Two Punks In Love

Shall I Be Released

Author's Note: The song is super relevant and part of the chapter's narrative...

Trace

I see my dad catch my mom's eye in the rearview mirror, and they exchange some secret communication. Beside me in the backseat of this rental, my mom looks out the window so that I don't see her smile.

"What?" I say. If I sound flat, I know to my dad it's still an improvement over the irritation that has colored my tone with him for at least a decade.

He chuckles. "It's just funny. Your mom riding back there with you, like when you were a baby."

I come thisclose to saying, "I'm not a baby," but thankfully I realize how utterly whiny and childish that would sound, so I go with, "Glad my breakdown is such a source of amusement for you two."

My dad just rolls his eyes and shakes his head at me in the mirror, but his grin remains in place. My mom pats my leg. "At least you don't still scream and scream until you make yourself puke during every car ride."

"Okay, can we focus on something besides what an awful baby I was? Hello—dad of twins-on-the-way, remember. I don't need baby horror stories. Especially do not say that kind of stuff to Kat," I warn.

God knows she's stressed out enough at the generalized thought of twins. She doesn't need prophetic tales of inherited colic and car-sickness.

"Trace...you were a very sweet baby," my mom says.

"Except during car rides," my dad corrects. I can see his shit-eating grin.

"Hey, I can disown you again," I warn him, with a finger.

"Yeah, you can," he agrees. "Or you can help your mom and I look for a condo near that new house you're building out in Malibu...so we can visit and help you with those little guys. If they are anything like their parents, they are bound to be hellraisers from the start..." he teases.

It's crazy how easy it actually was for my dad and I to slip back into something like father and son, now that I want it. It reminds me that it wasn't always terrible between us. Just when he drank. And he doesn't drink anymore. Ever. So...

"Or...what do you think about a guest house on our property? There's a space along the cliffs that would lend itself to two tricked out bungalows, each with a private patio and hot tub...you know...one for you guys, one for Mike and Ellen. For when you visit at the same time. For birthdays, Christmas, whatever. You would be neighbors, again..."

My mom and dad exchange another silent communication. "You don't have to do that, Son. We can get our own place..." he offers.

"I know. But I kinda...want to. You could do with it whatever you want," I tell my mom. "It would be completely your space. You can design it with architect."

My mom beams at me. "I would love that, Trace. Thank you."

My dad frowns in the mirror, and I know he just doesn't like the idea of me building them a house. Ross was a poor father in many ways, but he did work hard at the family business and he always provided everything my mom and I could ever want. Even after he sold his stake of the business to a cousin and sank most of his money into the non-profit he started, he's managed to buy my mom a nice new house and fund an active retirement lifestyle for them. He's like me—a little prideful when it comes to paying his own way.  

"I have more money than I can spend in two lifetimes, Dad. Because of all those guitar lessons you paid for, the equipment and the guitars and even that van you bought me, when Soundcrush started getting gigs. Think of it as a thank you, for making everything I've done possible."