Stay Until We Break (25 page)

Sonia

“Sunny!” Travis calls from downstairs as I’m putting the finishing touches on my makeup. Travis hasn’t been at his own house for longer than ten minutes since we got home last weekend, and there’s nothing I can say about that (not that I would) because other than the last few days when Cole has stayed up in Lodi to help Patrick on this strip mall contract, he’s basically deserted Joey and has been camping out here himself.

“Your date is here!” Travis says. “And he’s looking mighty fine, I have to say.”

“He’d better, because girlfriend here is some serious eye candy tonight,” Emmy says as she watches me put eyeliner on. “Can you teach me to do my eyes like that?”

“Sure,” I answer. Emmy fastens the clasp on the back of my dress. After the cowgirl dress Cole bought me in Asheville, this one is my favorite, though too formal to wear much. It’s a vintage, emerald-green satin gown with a straight skirt that hits at my knee. Much fancier than my usual Saturday-night wear, but Mom’s prom dress seems like the right attire for the occasion.

“Do you want to catch that Ween show at Joe’s Mill Hill on Saturday?” Cole had asked me Wednesday night on the phone. “They’re playing with False Front and I don’t have to take the on-call this weekend.”

“Well, um, that’s my parents’ big twenty-fifth anniversary party,” I said.

“Oh, right! What time do you want me to pick you up?”

“Are you sure you want to go?” I asked. “It’s going to be very stuffy.”

“Of course I’m sure. Are you sure you want me to go?”

“Of course,” I said.

But now that he’s here, I’m sure this was all a terrible mistake. My eyes dart to my tattoo, clearly visible even with the shawl I’ve got to wrap around my shoulders. It’s great, it goes well with the blue streaks framing my face anyway. Can’t wait to get the judgmental stares from my trust-fund cousins and aunts and uncles tonight. Though I have to admit, I’m fairly pleased with the classic updo I managed to pull off with my hair.

“You okay?” Emmy asks. “You seem a little nervous.”

“I’m good,” I say, blotting my lipstick with a tissue. “How do I look?”

“I’d do you,” Emmy says.

“I’ll try to get back early, then.”

When we head down to the living room, I have to keep myself from tumbling down the staircase when I see Cole, because Cole is in an actual suit. Not a Bouncing Souls T-shirt, Dickies, and Vans. I guess I was expecting khakis and a sport coat, but no. He’s in a perfectly tailored, charcoal-gray suit with a dress shirt and good shoes and a tie. I’m stuck on the stairs watching him fiddle with his shirt cuff, looking stressed out. But he doesn’t look stressed out when he sees me there, gawking.

“Hiya, gorgeous,” he says, his eyes all happy and soft. “Come on down here. I got you something.”

“You did?” I ask, surprised. “You weren’t supposed to get me anything.”

“It’s just a little something,” he says. He watches me descend the last few steps, unable to take his eyes off of me.

“Wait, wait, the camera!” Jeff comes running in from the kitchen. He stops dead when he sees Cole standing there. “Jesus Christ, you’re fuckable tonight, Cole.”

“Just tonight, Jeff?” he says. “Really?”

“Do not hand her that box yet,” he says. “Adam!” he yells. “Get my Nikon and bring me the soft-focus filter!”

“What’s this?” I ask, totally confused, looking at the white cardboard box.

Jeff comes back and takes a series of photos of us, one more ridiculous than the last. First he makes us do one of those corny couples’ poses in front of the fireplace. And then when Joey shows up a few minutes later, Jeff takes a bunch of family photos of the five of us, but I draw the line at the human pyramid.

When Cole is finally allowed to hand me the box and I open it, the flash goes off at the enormous, goofy smile on my face as I pull out a completely ridiculous, and absolutely stunning white orchid wrist corsage the size of my own hand.

“Wow, what’s this about?” Emmylou asks.

“Oh, you’ve got to hear this,” Jeff says, giving me a look as Cole slips the flower on over my wrist. “Can I explain it to them?”

I nod, trying to keep the tears I wasn’t prepared to shed from spilling. “Cole told you?”

“Yeah, well, I needed advice,” Cole admits. “I don’t know anything about corsages.”

“Sunny never got to go to her prom,” Jeff explains. “So Romeo decided to re-create it for her tonight.”

“Oh my God!” Emmy says. “Cole!”

“Well, I never went to mine, either,” Cole says. “I know it’s silly, but I thought maybe tonight . . .”

