The Sweetest Thing You Can Sing Read online

  “You took the seat out of the car before we went out last night?” I ask finally. It was there the first night he drove me home from Total Drug Mart. I remember that now. On some level I must’ve assumed the most obvious explanation about a little brother or sister was the truth. The miniature chair hadn’t even formed a concrete question in my mind.

  Gage slowly bobs his head. “It’s a lot to bring up on a first date. Not everybody can handle it, and I didn’t know if we were really going to click.”

  I guess I wouldn’t want to drag out all my personal issues in front of someone I’d just met either, not that I’m calling his daughter an issue. I’m still just struggling to catch up with him.

  “So how old is she?” I ask.

  “Four.” Gage’s eyes mirror my surprise. “I know. I was really, really young. Thought my life was over and all that.” He taps the steering wheel. “But she’s great, so I can’t regret it.”

  I think of the ladybug hairclips he bought at Total and the glittering pink heart sticker with a wobbly “A” printed on the other side and try to let the reality of what he’s saying sink in. “What’s her name?”

  “Akayla.” He digs into his back pocket and hands me his wallet. “I have a couple of pictures of her in there.”

  I flip it open, ignoring his driver’s licence and collection of bank cards, etc.

  “In the side compartment,” he tells me, and the first thing I see is a photo of a sleeping baby with long eyelashes and dark curly hair. Her complexion’s pretty dark too, much darker than Gage’s, so her mother must be black. In the second picture a child-sized Akayla’s sitting on a couch with her legs crossed, her arms planted on her knees, and her fists tucked under her chin. Her hair is tied back, and she’s beaming into the camera like she loves getting her photo taken — either that or she loves the person taking it, which could very well be Gage, the nineteen-year-old guy next to me.

  “She’s gorgeous,” I say honestly.

  “Thanks.” He smiles proudly. By this time we’re almost at my turnoff and I have yet to answer his question about whether we’ll be seeing each other again in the future. Something tells me that he’s not going to ask again, that he’s just going to pull into my driveway and let me off the hook.

  I slip the photos back into his wallet and set it down in the compart ment behind the gearshift. Since he’s been so truthful with me the least I can do is not leave him hanging. “Um … I’m not really looking for anything seriously long-term myself at the moment so …”

  “Why would you be?” Gage says, like he agrees with me that casual is the way to go. “I’m not either. I just don’t think it’s fair to hide such a major thing from someone if we’re going to be hanging out. It’s the same as lying.

  “But anyway,” he continues, “it’s cool if you’re not into the idea anymore. No harm done. I just thought I’d ask.”

  “Hey,” I say it loudly, the same way I did last night when I told him to hold still so we could get down to some heavy kissing. “That wasn’t a no. With all the miscommunications we’ve had so far I just didn’t want to be unclear and lead you to believe that I’m ready to get ultraattached.” I’m making it sound like he asked me to marry him and become his daughter’s stepmom. I bite my tongue and cut to the chase. “But it’s cool with me if you want to call sometime.” I think I still want him to. I haven’t been able to calculate all the ways that Gage having a four-year-old could change things, but why get ahead of myself when he’s only saying he wants to hang out? “We can arrange a do-over.”

  Gage gives me a grateful look. “I’ll wear a warmer coat,” he says, grin inching onto his lips. “I think maybe that’s where things went wrong. You did try to warn me.”

  “I did.” I feel a smile burst onto my face too. This has been one weird day. My brain is still sorting through the backlog of emotions — disappointment (at not being able to find any trace of Devin downtown), last night’s anger with Gage (which no longer seems to make any sense), and Akayla’s existence. On top of that Gage is looking better than ever as he watches me beam at him, like my smile is making him grin even harder.

  We flirt a bit, recovering some of the vibe we lost in a deserted industrial parking spot last night, and when he pulls up to my house I’m sorry that it’s time to get out of the car. “I’d ask you in,” I tell him, “but I don’t think you really want to sit down to dinner with my parents.”

