he was once engaged to your mom! But he cheated on her! Withmymom!”
Blake winces. “Uh, yeah. Not exactly the greatest guy on earth, is he?” he says awkwardly, then reaches for my hand. He intertwines our fingers. “Have you spoken to him aboutanyof this?”
“What is there to say?You may have the rest of the worldfooled into thinking you’re some charming, family-focused man,but you’re really just a selfish phony who caresabout no one but yourself?”
Blake pulls a face. “Damn. That’s harsh.” He smiles softly at me. “Even though I have to agree.”
I sink my head forward again and rub my temple, feeling the stress pulsing from me. “I don’t really. . . I mean, he’s my dad. I love him. OfcourseI do.” I straighten up and look at mine and Blake’s interlocked hands. All of the anger pent up inside of me deflates a little, leaving my shoulders to slump in defeat. “I just don’t think I know who he is anymore.”
“Do you want to call him?” Blake asks. “Maybe he’ll have some answers for you.”
“Well, yeah. I just keep putting it off because. . .”
I take a deep breath. I have never – not once – in my entire life confronted my father aboutanything. We have never really fought all that much besides petty disagreements where I slam a door in his face for not letting me stay out later than curfew or something equally as trivial. This though? This ishuge. This is serious. It could ruin both our worlds, and it’s the kind of drama Dad reallydoesn’tlove. Something in my gut tells me that if I go through with this, if I question Dad about all of these secrets I’ve discovered, then things might change between us. And it might be a change that I don’t have the ability to fix again.
“I guess I don’t want a fight,” I finally finish, my frown deepening. “I’ve gotten used to staying quiet unless told otherwise.”
“You could call him now when you aren’t alone. It might help if I’m here.” Blake’s tone rises to end on a hopeful note. “And if it doesn’t go well, then I’ll sing to you all night until you’re smiling again.”
His goofy words are enough for me to smile right then and there.
“Okay,” I say, then nod several times in affirmation. “Okay.”
“I’ll be right outside. If you need me, just shoot me a hand signal, all right?” Blake says, letting go of my hand and standing up. Then he does the most surprising thing – he clasps my face in both hands and lowers his head to mine, gazing into my eyes with supportive reassurance. “It’ll be cool. Stand firm, say what you need to say, and if you feel like you’re going to cry, do some math in your head as a distraction technique.” He smiles. “Or just – you know – imagine me naked.”
“Blake!” I gasp, but the sound of his name has barely filled the air before he pecks his lips against mine. Then his smile widens and that knot in my stomach becomes undone.
“C’mon, Bails,” he instructs.
With Bailey curiously following, Blake heads out of the cabin. He fetches a rubber ball from inside a pot plant and erratically squeezes it, driving Bailey wild. While the two of them mess around, I pull out my phone.
Dad’s name is quite far down in my list of recent contacts. Most of my calls have been to Mom and my friends, but with the occasional call from Ruben to check in on “life at the farm”. It makes me nervous to pull up Dad’s number now. I should know better than to contact him unsolicited and without warning.
But he should know better than to keep secrets from his daughter.
I dial the number before I can change my mind, then instantly begin pacing the length of the cabin, dodging weighted plates, and nearly tripping over Bailey’s water bowl. It feels like my lower lip is nearly bitten to shreds by the time the call is answered.
“Mila, honey!” Ruben’s artificially sweet voice shrills across the line. His pleasure to hear from me is so forced, so fake, that it makes me hate him a thousand times more than I already did.
“I need to talk to my dad,” I state clearly, calmly. “Give him his phone.”
