Touch(30)

“Why?”



“Because he doesn’t sound like a man who gets serious with women. And you’ve never before been interested in a man in this way. Love is hard, babe. To love like that, we make ourselves completely vulnerable. Take down all of our defenses and let one person into our very innermost self. Do you understand? In a lot of ways, it’s one of the hardest things in life. The best things usually are.” At that, Dottie gave Manny’s hand a quick squeeze and then let it go. “And you’ve worked so hard for so long to be as strong as you are. You have done amazing things, come so far. The thought that you are even interested, that you’re feeling like you like this man in that way—do you realize what an enormous step that is for you? I would hate for you to fall in love with someone who didn’t treasure a gift like that.”



“What should I do?”



Dottie shook her head. “I don’t know, babe. There’s never a clear answer in love. That’s why it’s so scary.”



“I don’t love him. I barely know him.” But she was thinking about him an awful fucking lot today.



“Okay. Well, go slow. Try to go slow. And I’m here. I’m always here for you. Dad and Dimi, too. No matter what happens, we are here for you.”



oOo



It was past two in the morning when Manny crept in through the front door of her parents’ house. She was tired and crabby. Fierce Ferret had been tight and ready, and they’d put on a good show. They’d escaped elimination and moved on to the next round of the stupid, endless Battle of the Bands thing.



But by the time they were announced as tops of the night, Manny had about had enough of the human race. The crowd had started to wear on her, but that wasn’t the worst. Gigi fucking Lee was the worst.



Tonight, after the show, while everybody was celebrating and before their little encore, Gigi had decided to give everybody nicknames. Dmitri was ‘Russkie’—because apparently it was all Russia to her. Seth was ‘Trilby’—because of the hipster hat he always wore. Gigi had a thing for both Dmitri and Seth, so they got, at least, not actively mean nicknames. Kevin got ‘Bugs,’ because of his eyes. Kevin was a quiet guy who Manny didn’t think had ever been mean to anyone. He didn’t even yell during band fights. He was goofy-looking, with huge, bugged-out eyes and a long, thin neck with a pronounced Adam’s apple, but Gigi had let him fuck her whenever she’d gotten something out of it. That stupid nickname had really hurt his feelings. Even Manny could see it. But Gigi fluttered on, clueless. Or maybe she’d just been pretending to be. That was the kind of stuff Manny had trouble deciding. But knowing Gigi, she was probably pretending.



Continuing with her totally boring and obvious naming game, she’d named Manny ‘Little Miss Psycho.’ Dmitri had yelled and tried to make her take it back, but Manny was used to stuff like that, so she didn’t yell. Instead, she’d turned the game around and named Gigi. ‘Rancid Cunt’ was the name she’d bestowed.



And all of the boys had laughed.



Gigi, her face dark red, had charged, and Manny had simply jabbed her hard in her gut. Gigi had fallen to the floor, crying, curling in on herself. Manny was proud. She hadn’t even raged out. She’d just handled a pest problem.



When they’d been called out for the encore, Gigi had struggled to her feet and meekly picked up her bass.



But Manny knew that she and Gigi weren’t done. It was exhausting, trying to figure out how to do this bitch dance with a girl she really didn’t want to think twice about.



Manny closed and locked the front door, trying to be as quiet as possible. But she heard the floor creak behind her and turned to see her father standing in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, low light from the kitchen—probably from the hood over the range—making him a silhouette.



“Hey, princess. Have a good night?”



Adam Timko was a big guy. He might have been built a lot like Luca once upon a time. He kept his balding head shaved, and his broad, strong body had started to soften in middle age, but Manny could see that he had once been hot. That was probably an odd thing to think about one’s father. He had lively blue eyes and a warm, toothy smile. He’d worked overtime nearly every single week of her childhood, to pay for her therapy and for the necessity of being the sole breadwinner in their family. He was still working overtime about half the year, because they were still paying off debts they had incurred to help her.



He was one of the good guys, definitely.