  “That could be weird,” he agrees. “I’d invite you over to my place, but that could be pretty weird too, and anyway, I’m low on food. I think all I have right now is a box of mac and cheese and frozen peas.”

  “We’re not very gourmet at home these days either.” When Devin was home Mom made meals from scratch, but now most of our dinners come from the freezer or the deli next to my dad’s work.

  “’Scuse me?” Gage says, pretending to be insulted. “Macaroni and cheese out of a box is better than gourmet if you know what you’re doing.”

  “If you know what you’re doing?” I echo. “You mean, like, if you can read the instructions on the back of the box?”

  Gage explains that there’s much more to it than that and says he’s ready to prove it if I want. I hesitate, wondering if we’d be eating with his daughter and whether that’s such a good idea. He reads my mind and adds, “Akayla won’t be around if that’s what you’re worried about. I have her a couple of nights a week but I’m on my own tonight.”

  So we drive back to his place just around the corner from the rec centre on Laird. There’s a black Toyota Camry already in the driveway, which must belong to his mother. But since Gage has his own private entrance around the side of the house it turns out we don’t even have to see her. He leads me down to the basement and through a cozy-looking family room with matching floor lamps on either side of the chocolate brown couch. I understand right away why he told me we couldn’t come back here last night. Evidence of his daughter is everywhere. A folding pink castle, with three wooden royalty figures propped up against the interior walls, is spread out on the beige carpet. Two horse figures have been deserted on the couch next to a shimmering purple baseball hat with butterflies, flowers, and a mermaid pasted on its front. An empty plastic glass sits on the coffee table, which has some kind of stamping kit half-pushed under it. Gage reaches down to scoop up the glass as we head for the kitchen.

  I’m impressed that everything’s as clean as it is. Sure there’s stuff left out in the family room but the carpet’s been vacuumed recently and the kitchen’s tile floor is spotless. “This is really nice,” I tell him.

  Gage has a list of emergency numbers stuck to his fridge along with a wipe-off calendar that has Akayla’s visiting days clearly marked. I see another picture of her there too — a large fridge magnet with a photo of her in a crushed red velvet dress, sitting primly on an uncomfortable-looking wrought iron chair. She’s holding a plush lamb doll and smiling with her mouth closed. I stare at the image, trying to spot a resemblance to Gage but not finding one. Maybe she looks more like her mother.

  “Thanks.” He motions to my coat. “Hey, you want me to hang that up? We missed the closet on the way in.”

  “Oh, okay. Sure.” I wriggle out of my coat and hand it over. He said he wanted to stay away from sex and I know his daughter isn’t around so why am I so nervous? Messing things up more than we did last night doesn’t seem possible.

  “So let me see this mac and cheese magic,” I say when he steps back into the room minus our coats. Suddenly my mouth is so dry that I’m afraid my smile will dissolve into dust on my lips.

  “Maybe I should blindfold you first so you won’t give away my secrets,” Gage says. My cheeks burn at the mention of the word blindfold as though I really am a sex addict liable to pounce on him at any moment.

  “I kinda don’t believe you have any secrets,” I joke, pushing my nerves down under my rib cage so he won’t be able
to hear them in my voice.

  “I think I’ve actually told you one of them already,” he says with a half grin. “Sit down.” He cocks his head at the fifties-style Formica table in the middle of the room. “You can watch me do my chef thing.”

  I slip into the nearest chair and watch him pull the macaroni and cheese box from one of the higher cupboards. Then he checks the freezer and reports, “I have broccoli and peas. You want both of them, or are you the kind of person who’s not really into vegetables?”

  “I like everything,” I tell him, my entire face on fire because of the multiple ways that sentence can be misconstrued. “Let me do something to help.”

  If I could kiss him I wouldn’t have to think so much but there’s no way in hell I’ll be the one to make the first move — or even the second — after the way things went down last night outside J.N. Maltzar/Malezar.

