"Or you could just move in."
"You mean, like . . . I wouldn't look for my own place?"
"Yes, like, move in. And stay." She smiled a little. "Pick out furniture. Have a key."
What she was describing was a home, not a place to stay. Since I was fifteen, I'd been kind of floating through life. I'd stayed with my aunt to finish high school, then I'd gotten the hell out of Los Angeles, landing wherever there was work. After the pain of losing Maddy, I'd thought that was the best way. The only way. It could've been a result of my current circumstances, but it surprised me that staying in one place and making it my own sounded better than returning to a transient life. Next year would be the tenth anniversary of Madison's death. Ten years of staying detached from anything meaningful-at least until Lake and Tiffany came along. Maybe I was getting to a place where I could accept a life in which Maddy didn't exist.
I was getting ahead of myself. Tiffany probably didn't understand what she was suggesting, but I knew moving in wouldn't be as simple as unpacking my things in her apartment. "I don't know if it's a good idea," I said. "For one, the rent's an issue."
"My dad's covering it, though."
"Your dad's not paying my rent."
"But you don't have a job or anything. Is there anything left of the money I got you for the truck?"
I flexed my hands on the table. After legal fees and fines, and breaking my lease, I only had a few hundred dollars saved. Then some bitch who'd wrongly fingered me in a line-up, who lived in an upper-class Big Bear neighborhood, was getting twenty-five of my cents every hour I killed myself outdoors. "Not much," I said. "And I can't imagine your dad ever wants to see my face again."
"Don't worry about him," she said. "I have time to work on him until you get out. He'll accept you once he knows we're serious."
We were serious. She'd told me she loved me. And Tiffany wasn't going to let her dad get in the way of that. I shouldn't have doubted that Tiffany would show up for me today. She hadn't missed a visit yet, and she was probably getting shit from her dad about it all the time.
Did I love her back? Over the last year, I'd come to care about her more than I would've guessed. There still was, and always would be, a cavity in my chest. Lake's goodness had been the only thing so far to lessen the ache of that wound. Coming here, I'd had to numb myself even more-for survival. Dropping my guard, even for a second, had landed me in the SHU and fuck if I was ever going back there. But it occurred to me that somehow, Tiffany had gotten through to me.
"All these guys in here," I said, "most of them have someone on the outside holding them up. You've been that for me." I didn't have the brain power to mince words. I needed a cigarette. "I appreciate you. I think about you when we're apart, and I miss you. But I'm not going to tell you I love you just to say it."
She frowned. It was as good as admitting I didn't love her. Part of me worried she'd take that and leave, and the other part worried she wouldn't. At this point, trying to get love from the most important man in her life was part of her identity.
"I didn't tell you so you'd say it back," she said. "I never planned to say it. I'm not even sure how I feel about it. Love is weird. Like, I know my dad loves me, but sometimes I think to myself, 'my dad hates me.'"
Jesus Christ. I wasn't even sure where to start with that. "He doesn't-"
"I know he doesn't hate me," she said, waving her hand. "But he is disappointed in me, and I feel like I can't do anything right. When I try, I mess it up, or it isn't good enough."
It frustrated me to hear her talk that way-and that she was right. The truth was, Tiffany had everything going for her. She had the potential to succeed if she'd let go of this thing with her dad. "You need to see yourself outside your dad's eyes," I told her. "You've said to me before that you don't have the skills to do anything other than model, but that's just plain bullshit. You're smart and crafty and you're goddamn tenacious. That's a rare quality, Tiff. That'll get you far."
Tiffany looked taken aback, and I realized I'd raised my voice. Good. I hoped she'd heard me. She did have some qualities I hadn't come across too much in my life. For one, I'd just told her I didn't love her, and she'd barely batted an eyelash. For a sheltered Newport Beach girl, she was tougher than she looked.
"And let's get one thing straight," I added. "I'm not going to pretend I love you because I care too much about you to lie, but that doesn't mean I'm withholding it to punish you like your dad. Got it?"