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He eyed me. “Gee, I wonder who could do that.”
“No way,” I said. “I already owe you for the loan you gave me. I’m not owing you more money on top of it.”
“It’s an investment,” he said.
“No way,” I repeated, feeling upset. I liked to stand on my own two feet. Sure, it didn’t seem like that lately, literally and figuratively. But I needed to sort out my future on my own, not with a handout from Leo.
“Why not?” he asked. “It’s perfect.”
“I’ve already done the coffee shop thing, though, and failed. It feels impossible,” I admitted.
“Do you know my story? Like how I got started?” he asked.
I eyed him, embarrassed but shaking my head.
“Wow, you really don’t follow me. Okay, okay, I won’t hold it against you. But anyway, the thing was, I always wanted to be a singer. My parents carted me around to auditions as young as thirteen. California, London, Broadway. I was always somewhere. And I was always getting no after no after no. I was ready to give up. My parents told me to stick it out. Still, I told myself it was impossible. No one with my crooked teeth and mediocre voice would make it.”
“Your voice is far from mediocre,” I said. “And your teeth are perfect.”
“Thank you,” he said with a grin. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I was throwing a teenage tantrum, ready to put myself in boarding school far away so I didn’t have to hear my parents’ encouraging words for one more second. I loved music, but I hated the collection of failures. One day, in a rage, I went down by the river. I took my guitar, sat on the railing, and I started belting out some angry song I’d written. A few people stopped to listen for a moment, but they kept walking. But then one stopped and stayed. He became my agent, Jasper. And within a year, I had a record label and was starting to tour.”
“That’s a good story,” I said, studying him and seeing him in a different light. I guess you just always think a popstar has everything handed to them. You almost forget they’re human, that they have disappointments and letdowns, too.
“My point is, nothing happens overnight, and no one is handed success without failure. If I could show you all the rejections and failures I had before that single yes, you wouldn’t think one closed coffee shop even mattered.”
I wondered if maybe he was right. My heart wanted to believe him, in truth. I wanted to keep fighting for my dream. Still, it felt different. Leo was talented. I had a coffee shop, something everyone could do. The self-doubt crept in, but it didn’t take hold quite as strongly as before.
“Anyway,” I said. “I’ll look into it and sort through.”
“Well, I think it would be a shame for this place to go to waste a second longer. Tillie’s Brews Two could be so good for this dilapidated place. You could totally revitalize it and give this town a special place.”
The timer rang, and I was glad. Leo pulled out the first pizza, popped in the second, and set the three-cheese pizza on the stovetop to cool.
“So, is everything okay with Jasper? Did he stick around?” I asked, the wine loosening my inhibitions. I didn’t want to bring up anything touchy with Leo, but I was genuinely curious.
I could see his body tense slightly at the mention. He turned to me, his jaw rigid. “He went back to London. Everything is fine. I’m sorry I didn’t text this morning. It was just hectic.” He took a long sip of his wine then, refilling the glass.
“Why did he come the whole way over here, though?”
“It’s a long story,” he said.
“We’ve got fifteen minutes on the cheeseburger pizza, so we can get started,” I prompted.
I could feel that his walls were up, but after a moment of consideration, he leaned back on the counter.
“Long story short, the family and all the people working with me are desperate for me to get back to work,” he said.
That wasn’t exactly a surprise but also not what I wanted to hear. In the back of my head, I knew this whole Leo Turner adventure was temporary. Still, it was a stark reminder this wasn’t forever. Soon, he would be gone, and I would linger in the sad wake of our memories, trying to sort out my not-so-glamorous life. He’d be back doing Leo Turner things.
“I take it you’re not ready to go back,” I replied.
“It’s complicated. It’s just, well, I’ve been doing this singing thing since I was thirteen. That’s fifteen years. Fifteen years of touring, of spending every second on music, of appearances and stadiums and, once I got famous, not going out in public. Of tabloids and fake stories and everyone wanting to befriend me but for the wrong reasons,” he spewed, the words tumbling out. “Fifteen years of wondering if anyone really likes me or just wants to be in the spotlight. Of being constantly around people but constantly feeling alone.”
“That’s a lot,” I said, realizing the pressure he was under.
“I know I shouldn’t complain. I’m fortunate in a lot of ways. I love singing, I do. This is beyond what I could’ve dreamed about. It’s just, well, sometimes when everyone is telling me to go harder, I want to step back and breathe. You know? I want to make it about music again, not the popularity. But I’m on this giant hamster wheel now, and it just feels like I can’t stop. I can’t let them all down, especially my parents.”
“I can weirdly understand that. Although no one wants to hear me sing on a stage,” I said with a grin. Because I could understand not wanting to let the people in your life down, not wanting to be a failure but also wanting to be happy. It was a heavy balancing act, wasn’t it? Finding your own happiness while making the people who matter to you proud? Sometimes they were in direct conflict with each other. “Why don’t you tell them you want to take a step back? Can’t you make some changes so you’re happy again?”
