The Mixtape by Brittainy C. Cherry

20

OLIVER

“Well, I’ll tell you what, that Emery girl can really cook,” Dad said as he and I sat in the studio while everyone else was outside waiting on the fireworks to begin, although they wouldn’t start for a few hours. We’d spent the past few hours celebrating the holiday outside, and I wanted to share some of my new music with him to try to get his input.

“She’s a very nice girl, too,” Dad added.

“She’s a hard girl not to like.”

“Based on her cooking skills, I see why you like her, too,” he joked. “So, is she?”

“Is she what?”

“Your girlfriend?”

“What? No. We are just . . .” What were we? Associates? Friends? Were Emery and I friends? “No. She’s not.”

“But you like her, and don’t go lying to me trying to deny it. I’m your father, and I know when you’re lying. All those years dating that Cam girl, and I ain’t ever seen you look at her the way you look at Emery. She must mean something big to you.”

I agreed. I knew it had only been a few short weeks since I’d met Emery, but she was the first woman I’d ever found myself opening up to be with. I knew if I was going to be hers, I had to crack open the layers of myself that I normally kept to myself.

“She showed up at a time that I felt extremely alone.”

“I believe that,” Dad said with a nod; then he clasped his hands together and cleared his throat. “Which brings me to my next point, a point I want to make really clear to you. It wasn’t your fault, son.”

“What?”

“What happened to Alex. It wasn’t your fault.”

I went to respond, but Dad shook his head and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I know you, son. I know how you work. And I know you’ve placed that blame on yourself. I know the media spun that story, and it probably came back to you more than it ever should’ve, but I’m here to tell you it’s not your fault.”

I clasped my hands together and looked down. “I know that’s true. It’s been hard. I don’t know how to explain it. If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have been in that car.”

“You can’t think like that. The fault of the accident were those idiots speeding down the road like psychopaths. I blame them for what happened to your brother, not you.”

“You don’t blame me?”

Dad sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never. I’m here to say that thought never for a second crossed our minds. Also, you have to reach out to us when you’re struggling, Oliver. You are never a burden to your mother and me. We are always here for you, through the shitty days especially. It’s easy to have people who ride for you during the peaks, but we want you to know that we are here during the valleys. Especially during the valleys.”

I clasped my hands together again and stared down at them, my mind connecting the dots to exactly what my father was saying. “It wasn’t my fault?” I asked with a hoarse tone splitting through my words.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

A relief that I didn’t think I deserved hit me. I slowly began to let go of the guilt that I’d been hanging on to since the day Alex left my side.

I wiped my hand beneath my nose and cleared my throat. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Welcome. Now, play me some of your new music, and let me make it better.”

It was a long time ago, almost ten years, since my dad had helped me with the music in my studio, but I’d never forgotten that he was the man who’d made Alex and me fall in love with music. He introduced me to the greatest artists of all time when we were children, making sure every classic was in our lives, from Sam Cooke to Frank Sinatra. Our house was always lit up with the sounds of the greats.

Dad worked in the music industry for a while as a technician, and he was the one who’d built Alex and me our first studio when we were teenagers.

Without his guidance, none of our dreams would’ve come true.

I played the tracks for him, and he listened with an attentive ear. He usually didn’t give me feedback until a song had finished, and then he’d sit back, purse his mouth, and nod. “It’s good. It’s good.”

“But?”

He didn’t go into the buts at first—he never did. Dad wasn’t one to criticize a piece of music before pointing out all the good within it. That went for any and every song. He said every piece of art held ounces of beauty.

I was thankful for that. I needed some good feedback. “But . . . ?” I said again, after the compliments had come in.

“What if we tried this?” he asked, standing up and tweaking with the equipment. We stayed in there for hours, creating. We took pieces we’d made, broke them apart, and stitched them back together. We had . . . fun.

When we finished a song, once it had turned into something that made me feel proud, we stood in silence for a minute, almost in shock.

Dad patted me on the back and grinned. “Alex would love this.”

I smiled, because I knew he was right.

“Play it again,” Dad told me. “It’s too good not to hear again.” So I did as he said.

“Mr. Mith! Mr. Mith!” Reese chanted, racing into the studio to get my attention. She was out of breath as she waved me over. “Come on! Hurry!”

“Hurry for what?” I questioned.

“The fireworks, duh.”

We headed outside to the backyard, where the display of fireworks could be seen over our houses. Everyone was sitting on the ground around the pool, looking up at the colorful sky in complete awe at the beauty. The three kids were jumping up and down with excitement screaming oohs and aahs, giggling with one another at how big, bright, and loud the fireworks were.

I took a seat on the ground beside Emery, and it didn’t take Kelly long to give me a stupid smirk about that fact. I tried my best to ignore it. Emery turned toward me with her knees bent and her arms wrapped around them. Then she looked back up to the sky.

“Beautiful, right?”

“Yes. Stunning.”

Say something to her.

Something that makes sense, though.

But something that matters too.

Just talk.