  “Okay.” He closes the freezer and swings open the fridge to reach for a package of shredded cheddar. “You boil the water and chuck the macaroni in. I’ll heat up the vegetables.”

  We make macaroni and cheese Gage Cochrane–style, which is essentially what comes out of the box plus lots of extra shredded cheddar, a tablespoon of Dijon mustard, and peas and broccoli mixed in. It tastes pretty good, so I have to agree with him about his gourmet skills. We sit across the table from each other swallowing sparkling grape juice and pretending it’s not weird to be having dinner together in the place he sometimes shares with his four-year-old daughter.

  “So is your daughter with her mom tonight?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” Gage sets down his fork. “She spends a lot more time there but she has a room here too.”

  I nod, thinking he’ll have more to say on the subject, but instead Gage goes, “I’m glad you came over. Every time I saw you at the store you looked so cute I couldn’t stop staring.”

  “In that gross Total uniform — you have to be kidding.”

  “Even in the uniform,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Out of the uniform’s better still, but even in the uniform.” Gage blushes as he realizes what he’s just said, and I’m glad to see that I’m not the only one who feels self-conscious.

  We wash the dishes together and then try to find something on TV. Upstairs I can hear his mother walking around, banging cupboards open. The noise really carries. “So you and your mom normally do your own thing?” I ask. Gage stops clicking the remote and lets the TV rest on a Game of Thrones repeat.

  “Mostly. She spends a lot of time at work. She and her best friend own a hair salon together. It’s their whole social hub.”

  I pick up one of the wooden horse figures lying next to me on the couch and run my fingers down its tail. Gage smiles and motions to the pink castle on the floor. “You can play with it if you want. She wouldn’t mind.”

  “I better not, I wouldn’t want to break anything,” I kid back. The urge to kiss him is so strong that it’s making my cheeks flush all over again.

  Gage’s stare inches from my eyes all the way down to my knees and back again. “Maybe we could come up with something else to do instead. What do you think?”

  “I think I’m kind of scared to after the way things went last night,” I say truthfully.

  “Don’t be. We just won’t let things get out of hand this time.” He sets his palm down lightly on my thigh. “I’m sorry I flipped last night. I didn’t mean to scare you off.”

  Gage’s front teeth peek out from under his top lip. His hand moves from my thigh to my hair. He lets a strand slip between two of his fingers before burying them in my hair, massaging the back of my neck. “I really wish …” His thought floats suspended in mid-air.

  “What?” I can’t catch my breath.

  “Nothing.” He leans in to kiss me, his bottom lip urging my mouth open. We kiss slowly, pacing ourselves. “You taste like macaroni and cheese,” he tells me, smiling into my face.

  “You’re not supposed to tell me that.” I poke his stomach. “You’re supposed to say I taste good.” No way did I just say that. I blush so brightly that I could easily be mistaken for a Cortland apple.

  “You do,” he says. “You’re delicious.” He cups my neck in both hands. I push my lips against his and then we’re all tongues swirling, his hands in my hair and one of mine up the back of his shirt. His chest’s so taut that I can’t keep my hands off him. Whatever he’s hauling around at the warehouse is obviously doing him a lot of good.

  We kiss and kiss. Fast and slow. Deep and shallow. Soft and rough. The both of us tasting like Gage’s macaroni and cheese and me filling up on a warm, fuzzy feeling that used to wash over me whenever Jacob was being especially sweet.

  “See,” Gage whispers in my ear, “nothing to be scared of.”

  We lie on his couch together and watch the rest of Game of Thrones, having proven to ourselves that it’s fully possible to make out alone somewhere and not let things get out of hand. It makes a nice change to have someone else be more worried about that than I am. If this is hanging out with Gage Cochrane, I think I might be able to get used to it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ~

  WHEN I FIRST WAKE up I can’t remember where I am. On TV Will Smith is lying in an empty bathtub with a German shepherd, listening to undead things howl. The first time I saw this movie it made me dream of people with melted-off faces all night long. The sound of the zombies outside Will’s door would normally still make me nervous, only now I can feel Gage’s body squished up behind mine, his arm draped over my waist and his breathing relaxed but loud. It’s probably not a good idea to like him this much so quickly, but I don’t want him to prove my fears right, I want him to prove the other thing, which is even more dangerous.

