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Sweet ones.
We stand at the counter and order, Reed insisting he pay for my meal despite my arguing. “I’m a famous rockstar, Stella Bella. I can handle the cost of a burger and fries.”
I know better than to argue, so I let it go.
“So, what have you been up to? Anything exciting?” Reed asks, his smile genuine as he sips his soda from an old translucent red plastic cup, the same ones the place had when we were all kids. I shake my head.
“Nope. Just the normal. I’m working at the diner. Living in Ashford. I’m boring. But you—you’ve got an exciting life,” I say with a smile. “How’s life been?”
He shrugs. “Same old, same old,” he says, his face going a bit sad as he does. “You know how it is. New city every week, shows and fans and… all that. Just bigger now. Wilder.”
I can’t even fathomwilder. His lips tip up with the words like he can see my mind working.
“A different kind of wild, though. Fans screaming our names, trying to get backstage. We have full-time security now, which is wild.” I laugh at the idea, the mental image of a 6’5”, built as fuck grumpy Beckett needing a bodyguard. Reed laughs. “Beck hates it.” I smile at the way he still can sense what I’m thinking. “But it’s not the same partying wild. We drink, me and the guys, but not blackout drunk every night anymore.”
“Riggins?” I ask. It’s a multi-part question: Did you stop because of Riggins? Does Riggins drink on tour? Reed shakes his head.
“Riggs doesn’t drink anymore, obviously. But he’ll hang with us when we do. It wasn’t always like that. It took a bit for us to believe it would be okay if we drank around him, but eventually, he convinced us. We all met with his AA sponsor about a year after he was sober and asked him questions until we felt comfortable.” There’s a heavy silence that comes with the reality of acknowledging Riggins’ addiction.
“He’s changed,” Reed says after a few beats of silence, and it twists a knife.
“I know that,” I say in a whisper. Just a week or two of being around Riggins, and I can see it. I see the version of him I fell in love with is back, no longer a cloud of alcohol and addiction hanging around him.
But it still doesn’t ease my worries, doesn’t cure my anger or the pain he caused.
“I was pissed for a while, too,” he says, and my head moves back in surprise.
“What?”
“I was pissed. How he was, how he threw his life away, threw our life away. He threw you away. It pissed me off. It took him a while to prove he was sober, that he really meant it. There was a year there, before his dad died, where he would try to get sober and then relapse. It was a cycle that felt like it would only end in tragedy, but we were young and scared that if we talked to him about it too much, it would backfire.” He looks beyond me like he’s lost in memories. “I wish we’d talked to him sooner. There was that one time, but after that, we never said anything, not outright. And it only made him want to hide how bad it had gotten. It made him hide his drinking.”
I remember that part all too well, the final nail in the coffin of Riggins and my relationship.
The confusing concoction of emotions that continues to swirl in my gut twists again, and I’m back to being annoyed with Riggins for putting all of us through it.
“It’s not fair, you know,” Reed says, his tone turning once more gentle and concerned. His hand reaches out, and he grabs mine. “Holding his mistakes against him this long, holding this grudge.” I open my mouth to argue, but he shakes his head. “No, I’m not saying you can’t be mad. Be mad forever, Stella. But let him tell his side first. You two… there’s too much there for you to just throw it out. That’s what I had to come to terms with. Our friendship was too old, too valuable to throw it out. I heard him out, and we talked. It was good. And he’s better now. My best friend is back.”
I give him a sad smile that wavers with my effort not to let a teardrop. “I’m happy for you, Reed. Really, I am. You were as worried as I was about him back then. I’m glad you got your best friend back, glad you guys got the career you always dreamed of, and glad you get to tour the world. But me? I’m also better,” I lie. “I’m better because I got space, I got to breathe.” I shake my head, trying to fight the tears. “I lived for him for so long; it took me a long time to learn to live for myself.” That hangs in the air between us before, finally, he tips his head to the side, furrowing his brow, and asks me something that shakes me to my fucking core.
“Are you, Stella? Are you living for yourself?”
I can’t breathe, much less answer.
“Or are you living for everyone else? Because this?” His hand moves up and down my body, indicating who I am now. “Is not my Stella Bella. This is not the girl who daydreamed about the stars and would make stories about pretend worlds just to make us laugh. This isn’t the girl who wrote songs that could tear me in two before she even lived life before she got out of the small town that was holding her down.” He shakes his head.
I don’t speak because I don’t know how to answer.
He’s not wrong.
I’m not the version of myself he knew, not the free, comfortable version. I’m my mother’s version. The safe version.
“Knowing you were writing, it was a bit of a comfort.” My gut jumps at the knowledge that Reed knows I still write songs. “Knowing that even when you were far from us, doing your own thing, you were still following your dreams the way you could.” I don’t respond, ripping apart the paper wrapper of the straw instead.
“But seeing you like this?” My gut drops. “I don’t feel as good about it.”
“Well, we all have to grow up sometimes, you know? The real world isn’t as forgiving as daydreams,” I say through a tight throat. He smiles at me sad before nodding. There’s another beat of silence like he’s waiting for me to say more, but I won’t.
I’m relieved when two large burgers and a mountain of fries are placed in front of us, giving me a much-needed distraction.
