A Reason to Exist

Chapter 37

Dad asked Tucker to join us for dinner at Mario's. Sandra arrived wearing skinny black jeans, a white t-shirt and a black blazer. I checked her tummy again for signs of a baby, even though I knew it was near impossible. Mum had planted an evil seed, now I needed to check for sprouting every time I saw Sandra.

Tucker and I both ordered the meatball rigatoni and we smiled at each other as our meals arrived. I admired Tucker's laid back attitude, the way he could sit with two adults he'd only just met and be completely himself. If I was with someone else's parents, I'd be self-conscious and hyper-aware of every word I said. I'd be preoccupied with keeping my elbows close to my body and not scraping the bowl with my fork. For years mum had told me to watch my table manners in case I met a prince. Now, I was with my prince and he couldn't give a damn about table manners. His elbows flew when he used his fork and he swept his pointer finger around his bowl to collect the last traces of pasta sauce. He placed his finger in his mouth and sucked on it with pleasure.

I watched him with awe. He told dad and Sandra about his dream to compete in Thrasher's King of the Road.

'What's that?' Sandra asked.

'A skate comp where three teams travel across America and compete. It's the most insane road trip. They're doing the sickest tricks. Once they made the boys jump out of a helicopter onto a skate ramp. You've got to watch it,' he said turning to dad. 'We can have a Thrasher night and wear our Thrasher tees. You have one, yeah?'

'It's pure vintage,' dad said. 'Circa 2005.'

'Macy will have to watch too,' Tucker said. 'But she'll be watching like this.' He placed his fingers across his eyes, peering between his forefinger and middle finger.

'Come on,' I said.

'So if it's not me, it's okay?' Tucker asked.

'Yeah of course.'

'Ah, I see,' Tucker said. 'You don't care if it's other people doing crazy tricks?'

I felt myself getting rosy around the cheeks. The conversation had just turned intimate in front of my father.

'I'm only winding you up,' Tucker said laughing. 'You'll get so used to seeing me do tricks, you'll be my King of the Road entourage.'

He's just said there's a future. I'm in for the long haul. I'm there in his imaginary future, watching him do tricks on his imaginary road trip. My heart hammered to the fantasy of tomorrow.

I couldn't even look at dad or Sandra. I had no idea what they were making of all of this. Me bringing along some random guy I'd hardly mentioned before. I forced my eyes up to look at dad. He seemed happy. Despite having such a torment of a day, he was smiling.

'So what are you going to do about that artist?' Tucker asked.

'I'm going to call his bluff,' dad said. 'I'm going to say if he's only going to deliver half the works, I can only sell half the works, which means half the money he could've gotten. I'll put it back on him.'

'Good idea,' Tucker said. 'What do you think he'll do?'

'Anything. That's the problem. He's unpredictable.'

'He'll probably sack you for the fiftieth time,' Sandra said.

'Exactly,' dad took a sip of red wine. He turned to me. His eyes took on a serious shade. 'Tate said something strange in his message to me.'

'Yeah?'

'He said he couldn't come this weekend because he has the Mary Poppins rehearsal. And then at the end of the message he wrote, "Mum should get half the profits you make from Rex's works. She helped you start the gallery. You shouldn't keep everything for yourself."' Dad paused and took a breath. 'That's an interesting message from a ten year old.'

'There's been some talk about that,' I said. Loyalty draws out her old boxing gloves and smacks them together, confused about which way to face the crowd. 'Don't worry, it can't go anywhere. They've checked the divorce documents; there was some clause about future earnings. Mum can't make any claims. That's why they're pissed off.' My tongue had double-crossed my mother.

'Jason,' Sandra said.

Dad raised his hand to his forehead. 'Bloody hell, I'm as bad as her,' he said, bowing his head. 'This many years on and I'm still being pushed to my limits. It's relentless.'

Tension is carbon monoxide in the air, dense and odourless. Tucker took my hand under the table and ran his fingertip around the curve of my thumbnail. His touch opened a window, let the gas out and reassured me that everything is going to be all right. I can breathe again. My family might be messed up, but I have him.