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“Thanks.” That’s as far as I get for a long while as I search for the words to explain what happened. Mama Louise doesn’t rush me, as if she knows this is difficult for me.
Finally, the story comes.
I tell her how intimidating the office was, with a whole room full of people judging me. I tell her about the crowd at the Bar and how I won them over, which felt amazing. She smiles at that, nodding like ‘I told you so.’ I tell her about working with Miller and Rory, deeper stories than I told at the dinner table.
“Miller made me feel like I could really do something. I mean, I know I can sing. And I write all the time. But it was like with the tiniest push, it was all on a higher level. One I didn’t know I was capable of. What if there’s more that I’m capable of?” I wonder aloud, not meaning to say that last part.
“I’m sure there is. You can discover it yourself, though. Or book some time with this Miller fellow yourself if you want to. I’m sure he does private appointments. Everyone does for the right price. It only matters if it’s worth it to you.”
I mull that over for a second.
“They had conditions for the contract offer,” I tell Mama Louise.
She frowns. “What sort of conditions?”
This is the harder part, the confession about what I’ve done.
“Jeremy said I needed a band, and that was fine by me. Then he started talking about my image. They wanted to turn me into some sort of bad boy manwhore.”
“Man-what?” Mama Louise repeats, just shy of a shriek.
I nod, not willing to repeat the word in front of her. She might’ve not corrected my language once, but she’ll damn well do it if I say whore again. “Exactly what you’re thinking. They wanted me to be single . . . to break up with Willow.”
“And you said no.” Her voice is flat, not belying what she thinks about that, good or bad.
“I tried. Jeremy told me to think real hard before I answered either way. I told him no on Wednesday. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Well, I’ll say that I don’t know a thing about music, other than what I like to listen to on the radio. But I reckon those people do, so they might be right about the way to make the most of your voice. The question is . . . do you care what they say? Right or wrong, contract or not, what do you want, Bobby?”
I can’t answer that. I should be able to. It should be the easiest answer in the world—the contract that so many people, me included, dream of for so long. But on the other hand, I’ve never known love like this, and I’ve been searching my whole life. Some people search even longer than I have. And I won’t give that up lightly.
“You’re choosing Willow over the deal.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.
“Yeah.” I am. She’s everything, way more important than this deal. And I’ll still have music, just not the big stadiums and bright lights. I can sing at Hank’s, and it’ll be enough. It always has been.
“You sure?” Mama Louise is giving me an out, telling me it’s okay to choose either way, but my decision has already been made. Now, it’s just time to live my happily ever after with it.
“I am.”
“Good,” she says with a smile. She seems . . . pleased? But that can’t be right. “You deserve to get what you want, Bobby. Lord knows, you kids have been through enough, and you deserve to have something go your way for a change. I really and truly thought it was going to be this deal, but . . .” She sighs, looking up toward the sky for a moment as if there are answers to be found in the cloudless sky. “If your dream changes, if it looks different than it did when you were eighteen and didn’t have a clue about how hard life can be and what’s really important, that’s okay. And getting what you want now over what you wanted then is still a good thing. I’m happy for you.”
I’m looking down, letting her words wash over me and soothe the hurt, all of them—losing Mom, losing my innocence, losing Dad, not when he died but before that when he truly checked out on us, and even losing this opportunity.
I feel her grubby finger on my chin, forcing me to lift up and meet her eyes. “I’m proud of you, Bobby.”
Fuck. I didn’t know I needed to hear that, especially about this. Choosing Willow was easy, automatic, and I know she’s what I truly want. But that doesn’t mean not choosing the deal doesn’t hurt like a motherfucker.
