Art & Soul
Page 17Therefore, I stayed out of his way.
Lance frowned. “Over the years your dad has built cement walls. There’s a separation between him and the rest of the world. He’s a hard one to crack sometimes and lives a lot in his own mind. But don’t worry, just give it time. He’s really happy you’re here. He just has a hard time showing it.” He sat on the stool in front of the new drum set and started pounding against the drums. He lit the room up with colors that effortlessly flew off of his sticks. “Listen,” he shouted, “If you want me to talk to him, I can. I’ll do anything to make this easier for you, Levi. Just let me know.” He kept banging against the drums.
He made me feel a little less alone.
When he finished letting loose on the drums, he tossed me a smile. “That always feels good, man. If you ever need a place to escape, you can always come here. Except for when you can’t because we close at nine. But then you could always crash at our pad right upstairs. The door to that is through the back by the alleyway.”
“Awesome. Thanks again for everything.”
He stood up. “You play?”
“Not the drums.”
“Have at it,” he said, tossing the sticks at me. “Music runs through our blood. Bang around a bit and see if you can find any magic.”
* * *
Dad was sitting at his desk inside of his office with the door wide open when I came home from Soulful Things. He was wearing a pair of thick black-framed glasses, studying a stack of paperwork. I paused at his door and greeted him, hoping for at least a hello. “Hey,” I said, giving him a slight grin. He didn’t look up, but said hi.
Ever since I’d arrived, I felt this knot in my stomach that if I said the wrong thing to him, he’d send me away. The dad I remembered was much more interested in me. Now, even though I was standing a few feet away from him, there was this strange distance between the two of us.
I tried to keep the conversation going, because it was clear he wasn’t interested in doing much talking. “The first day of school went okay. I like my classes. The teachers are fine. And—”
“Listen, I’m trying to get some shit done. You think we can do this small talk later?” he cut in, still staring at the paperwork. “Shut the door behind you.”
“Okay. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
He didn’t reply. I shut his door on my way out.
8 Aria
“I’m afraid,” Mom softly spoke after we pulled into our driveway. “I’m afraid for you. I see a lot of kids whose lives are forever changed by things like pregnancies. I’m a bit angry, too—at you, at myself—but we’ll figure this out, okay? I want you to know that you can talk to me. You can talk to me about what happened and with whom, Aria. I promise I’m here.” She climbed out of the car, slowly closing the door behind her.
I followed her inside, but I wasn’t ready to talk.
Mom relayed all of the information from the doctor’s appointment to Dad once we returned home. I was eleven weeks pregnant, I refused to dive into any details about James being the father, and I never wanted to hear the word abortion.
Dad brought up the word abortion five times that night. Each time I heard it, I felt a fragment of my heart breaking. Apparently his sister Molly had an abortion when she was a teenager and he said it was the best decision she ever made.
“She gave herself a life,” he argued. “Could you imagine Molly with a kid?”
No one could. Molly was what the world called a free spirit. Mom called her a slut—but that was another story involving a very strange Thanksgiving dinner two years ago at Simon’s house.
“Aria is not Molly.”
“It’s the same situation, Camila! She’s knocked up by God knows who. There’s an easy solution for this.”
Mom huffed. “Easy?”
Dad slammed his body into the living room chair and sank into it, running his hands over his head. “How could you let this happen?”
Mom’s eyes widen with horror. Mike came walking into the house just in time to hear the fighting. His football shoulder pads were still on, and he held his helmet under his left arm. “What’s going on?”
“We’re figuring out how to get rid of an issue.”
Dad’s eyes moved to me for the first time since the news. He stared as if he was looking through me. His brows burrowed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose before blinking and looking away. “It’s been a long day. What did you get for dinner?”
“You were supposed to pick up dinner. You knew I was taking Aria.”
He muttered, they argued, he muttered some more, they argued some more.
“I can order something,” I said.
“Forget it, Aria.” Dad sighed. He stood up from the chair. “You’ve done enough.”
“Is this going to be the norm now?” Mike asked Mom. He removed his shoulder pads. “Because if this place is just going to be yelling and shit, then I can stay at James’ house.”
The mere sound of James’ name made me want to hit something.
Are you going to get rid of it?