In an industry where so many things seemed fake, that was what kept her going—the girls like this who looked up to her.
Although maybe Audrey would reconsider that if she knew what Ramona was really doing here.
“Still or sparkling?” Ramona asks, and Audrey pauses for a moment. Then straightens her shoulders. Says, “Sparkling.”
When Ramona passes her a glass, the younger girl takes a few quick gulps, screwing up her face in this way that indicates she’s not the biggest fan of it. Recognition dawns—Ramona’s love for sparkling water is well-documented in interviews.
Suddenly she’s not sure what she should do—if she should leave Audrey alone in the house with her mother gone. Though if her mother dropped her off, she supposes Audrey’s fine by herself. Thirteen, Nick said, right? Her own parents left her alone starting much younger than that, since they both had to work and babysitters and daycare were expensive. So Ramona’s never been a great barometer for these kinds of things.
“I…should probably get back to your uncle,” she says.
“You and Uncle Nick.” Audrey takes a long moment to assess Ramona’s clothes. Ramona wishes she’d thought to put her skirt back on but is massively relieved she’s wearing something on the bottom at all.
“We’re friends.” Will Audrey be able to tell she’s full of shit? “Good friends,” she amends.
“But he’s so…dorky.”
Ramona throws her hands up, laughing. “I know, I know. Turns out dorky is kind of cool?”
Audrey just stares, like she doesn’t quite believe her. And Ramona can’t blame her—she certainly thought the same thing at thirteen.
“I hear you’re a fantastic cook,” Ramona says.
“He talked to you about me?”
“Oh yeah. He talks about you all the time.”
As though he’s been summoned by his name, the backyard door slides open, and Nick appears wearing sweatpants and, thank god, a T-shirt. His hair’s still a little rumpled in the back, but overall, it could be worse.
Panic and affection fight for control of his face when he spots his niece. The affection—that’s the part that makes Ramona weak in the knees. “Hey, Aud!” he says. “Didn’t realize you were home.”
Ramona holds up the bottle of water. “We were just getting acquainted.”
Nick checks his phone. “A bit late. Probably getting close to your bedtime.”
“Like I’m going to be able to sleep after this!” Audrey says, and all of them laugh. Then, with a little groan-whine, she relents. “Okay, okay. I just have a million questions for you. About the music. About your life. About everything.”
“How about we just do one tonight,” Nick says, lifting his eyebrows at Ramona to ask if that’s okay. Ramona nods back and Audrey takes a steadying breath, as though trying to pick from a whole barrage of questions stampeding through her mind.Ramona prepares herself—something about her past boyfriends, maybe, or why she quit.
Instead, Audrey simply asks, “What’s your favorite song of yours?”
Ramona exhales with relief. “Probably ‘No Tomorrow.’ ” It’s the last track on her first album, one of the few she wrote entirely by herself. An angsty ballad that she always loved to belt. A song about heartbreak, though she hadn’t experienced it at the time. “There was something so satisfying about the production being that stripped-down.”
Seeming satisfied, Audrey turns down the hall. “You can come back anytime!” she calls out to Ramona. “If you need anything, or if you want some freshly baked cookies—I bake, too!”
Ramona waves good night with a laugh. “I might have to take you up on that.”
“Thanks, Aud,” Nick says, a hand on Ramona’s shoulder as they head outside.
Back in the guesthouse, Ramona buries her face in Nick’s shirt. “Oh god, did I completely ruin her image of me? Should I have picked a different song? Now that she’s seen me like this, she’ll probably toss all my CDs and put all her merch on eBay. And she’ll probably make some decent money, too! I can’t even blame her!” This last part comes out in a half wail, though she can tell by the rumble in his chest that Nick’s trying not to laugh.
When she pulls back to meet his gaze, the way he looks at her makes something bloom in her heart that she’s not sure she can name. A gentle hand tucks hair behind her ear. “I don’t think you could disappoint anyone,” he says.
—
This week’s hike is FranklinCanyon, and even when Ramona’s thighs start burning, all she can focus on is how beautiful it is outside, the crisp perfect blue of the lake.
“You’re complaining less than usual, jellybean,” Betty remarks. “Thinking about your professor?”
