He was living his dream now, though, and that’s all that mattered.
“E, you look amazing.” I hold his shoulders while I scan up and down his body. He’s taller than me by an inch or two and has filled out just as much. His hair is wild and wavy, like mine, which I keep shorter on the sides and controlled with gel on top. He even sports the same scruff. Everyone always said our eyes match, but Ethan’s are a shade lighter than mine. I have my dad’s eyes—deep, dark, puzzling.
“Gavin, meet Ella.” Ethan steps aside, and I meet a woman with vibrant red hair, lush and wavy, cascading around her shoulders. She also has a wicked scar on the right side of her face. I’d been warned, but nothing prepares me enough for the horror of it. I can’t take my eyes off the puckered, red skin, and then I do an awkward thing of looking away and back and away again.
“Don’t stare,” Ethan hisses, but Ella grins.
“It’s okay.” She holds my eyes as if she knows it’s difficult while rude, and my cheeks heat. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
“I’m Gavin,” I awkwardly restate, and she giggles. Without thinking, I cup her shoulders and lean in for a kiss on her left cheek. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Same,” she says. Her cheeks flush while she smiles. Ethan steps up to his girl, wraps a protective arm around her, and kisses her temple, right above her scar.
“Don’t fall for his charm,” he warns, keeping his lips to her head.
“And they’d differ from yours?” She laughs as she keeps her eyes on me, and I see in her expression how she’s completely enraptured with Ethan. He’s equally smitten with her.
“Let’s sit,” Ethan states, and I’m so grateful for his lead. I follow him to a table in the back corner. A fireplace, which isn’t lit, has a beautiful painting hanging over it of a man and woman dancing on a dock. It feels appropriate for a restaurant located only a few miles from a beach.
The process of ordering meals follows with casual conversation. I’m asked about the festival. I ask about the farm. My dad’s face twitches. He makes snide remarks, but my mother’s been holding his hand under the table. I’m assuming it’s like a Taser, warning him with continual squeezes not to say something he’ll regret.
Too late. Too much was said long ago.
Ethan talks about his restaurant. It’s been open since April, and I apologize again for missing the opening. I have to count back the months mentally to recall where I was last spring. The truth is, I just couldn’t bring myself to come home, but over the next two weeks, I have a purpose for being here.
Ella tells me about her new clothing line and retail store in our small town. I already know she pitched to New York design houses but then remained local. I don’t understand that decision, but it’s not my business, so to each her own.
“I designed your mother’s scarf,” Ella states, and I glance over at Mum’s head wrap. It’s pretty, but my heart squeezes as the reality of why she’s wearing it hits me again.
“That reminds me. I have something for each of you.” I mean, Mum and Dad, and realize I’m an ass for not having a gift for Ethan and his girlfriend. Excusing myself, I return to the car where I left the gift bags, and take a moment to collect a breath.
Only a little longer, Gavin. You can do this.
I hate that I need to give myself a pep talk to speak with my parents.
Returning to the table, I hand Mum and Dad each a decorative bag. Mum removes the tissue paper first to reveal a pink headscarf while Dad rummages through the bag, crumpling the tissue to the side before pulling forward his present.
“A tie?” he asks, and I note the pattern of the tie and the headscarf match. My manager picked it out. I’ve kept Zoey on a retainer, although I’m not certain why. The gifts are a huge mistake.
“Yeah,” I say, scratching at the back of my neck. Shit. What does my dad need with a pink plaid tie?
“It’s beautiful, Gavin. Thank you,” Mum states, trying to lessen the tension between us. She clears her throat and tries another topic. “So, lovie, what’s your movie about?”
My heart flutters at my mother’s endearment. She says it on the phone when I call home but hearing it in person does something to me.
“It’s a film, actually,” I clarify, clearing my throat to swallow the lump in it. I don’t bother explaining the difference between a film and a movie—how one connotates giving information while the other is more entertainment. We tried to make this film informational with a touch of entertainment, adding in the personal trials and tribulations of our young star. “A documentary about baseball.”
“Baseball,” Dad snorts.
“The crew followed a young man for a few years through the start of his career. It’s meant to showcase the ups and downs of professional sports.”
My parents will be seeing the film on Thursday, but the expression on my dad’s face says he isn’t excited.
“We can’t wait to see it,” Mum states, and she must be squeezing my dad’s hand hard under the table because his face is red, and a vein stands out on his neck. Not to mention, it’s uncharacteristic of him not to speak.
+ + +
Later that night, a cocktail party is held at a resort in Traverse City. It’s ticketed to keep out the enthusiasts, allowing filmmakers, producers, and actors to mingle among themselves before the showing of films, question and answer sessions, and presentations from various names in the industry begin the next day.
I attend in hopes of shaking off the awkward dinner with my family, which I escaped as quickly as I could. Ethan asked me to hang out longer, but he understood when I said I have a thing.
“Yeah, a big shot filmmaker can’t hang with us little people,” he mocked. He didn’t understand I didn’t feel like a big shot. I felt like a man just trying to make his way in the world and continually struggling to get it right.
Once in TC—as the locals call Traverse City—I drink a locally brewed beer, shake hands, and take photos with actors for their social media. As a has-been baseball player, I don’t have quite the same status as them. After an hour, I need air and decide to cross the byway to the downtown business district. It’s late enough the stores are closed, but the streetlamps remain on. The town is quiet as I walk the few blocks, eyes fixated on the old State Theatre, a historical landmark.
Looking up at the marquee, I stop and allow a movie from yesteryear to play out in my memory.
I’d gone to the movies. I just needed an escape. I’d most likely had a fight with my dad, and I wanted to be alone, which wasn’t possible to explain to friends as a teen. Watching a movie alone was unheard of. I slipped into the broken-down theater in Elk Lake City. With one screen, there was a matinee and an evening showing of some outdated film I can’t even remember. It wasn’t the movie that was important.
When I was in line for concessions, only one other person was ahead of me. A lithe-limbed blond with subtle curves and tan legs. For some reason, I just knew she wasn’t from the area. Her short skirt showed off those legs, and a soft voice ordered popcorn—a giant tub of it. When she turned, startled to find someone waiting behind her, the most beautiful blue eyes met mine as she fumbled with such a large container.