Page 51 of Can’t Say No

My dad gestures with his hand for me to spit it out.

“We make a show of passing the songs over to Molly Jo. Say that I’m giving them to her because I see so much potential in her or some shit, really make a big deal out of it. Maybe I fly out to L.A. and, I don’t know, meet up with her at Touchstone.”

“Paparazzi, of course.”

On a sigh, I say, “Of course.” He can’t pass up another horse and pony show.

“And then maybe,” I say, gnawing at the corner of my lip, “maybe I record some stuff I’ve been writing. Could be good, image wise, you know. Like, I went home and found my roots or whatever. I’m sure there’s a good angle in there somewhere.”

My dad nods slowly. “That could work. I like the first part, at least.” He whips his phone out and starts tapping. “We gotta spin it fast before word spreads that Touchstone didn’t want you. Making it seem altruistic is smart.” He cuts his eyes back up to me. “I always did like that Majors kid. Let’s put a meeting with Matty on the calendar to strategize how we can maximize that whole thing, too.”

He focuses back on his phone, and I’m effectively dismissed.

Crisis averted, and I know I should feel happy. Or content, or satisfied, or something remotely positive. But, as I sprint up to my room, I just feel empty. Add this fake gesture of kindness towards Molly Jo to the long list of lies holding up my career. My boyfriend is fake, my volunteer position at the school is fake… hell, I can hardly recognize what parts of myself are real anymore.

Desperate for a distraction, I pull out my phone and make a call.

“Hey, Connor, wanna go on a hike?”

19

CONNOR

When I pull up to Delaney’s house, she’s pacing the length of her porch, arms crossed and scowling.

“I brought snacks and bug spray!” I shout out the driver’s side window, but she doesn’t stop sulking.

I park behind her dad’s Cybertruck, because of course he drives one, and fall into step with her angry march on the porch.

We do a few laps in silence, the only sound her heavy footfalls as we plod along together. It’s been a decade, but I could never forget this side of Delaney. She operates in extremes; her highs are sky-high and her lows are dark and stormy. I’m sure other people are exasperated by this rollercoaster of emotions, but I’ve always thought it made her more interesting, more alive, more her.

Delaney is a lot of things, not all of them good, but she’ll never be dull.

“You know what’s really funny?” Delaney says finally, with zero humor in her voice. “The fact that you’ve been MIA for a decade yet somehow you’re still my dads favorite. He loved your idea, probably because it didn’t come from me.”

I nod slowly. “Okay, I see why we’re angry marching.”

She cuts her eyes my way.

“We’re not doing anything. I’m processing my feelings and quite frankly, you’re being condescending.”

I huff out a laugh and Delaney picks up her speed, hoofing it down the length of the porch at a pace that would make an Olympic speed walker proud.

“I didn’t call you here so you could make fun of me,” she says over her shoulder.

I lower myself to sit on the porch steps and get comfortable.

“I know, and I’m not,” I say, hands up in surrender. “Tell me more about what he said.”

“I’m gonna fly out soon, do a whole press thing with Molly Jo like you suggested. Give her the songs, do some fake mentoring or whatever.” She sighs, heavy and exhausted, her red hot anger fading to disappointment.

“What did he think about you recording your own songs?”

Delaney stops her manic pacing and folds herself down to sit beside me.

“He didn’t even acknowledge the idea.”

“So let’s record them anyway,” I say with a shrug. “We’re only running the orchard at half capacity, there’s plenty of extra space in the warehouse to set up a little studio.” I have no clue what I’m talking about, logistically, but if I can help Delaney find her spark again, then I’ll figure it out.