So, it’s come to this.
I put my head in my hands and try to feel something,anything, other than the guilt of not feeling anything at all.
How am I supposed to feel?
My mother hasn’t been a part of my life in over a decade.
“What’s killing her?” I ask finally, my head still in my hands, unable to look at Johanna.
“Pancreatic cancer, stage four,” she tells me softly. “She’s got maybe six months left, if that.”
I can’t feel anything. I want to. I should. But I don’t.
“Tell her I’m sorry,” I say slowly. “But it doesn’t change anything for me.”
“I know she said she didn’t support your music all those years ago, but she has every single album you guys have ever put out. She’s listened to every single song. I know for a fact that she’s seen you on tour, because I was the one who took her to the nearest shows. I’ve seen her watching your interviews online.She cares about you, Grayson. She may have a funny way of showing it, but damn it, she cares about you. For God’s sake, the only reason she didn’t come to your wedding was because you didn’t tell either of us it was happening. Not telling Mom was one thing, and I know you don’t see it this way, but you really did choose Lily when you didn’t tell me. I don’t think you should be surprised that I’m happy to see her go.”
“Why has she never called to tell me any of that?” I demand, conveniently glossing over her comments about my wedding. “God, Joey, I just don’t understand her. I’m not Dad. I’m not a drug addict, and I didn’t leave her for music.Sheleftmebecause of music.”
“It’s been too long,” Johanna says. “You would’ve never answered. She couldn’t just call you up now that you’re successful.”
I can’t stand it when my little sister is right.
I wouldn’t have wanted my mother to suddenly show up in my life again only after I’d proved her wrong, only after I’d made it, after I had everything I ever wanted.
I shove the keys in the ignition and begin driving back to the house.
Despite the past, at this moment, all I want is to be alone.
I knew my feeling of peace from this morning wouldn’t last for long, I just thought it would have lasted longer than a day.
For once, I’m grateful we don’t have a show to play tonight so I can spend some time alone and try to think about what I’m going to do next.
But what is there to do now?
Back in my bedroom, I pick one of my many records off the wall—something appropriately sad—and place it on my record player.
Damn, I’m pathetic.
I lay down on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, letting the music flow through me as my mind runs blank. Thinking isn’t doing me any favors, so I just stop.
A soft knock at my door brings me out of my daze. I know who it is before I even tell them to come in. No one in this house knocks anymore, and no one does anything quietly for that matter.
“Hey,” Mia murmurs, her voice low and careful as she peeks her head into my room. “I was just checking to see if you’re okay.”
I don’t move. “What makes you think I wouldn’t be okay?”
My tone comes out sharper than I intend it to, clipped and tired. I wince internally, waiting for her to stiffen or back away. But she doesn’t.
Instead, she steps inside, closes the door behind her without hesitation, and walks toward my bed like she belongs here. Without a word, she crawls up beside me, the scent of her conditioner—sweet, floral, and a little too seductive—settling between us like it had every right to be there.
“Well, for one,” she says, glancing at me sideways. “You’re lying here listening to theMad Worldsingle on repeat—loudly, I might add. If that’s not a cry for help, I don’t know what is.”
A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “It fits the mood, okay?”
“Like I said—a cry for help,” she repeats with a gentle nudge of her elbow into my side.
I look over at her, finally allowing myself to take her in.
