Wyatt
QUITE A FEW WEIGHTS have been lifted off my shoulders in the past few days. I’ve earned my spot back on the team, after what seemed like an eternity, and I am training to start in the wildcard game at the beginning of next week. Mae was finally able to fly back to Nashville to prepare for her awards show. It broke my heart to leave her in Baton Rouge after what happened, but when Dalton and Raleigh arrived and my countdown to practice continued ticking, I couldn’t stay.
Maggie finally woke up, and from what I understand, has finally given her consent to get some help. Mae cried tears of joy when she called me, telling me the news. I hated to miss that moment with her, but I know we’ll be able to celebrate soon after the game. Hopefully, more triumphant moments are to come the next time we see each other; a Gator win and a Mae Evans awards-sweep.
I smile at the thought of Mae winning her covetedVocalist of the Yearaward. There is no one more deserving of it than her. The way her voice can convey any emotion the performance calls for – it’s magical.
So many of her fans talk about the first song they heard from her. Well, I can pinpoint the exact moment I heard her voice for the first time. Who else can say that? I was a goner the moment she opened her mouth. I don’t know how anyone could vote against that voice.
I wish I could be on her arm for her awards show, but with the game so close, we both agreed it was best for me to stay put in LA. I would have braved the vultures with cameras if I’d been given the chance. Instead, I’ll be watching intently after practice from home with Hannah, Ben, and the kids.
Ending my reflective walk from the training field to my car, I wave off my teammates as we stagger our exits. Tossing my bag into the back, I climb into the driver’s seat and start the engine. Mae’s debut album is queued up and starts blaring when the car comes on.
I’ve been listening through her catalog more intensely since Baton Rouge. Knowing more than most about her situation, every album has taken on a deeper meaning than I could have ever known. The album closer, “What If? (She Did Get Better),” stops me in my tracks. The lyrics are about a life where she had a chance to see the person she loves heal. She may finally be getting that chance. I shake my head, thinking about her mind. It’s incomparable. It’s what I’m left thinking about the whole drive to my house.
Upon my arrival home, I find my sister has decorated the living room and kitchen. Carly and Ben Jr. leap from behind the couch to yell, “Surprise!”
“Yes, happy suspension lift week!” Ben says, awkwardly.
My sister scowls. “Hey, say it again with feeling!”
“Happy suspension lift week!” he says again, the same, just a little louder.
“Blegh, you’re no fun,” my sister says as she comes to my side to wrap me in a side hug.
“Wow, thanks guys!” I exclaim with an over-the-top sense of excitement.
Hannah rolls her eyes. “I try to do something nice for you -”
I trap her in my hug before she can finish her retort. “No, seriously, thank you,” I say, squeezing her once more before letting her go.
“Now,” she says, clapping her hands together, “I’m no Mae Evans, but I cooked dinner, and I think you’ll like it.
Hannah’s right, she’s no Mae when it comes to cooking, but the pasta is pretty good and it’s nice to have company. We all devour our meals and converse about our excitement for the wildcard match and Mae’s award ceremony tomorrow. I can’t help but note how easy it is for us to talk about Mae’s life, like she truly belongs in ours.
When I’ve stuffed as much creamy chicken piccata into my stomach as possible, Carly appears from where she disappeared in the living room a while ago. “Uncle Wyatt?” she asks timidly. I turn my full attention to her. “Mae and I have a surprise for you, too.”
For just a second, I allow myself to think that Mae is here. Twisting in my chair, I half expect her to be in the doorway, but she’s not. Luckily, Carly didn’t catch my disappointment. Instead, she grabs my hand and drags me to the living room. Hannah’s phone is propped up on the coffee table next to a makeshift mic stand and a beginner guitar Mae bought Carly last week.
Carly goes to the phone and taps the screen. As the rest of the family enters, Mae’s face fills the screen, and my heart flutters to life. She’s sitting at her piano in her music room. “Hey!” she says.I get goosebumps just hearing her beautiful voice fill my living room.
“Carly and Mae have been working on something for you,” Hannah says, pulling me onto the couch beside her.
“Uncle Wyatt,” Carly says, adjusting her pretend microphone and picking up the guitar. “I wrote this song for you.” My eyes shift to Mae, but she’s clearly focused on the upcoming performance. I hate that a tiny screen is the only way I can see her tonight.
Without any more announcement, Carly strums a chord and begins her little song, leaving Mae to scramble to her keys. She takes a few seconds to adjust to Carly’s tempo before coming in softly with the piano. Little Carly is able to switch between three whole chords as she sings her little list of things she loves about our family.
The song leaves Hannah bawling and me beaming at my girlfriend. I don’t know how she was able to get a six-year-old to play a one and a half-minute song without more than a few missed notes but she did, and I love her for it.
We all clap our hands, and Ben lets out a whistle. Carly turns to Mae, who is beaming with pride and showering Carly with applause.
“That was so beautiful, baby,” Hannah says, gathering her daughter into her arms. When she releases, she reaches for her phone.
“Mae. Thank you so much for this!” She glances at me from the corner of her eye and winks as she says, “Wyatt will call you later.”
I lean over my sister’s shoulder. “She’s right, I will, as soon as I can get these hooligans out the door.”
Mae laughs before reaching for her screen and pulling it closer to her face. “No rush. I never sleep the night before award shows.”
