New Girl in Town

Chapter 10

It's like I can't escape him. Marco's there again the next morning, bustling around the house like he owns it. Which I know he does! I know! But I didn't realize he spent so much time in it. Does he have work? I'm not even really clear at what he does, but surely he has to go somewhere to do it, right?

I unpacked everything yesterday, so now I don't even have that as an excuse to avoid him. That was such a terrible idea; I should've saved half of it for today, just in case.

I thought I'd have the house more to myself, like I had the apartment with Mom to myself in the good days, when she was working and seeing friends and even sometimes dating. The rarer the good days got, the more she stayed in her room. On the bad days, it was like the floor was made of eggshells that I tiptoed on, desperate to never make a crack. The littlest things could shatter her. But I guess that's it, isn't it? Those things, they didn't seem little to her.

Not at all.

I wish I had known that. I wish I had known better.

But I didn't. And now I'm here with Marco, and the floor feels like eggshells again. Same feeling, different parent. It makes me wonder: Is it me?

I need coffee, so I shuffle into the kitchen to get it. As I pass by the living room, he looks up from the couch.

"I could make you some breakfast," he offers when he sees the coffee cup in my hand.

Having had several of his dinners, I don't think breakfast is going to be his secret skill. "Coffee is fine," I assure him. "I've never eaten a lot in the morning."

"Huh. Maybe you got that from me."

I choke on the coffee, I'm so surprised. "Um. Sure."

"You want to see what I'm doing?" he asks, motioning me forward. There are a bunch of plastic boxes with dividers set on the coffee table. As I draw closer, I can see that there are gemstones inside one of them, finished jewelry in the other.

"What's this?"

"My work."

"You made these?" I lean forward, curious despite myself. He makes jewelry? But he doesn't even wear any. I don't know him well or at all, but I can tell you right now, Marco is not the turquoise-bracelet sort of guy.

"I picked up jewelry making to pay the bills while I made music. Stumbled into it when a buddy of mine got a good deal on some stones. Taught myself the basics, honed my skills through the years. My early pieces were crude as hell." He laughs at the thought, and when he does it, my heart twists, because it's the first time I've seen him smile ... and it's exactly like mine.

Everyone's always told me I look more like my mom—same eyes and high cheekbones, small nose, and thick, straight hair. But Marco's smile is staring me in the face. It's my smile, and it's like he's stolen it from me, this thing I thought was mine alone.

"They're pretty," I say faintly, even though I can barely see them. This is what he was doing all these years, instead of being my father? Shining up pretty stones and melting silver like a blacksmith or something? He could've been doing this from anywhere. He could've stayed in San Diego, even if he didn't want to stay with Mom.

But instead, this place—Bumfuck Nowhere, Oregon—and a bunch of minerals were more important?

"You can touch them," he says, so encouragingly that I do it just to make him happy, even though I feel numb. "I've got a studio smithy set up in the garage now. I could teach you."

I grab the closest necklace, a smooth pendant I have to flip over, the chain filtering through my fingers with the faintest tickle. My stomach drops like I'm diving off a roof into a pool I know is too shallow.