“You’d get porno sex in a cheap hotel room down the shore?” I ask.

“Basically.”

The flash goes off again when he takes me in his arms and kisses me, and if that wasn’t silly enough, he dips me right there in the living room as Jeff takes about fifty more photos. I’m going to be pissed if my tears ruin my perfect eyeliner detail.

“Come on, kitten,” Cole says as he sets me back on my feet. “I’ve got something else to show you.”

Cole holds his hand out and Joey tosses him a set of keys. We all walk out onto the porch, and there in our driveway is a black vintage convertible Mustang.

“Just gave her a proper wax job before I drove her down,” Joey says. “She’s going to look swanky as hell pulling up at the Hopewell Golf Club.”

“Tell your pops I owe him one,” Cole says.

“Hell yeah you do. I promised him you’d come install the sink upgrades in the addition on the showroom,” Joey says.

“Done deal,” Cole says.

We drive down to Hopewell with the top up so my hair doesn’t get wrecked. Maybe we’ll put it down later tonight, and maybe I really will ask him to drive us to the shore afterwards so we can score a cheap hotel room. Actually, I’m not opposed to fucking him in the back of this Mustang, either.

“Are you nervous?” I ask him.

“I don’t get stage fright,” he says with a wink. “Don’t worry.”

I smile and look out the window. I try to ignore the sweaty palms I have but it’s hard when Cole takes my hand in his. I’m so worried he’s going see this other side of my life, the one I’ve tried to run from, and wonder what the hell kind of shit he stepped into with my parents and the rest of my stuffy, judgmental family around. I’m worried about him feeling put out for not having a father with an Ivy League degree. Or you know, just a father. All I want is for him not to be uncomfortable, but how can I expect that when I’m so damned uncomfortable around these people myself?

“You’re so quiet,” he says. “Are you really that worried?”

“No,” I lie.

“It’ll be fun,” he says.

“Fun?” I say. “I’m not so sure it’ll be fun. I think at best, it won’t be torture. But please don’t bet on it.”

“Come on, Sunshine,” he says. “We’ll have a good time. We’re experts at having a good time, aren’t we? It’s all in the attitude.”

Well, who would have thought he’d be right?

Since the first person we run into is my dad in the parking lot sneaking a cigar, I think this is a stroke of luck because I can introduce him to Dad first, before my mother sizes him up and decides he’s too blue collar to hang out with the Grant family. Dad seems to be in a good mood, and although he purposely will not look directly at my tattoo or my hair, he seems nostalgic to see Mom’s old dress again. He gives me a big hug and a kiss and extends his hand to Cole.

Cole shakes his hand, calls him “sir,” and thanks him for having him. I’ve never been through this routine where you introduce your boyfriend to your father, but I guess Cole has, because he seems totally comfortable and polite and like he knows what to say and do. Then Dad and Cole talk about Mr. Santi’s Mustang. Cole hands Dad the keys and invites him to check it out, and Dad puts out his cigar and gets in behind the wheel, admiring it. Then Dad suggests, a little warily, that it’s time to go inside, because Mom is eager to meet Cole. My stomach knots, but Cole just smiles. The perfect gentleman, he takes me by the hand, opens the door for me, pulls my chair out for me. When my mother comes to the table I feel my bones turn to ice, even though my stomach feels like it’s on fire.

“Sonia,” she says, a sharpness to her voice that I know very well. She can’t hide her scowl as her eyes settle on the blue streaks in my hair.

“Hello, Mom,” I say.

I see the corner of her mouth twitch. I raise my eyebrows, because I know she won’t make a scene here with all these people around, and I almost want to dare her to say something.

“I didn’t realize you still had that dress,” she says, looking me over.

“Yes,” I say, and then I stand up and twirl around so she can see me in it. “Seemed like a good occasion to wear it.”

“It looks lovely on you,” she says, with an appreciative nod.

“Thanks,” I say, almost in shock. It’s a long, calm pause between us as I let her words hang there. Cole squeezes my hand before I remember to introduce him, and he gets to his feet to shake her hand and to tell her how nice it is to meet her. I do my best not to glare or say something bitchy when Mom thoroughly checks him out, looking for something, anything to be wrong with him. She waits for him to be rude, to be uncultured. I can see her wince as she hears his north Jersey accent and figures out that Cole isn’t someone who went to private school. But he offers to pull her chair out for her, and I must say, even though I’m waiting for it, she doesn’t actually say anything to make him feel like he doesn’t belong.

