My phone rings just after midnight but I’m not asleep. Infact, I’m barely in my pj’s yet as the second I came home from work, I grabbed my journal and got right back to work again. I put the journal down and checked the screen. It’s Derrick.
Derrick: Can’t sleep. You up?
Me: Is this a booty call?
Derrick: No.
I’m too lazy to type, so I dial his number and he answers on the first ring.
“Hey.” I lean back against my pillow. “I’m sorry I can’t come over and kiss all your boo-boos, but I’m working on the song.”
“It’s okay. You sound too distracted for that.” He pauses. “Did you decide which story you’re going to use?”
“I think so. It’s the one I read to you last month when we were studying. Do you remember it?”
“Yeah. It was sad.”
“Sad is good. Packs more of an emotional punch.” I hesitate. “I forgot to ask you earlier—was your dad at the game?”
A pause. “He never misses one.”
“Did he bring up Thanksgiving again?”
“No, thank fuck. He doesn’t even look at me when we lose, so I wasn’t expecting him to be chatty.” Derrick’s voice is thick with bitterness, and then I hear him clear his throat. “Put me on speakerphone. I want to hear you write.”
My heart squeezes with emotion, but I try to hide the response by donning a casual tone. “You want me to sing you a lullaby? Aren’t you precious.”
He chuckles. “My chest feels like it got hit by a truck. I need a distraction.”
“Fine.” I hit the speaker button and reach for my guitar. “Feel free to hang up if you get bored.”
“Baby, I could watch you watching paint dry, and I still wouldn’t be bored.”
I settle the board on my lap and start revising from the top. I must’ve gone through the board three times before I had to stop to suck down water.
“Still here, you know.” Derrick’s voice startles me. Then I laugh, because I honestly forgot he was on the line. “I couldn’t put you to sleep, huh? I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.”
“Flattered. Your work ethic gives me chills. Makes it impossible to fall asleep.”
I smile, even though he can’t see me. “I need to figure out what to do about this last chunk. End on a high or low note? Oooh, and maybe I should switch up the middle section too. You know what? I have an idea. I’m hanging up now so I can figure it out, and you need to go to sleep. Night, dude.”
“Goldy, wait,” he says before I can hang up.
I take the phone off speaker and bring it to my ear. “What’s up?”
I’m greeted by the longest pause ever.
“Derrick? Are you there?”
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Still here.” A heavy breath reverberates through the line. “Will you come home with me for Thanksgiving?”
I freeze. “Are you serious?”
Another pause, even longer than the first. I almost expected him to rescind the invitation, and I don’t think I’d be upset if he did. Knowing what I do about Derrick’s father, I’m not sure if I can sit across a dinner table from that man without reaching over to strangle him or hug him knowing what I do from my father.
What kind of man hits his own son? His twelve-year-old son. I haven’t worked up the nerve to press Derrick about it but with the hints I dropped over the past few months I definitely believe it.
“I can’t go back there alone, Brenna. Will you come?”
His voice cracks on those last words, and so does my heart. Almost like another confirmation, I let out a shaky breath and say, “Of course I will.”