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“And I don’t want every break on tour turning into another chance to add a show because somebody asks. If we have enough time to come home, I want to come home.”
“You should probably tell your band that.”
“I will.”
“And Ruby.”
“If she’ll talk to me.”
“She’ll talk to you.”
“You sound sure.”
“I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”
“Please don’t make this weird.”
Dad smiles. “You brought your relationship problems into my shop.”
“Clearly a mistake.”
“You’re learning.”
I pick up one of the sockets from the floor and roll it between my fingers.
The bigger decisions won’t all be mine. That’s another thing I’ve been getting wrong. I don’t get to decide what Ruby should sacrifice any more than she gets to decide what I should.
If the tour gets extended, that doesn’t mean I automatically say yes and tell her after. If something comes up that affects both of us, then we talk about it. If she wants to visit, we figure out when. If she doesn’t want to spend half her year chasing a bus around the country, I don’t take that as proof she cares less.
And if I’m gone for months, I still have to be part of the life I left here.
Not a guest who calls when it’s convenient.
Dad watches me turning the socket in my hand. “You look like you’re figuring something out.”
“I think I’m figuring out that I’m not going to have all of it figured out.”
Dad gives a quiet laugh. “That sounds like adulthood.”
I toss the socket toward him. He catches it one-handed.
“I should go.”
“Probably.”
I make it halfway to the door before he calls my name. When I turn, he’s still standing beside the workbench.
“I’m proud of you.”
“For the tour?”
“For all of it.”
That catches me off guard enough that I don’t have anything smart to say.
Dad seems satisfied with that.
“Go tell your mother before I do.”