Say something!

“I’m sorry,” I sputtered out.

“Sorry? For what?”

“For having you cook on a holiday. I’ve been overthinking it since I asked. I should’ve just invited you over and hired a caterer. It was rude of me to ask. Sometimes I don’t think things through until I overthink it and—”

Her hand fell on my forearm. “Don’t overthink this one, Oliver. Today was so fun, and it gave me a chance to do what I love the most. Being able to cook for you has reminded me so much of who I want to be. This is my passion, and because of you I’m able to make it come to life.”

I sighed, relieved. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Are you okay?” she asked me, posing her normal question.

“I’m all right today.”

Her eyes flashed with emotions, and her hand, which was still on my arm, squeezed so gently. “Really?” she asked, getting emotional. You would’ve thought I’d said it was the best day I’d ever had.

“Yeah, really. Today was good.” The tears that were sitting at the back of her eyes began to fall, and I lightly chuckled. “Don’t cry, Em.”

“Sorry, gosh, it’s all the wine your mom has been giving me, I swear,” she laughed, taking her hand away from my arm and wiping her eyes. The moment her hand left my skin, I missed her touch. “It’s just . . . since I’ve been asking you how you’ve been, that’s never been the answer. That makes me so happy, Oliver.” She was overly emotional about it, which made me feel bad for making her that way.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Happy tears,” she said, laughing a little. “Just happy tears. I’m really happy for you. You deserve good days.”

“Emery?”

“Yes?”

“Are we friends?”

Her brown eyes smiled more than her lips. “Of course we are.”

“Okay, good.” I felt myself becoming uncomfortable, feeling stupid for even asking her that question. But ever since my father asked me what Emery and I were, I truly wanted to know. Because in my mind, we were friends, but sometimes my mind lied to me.

“I like that about you, you know,” she commented.

“What’s that?”

“How shy you get at times and how you overthink things. I mean, let’s be honest. You might be thinking just enough, and the rest of the world is underthinking. Perspective,” she joked.

I gave her a half smile, and she gladly gave me the other half.

“I like when you do that too. Smile.”

Seemed as if I’d been doing more of that ever since she’d come around.

Shortly after, Reese came dashing toward me. “Mr. Mith! Can I sit in your lap to watch the fireworks?”

I shifted around and held my arms out toward her. She hopped into my arms and rested against me as she looked up to the sky. I noticed that Catie and Garrett were sitting in Tyler’s arms, and I was certain that was where Reese got the idea.

I held her tighter as she laid her head on my shoulder. I could tell she was getting tired, which wasn’t shocking after the active day she’d had with her new friends. Her eyes were somewhat open as she tried to watch the fireworks overhead. She yawned with her mouth wide open before snuggling against me.

“Mr. Mith?” she whispered.

“Yeah, kid?”

“The music I heard you playing with your dad didn’t sound like garbage.”

Within seconds, she was asleep in my arms, not knowing how much those words touched me. That little girl was adorable in every way possible. From her dark hair to her bright smile. I swore she had Emery’s eyes too. And her button nose, and her heart. I had no doubt that Reese had her mother’s heartbeats.

After the fireworks show came to an end, I placed the sleeping Reese in one of the spare rooms of my house. Kelly and Tyler both headed out, exhausted but with smiles on their faces. Mom and Dad were still drinking and dancing outside with one another, because that was who they were, and they’d dance all night if their feet allowed it.

Emery was in the kitchen trying to clean up the mess that had piled up throughout the evening. I walked over to her by the sink and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to do this tonight. I’ll handle it in the morning.”

“Oh gosh, no way. I can get it all cleaned up. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s been a long day. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

“I’ll get to sleep in tomorrow. It’s really okay.”

“Let me help you,” I offered.

“Don’t tell me you two kids are in here cleaning,” Mom said, coming into the kitchen with an emptied glass. “You should be outside with us drinking up some wine and dancing! Come on,” she said, waving us in her direction as she went to pick up another bottle of wine.

“Oh, I would love to, but I’m already still a little tipsy, and I have to sober up to drive Reese home.”

“That’s nonsense. Just stay the night. Oliver has more than enough space for you both. Isn’t that right, Ollie?”

“Of course. I have some extra pajamas you can borrow too. It’s probably best not to be driving this late at night on the holiday too. You’re more than welcome to stay.”

Emery hesitated for a moment, nuzzling on her bottom lip.

“Come on, Emery. We only get this one life. We might as well make some good memories with it,” Mom said, sounding very carpe diem. It must’ve been the wine talking.

“Well, okay. If I stay I can clean up a bit better in the morning when I’m sober,” Emery said, before turning toward me. “Are you sure it’s not a problem?”

“Of course he’s sure,” Mom said, waving me off and grabbing Emery’s hand. “Now, come on—let’s get outside and dance. That way Richard and I can teach you both about the good ol’ music from the old days.”

The two of them walked off, leaving me with a strange feeling in my chest.

For the first time in a while, my heart felt full.