  Why are you so happy about falling asleep on some guy’s couch?, I ask myself. This is not what the new and improved Serena is supposed to be doing with her time. “Hey.” I sit up and stare at Gage. He looks younger in his sleep, my age, and I remember, with a twinge, that I told him I was already sixteen.

  “Gage.” I reach down and touch his leg. He flinches, his eyes popping open like a character out of horror movie.

  “Hey,” he mumbles. “We fell asleep.” He rubs his sleepy eyes and begins to look like regular Gage again. “What time is it?”

  I check my watch. “1:14.” Uh-oh. It’s not a school night, but I never checked in with my parents. I glance around for my knapsack, wondering why they didn’t call me. Is it possible they didn’t notice my absence?

  Then I remember my knapsack must be lying on the kitchen floor, against the wall where I left it. I rush into the kitchen, bend down by my bag, and tug out my phone. There are five missed messages, and I’m obviously in very serious trouble.

  “Are you okay?” Gage asks, stumbling into the kitchen behind me.

  I nod, my phone stuck to my ear as I listen to my mother’s worried voice and then my father’s angry one. “I never called home,” I tell Gage. There are three remaining messages I need to check, but I’m willing to bet none of them will improve my situation.

  “Damn.” Gage taps his forehead like this is something he should’ve reminded me to do. “I better get you home before your folks have a meltdown.”

  I listen to the other messages as he retrieves our coats. Both Genevieve and Nicole called to warn me my parents were looking for me. Nicole wonders aloud whether she should tell my parents that I went to Toronto because what if something has happened to me? The final message is another from my mom, and in this one franticness is replaced with irritation which morphs rapidly into acute concern. I am epically screwed.

  We jump in Gage’s car and he kisses me goodbye while we’re still in his driveway. He explains that he may not have a chance later, what with my parents waiting to flip out on me. “Give me a call and let me know what they do to you,” Gage says when he drops me off. “I can’t believe we fell asleep. They’ll never buy that
. It’s the lamest excuse ever.”

  A lame excuse that happens to be the truth. My shoulders droop as I trek towards the front door and slip my key into it. I’ve barely taken three steps inside the house when my mother and father descend upon me like a pair of rabid bats.

  “Sorry I didn’t call,” I murmur, casting a remorseful gaze down at the floor. “I was hanging out with someone after school. We fell asleep watching TV. My cell was in the other room. I didn’t hear it ring.”

  I’m particularly stupid to mention another room. Just what room does that make it sound like we were hanging out in?

  “Who is we?” my father demands, dark circles under his eyes as though I’ve been gone for much longer than one evening.

  “The guy from last night. Gage.” If I had a credible lie in my head, I’d tell it, but anything I can think to say doesn’t sound one bit more convincing than the truth.

  “The same guy you said wasn’t Jacob’s replacement,” Dad surmises stonily. “You know we have enough on our plate here without having to worry about where you are. Do you have any idea how many people your mother called looking for you? Nobody knew where you were.” His blood is boiling under his skin. He yells louder as he continues. “Or if they did, they certainly didn’t share the information with us, so you can congratulate your friends on their loyalty the next time you speak to them.”

  “They didn’t know,” I tell him.

  Mom furrows her eyebrows as she glares at me. “What?” she squawks, deciding to join in the fun. Mom’s in her long-sleeved yellow cotton pyjamas and slippers so I have to wonder how upset she can really be. It looks like she was just about to climb into bed.

  “They don’t know Gage,” I explain. “They didn’t know I was with him. I thought I’d just be there for dinner. I’m telling the truth — we fell asleep watching TV. We weren’t doing anything wrong.”