I take my spot across from Craig at Amanda’s quaker-inspired, square breakfast table. It’s just the four of us, so there is no need to bust out the formal dining room stuff. Craig puts the last bowl of roasted vegetables on the table. He likes cooking, and the rest of us enjoy eating.
I like talking to Craig, he's a good person. He runs a lighting company with his dad, who ran the rigging for Amanda’s last two tours. They met at craft services about seven years ago. He has a ring, and they've talked about getting married, but something’s holding him back, and I’m not sure what it is. I know it’s not her fame or that she makes more money than him. It’s something else, but I don’t want to pry. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.
“So, no interviews?” He asks.
I shake my head and look over at Amanda. “I’ve got free time. Do you need me in any of the art design meetings?” I usually create the first draft of Amanda’s vision, since she can only draw stick figures. Then we pass it off to the real designers.
She takes a sip of wine. “Not right now. I did send your sketches over to the team, but they’re still working on mockups. Are you going into the studio with anyone?”
“No. I’m taking a break, unless you need me.”
Honestly, it’s well deserved. For twelve years I’ve been working nonstop trying to claw my way in the music industry. While it was nearly impossible, I managed to do so while maintaining my values and art. I have houses on both coasts, mantles full of awards, and a close network of friends inside the industry. I should have defined success a long time ago, but instead I’ve been chasing the next big hit for a while now.
“If you’re taking a break, then you should answer your text messages.” CJ waves his fork at me with a piece of pork on the end. “I texted you a few days ago, but you never responded.”
“Sorry, the guys at Mastodon took my phone away and locked my bank accounts.”
“Why would they do that?” CJ asks, disbelieving. Well, here it goes…
“I met someone.” A swell of joy covers the table.
“That’s great man,” Craig says, raising his glass to me. Amanda squeals and pumps her fists in unbridled excitement. And CJ, he has that ‘I’m happy for you but I’m sad for myself’ smile.
“Thanks.” I take a deep breath. I don’t know why I’m nervous. They’re my best friends, of course they’ll be supportive. “Actually, I reconnected with someone.”
“Ohhh, is it that cute Russian guy, what was his name?” Amanda squeals again.
“Uri,” I say. He pops into my mind every once in a while, and I wonder how he’s doing. We had a connection, but I’m not good for him long term.
I shake my head. “No. She’s from a while ago. Do you remember Kinsley?” I push the meat around my plate. “I’ve been trying to reconnect with her for a few years. Turns out she changed her name to Alana King, and that’s why I couldn’t find her.”
CJ drops his fork on his plate, making a loud clatter. “What the fuck?" I wince and glance at the vein in his forehead twitching. "Why?" He demands. Before I can answer he shoves his chair back from the table to stand over me. "She was the worst! A petty and dangerous, manipulative bitch!"
Anger swells from deep inside me. “Don’t call her that.” She was the only one who loved me in my worst form. CJ wasn’t interested in me until I got my shit together. How dare he?
“I hate her. After everything we’ve been through?” He motions in the space between us. “And now you're crawling back to her?” He says ‘her’ like it’s a curse.
“Calm down,” Craig says and reaches for CJ. But we all freeze when Amanda releases a quiet whimper.
She’s crying, which is nothing new. She cries whenever she’s happy, sad or mad. At this moment though, it’s hard to tell which emotion it is. But it's getting worse by the second. Her face flushes as she covers her mouth and nose, muffling a heaving sob. Then she stands from the table and darts upstairs, leaving us confused and angry at each other.
“See?” CJ makes a motion between Amanda’s chair and the stairs. “See what happened when you said her name?”
Craig stands to follow her but stops at the bottom of the stairs. “Eat before it gets cold.”
I sit in stunned silence. CJ pushes himself away from the table to grab his jacket from off the couch, and on cue, my anxiety manifests through my confusion.
“I’m telling you right fucking now, it’s going to be either her or me.” The front door slams a few seconds later, and the early stages of a panic attack start to form. I try my breathing techniques, but questions scream in my mind.
What the hell is going on? I can hear Amanda’s sobs filtering through the ceiling. Why? Why is Amanda crying? Why is CJ giving me ultimatums? It’s Kinsley. I thought they liked her. I thought it was only Kinsley who I hurt, who I’d lose. But if I’m wrong about this, what else am I wrong about?
Slowly, I finish eating my food. It tastes flat and bitter, but that’s not Craig’s fault. Then I move around her kitchen like it’s my own. I clean up CJ’s plate, wrapping it in tinfoil and putting it back in the fridge. Then I go back and put Amanda and Craig’s in the warmer. Should I go and let Craig take care of Amanda, or go up there and talk to her? There’re pots in the sink that could be cleaned. I could do that while I figure out what the hell is going on.
While I clean, I notice there’s a mid-sized cardboard box on the kitchen counter. Not flimsy like a regular box, but one of those kinds that comes from a designer store. That’s a damn good box. The back of my mind itches as a swell of new feelings hit me.
Midge liked me, she hopped up and made biscuits on my chest within five minutes. Instant affection. She didn’t yell at me and give me ultimatums. No insane timeline of fourteen days. None of that. All she wanted from me was a warm body and pets. No one in my life is that easy. And she had a simple problem I could solve, which I desperately need right now.
I hear Craig’s heavy footfalls come back downstairs and immediately point at the box when he enters the kitchen. “Hey, can I have that?” He gives me a nod, but he’s clearly not paying attention. He’s pacing while rubbing the back of his neck and looks up at the ceiling where Amanda’s tears must have slowed down.