“So, Sonia tells us you’re in the band,” my dad says. “Bass player?”

“Yes, sir,” Cole says.

“Did you play bass in orchestra?” my mother asks.

“No, ma’am,” Cole says. “I was in the boys’ choir at Saint Joe’s, but otherwise I’ve had no traditional training.”

“Wait, you were a choirboy?” I ask. “How did I not know this?”

“It was a long time ago,” he says.

“You know, Sonia is a very talented cellist.”

“Yes, I know,” Cole says. “I hope to convince her to play cello for me. She filled in for me when I was called home from the tour for an emergency, and everyone was impressed with her talent.”

“Sonia got on a stage?” My mother’s eyes widen in surprise. “And she didn’t vomit?”

“Well, it was an emergency situation,” Cole says with an apologetic smile in my direction. “She was a real pro.”

My parents both study me for a moment and I almost feel like I owe them an explanation or something, but nah. The truth is, I’m not the same girl I was three years ago, the girl they think they still know. Hell, I’m not the same girl I was three weeks ago, either.

“So what’s your field of study at Rutgers?” my father finally asks Cole. “Or did you already graduate?”

My mother cocks her head in curiosity and I feel like I should jump in, but then Cole answers.

“I’m not in school, sir,” he says, no big deal. “I’m working towards membership in the pipefitters union. I’m in the middle of my apprenticeship now. I work up in Lodi for my uncle, who’s an independent plumbing and heating contractor.”

“Family business?” Dad says. I can’t look at my mother because I’m certain her expression, learning that Cole isn’t in college, is one that will make me rage.

“Yes,” Cole answers. “Gives me the flexibility I need right now, and he’s got no kids of his own, so he’ll make me a partner in five years if I decide to commit full-time. It’s not glamorous, but you know, it pays. And I enjoy working with my hands.”

Dad leans back in his seat, like he’s sizing Cole up in the witness stand from the fucking courtroom floor.
Please, Dad,
I silently beg.
I know we’ve never done this before with me bringing a guy to meet you, but please, please don’t judge him.

Dad nods thoughtfully. Then he picks up his highball and takes a sip. “You know,” he says. “If you ask me, not enough young men look seriously into the trades these days. You work your tail off, sure. But there’s a lot of financial security to be had going that route.”

“Well, that’s my thinking,” Cole says.

I slip my hand onto Cole’s knee under the table and give it the slightest squeeze of encouragement. He puts his hand over mine and squeezes it back, letting me know he’s got this. He compliments my mother for how lovely the party is, and how he can see where I get my flair for organizing events. He tells my parents how I was able to pull crowds into the clubs and even got a record label to start talking contracts with the band. My father is so impressed to hear this that he insists I tell him more. When we tell him about Matador, he tells me to call his office on Monday because he’s got an entertainment lawyer who’ll take a look at any contract for us. By the time dessert comes, my mother is telling Cole that we have to come to Sunday dinner next week so they can spend some time getting to know him better.

“I’d love that,” he says, and I think he might even mean it.

When the coffee is served, the string quartet takes leave, so we’re done with the classical dinner music. Now a five-piece jazz combo sets up on the stage and does a little “Moonlight Serenade,” and it’s cheesy, but it’s also pretty nice. Dad gets up to give a toast to my mother for being such a wonderful wife and mother (I even manage to keep a straight face). He leads Mom out onto the dance floor, and I have to say, for twenty-five years they still look pretty good together.

Cole lets out a long exhale when they’ve finally left the table, and I can’t help but laugh at the depth of his relief. He takes his napkin and dabs his brow with it, even though I can’t see any sweat there. Then he looks at me and smiles.

“Hey,” he says, taking my hand in his.

“Hmm?”

“Dance with me.”

Not sure why that surprises me, but it does in a very sweet way. I wonder if instead I should just nail him in the coat check closet. I haven’t done a lot of slow dancing, and I’m probably not going to be very good at this. But what the hell, how hard can it be?

By the time we get to the middle of the dance floor, the soft, romantic notes of some old jazz standard and Cole’s arms are all I need to figure out how to hover over the floor like an Arthur Murray graduate. I can think of a lot of times Cole and I have danced at a rock show, but I never imagined how it would feel slow dancing to these old standards with him. It’s like the heart is a timeless thing. Like we are the future and we are history, all at the same time.