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“Ugh, fine. I’ll see you there.” Amia adjusts her cap again. “Text me the time,” she adds as she starts to walk away from us.
“Will do,” I call to her backside. “I love you.”
“Love you, too. I’ll see you soon.” Amia turns to give us both a smile, and then she continues along the boardwalk until she’s out of sight.
I turn to J.R. and look up into his blue eyes. It breaks my heart each time Knox and Amia leave. I could have never prepared myself for raising two daughters who would inevitably leave home before their twentieth birthdays. They both left us, though I guess I should be thankful it was to follow their dreams and not out of hate.
“She’s a good kid,” J.R. says to me. “We did well.”
“Well, Knox grew up to be the lead of everything in a band. The jury is still out on her,” I joke.
“She’s wild, but she’s good.” He smirks and kisses my forehead.
“Wild and good like her daddy.”
He shrugs with a smile. “You loved me.”
“I still do.”
I can’t explain what it felt like when Knox called to let us know that her band would be playing at The Handlebar. Well, maybe my first reaction was of disbelief that the old venue was still there after all these years. The next reaction was a mixture of all sorts of sentiments, but maybe the biggest one being that our daughter will be playing in the same place where our story began.
To mark the occasion and against Knox’s wishes, J.R. insisted that I make an event of it. So, I did. I was even able to convince Chels and her husband to come home to meet us for a reunion.
I’ve been looking forward to the date for a couple of weeks, and as I stand in front of The Handlebar now with Chels and Jack, Kelley and Adam, and J.R., I find that my insides are a cocktail of emotions. Good and bad memories. From where our story began to where we are now. I stare blankly at the familiar venue, and my mind is suddenly a movie of memories.
The old building looks the same as it did back then. It even has the same big, red, double entrance doors with long, vertical, gold handles. The letterboard that runs across the front of the building reads:Knox Rose—TONIGHT ONLY!
I pull out my phone to snap a picture. This will make a great post on social media so that I can brag about my girl to the world. I might be an older woman now, but I know how to operate my social media accounts like a professional. I have a pretty big following these days, too, although most of them come from being fans of Knox Rose and J.R. And maybe they’re my fans, too. I am a published author. ANew York Timesbestseller, three times. Adam’s feelings weren’t too hurt when I quit. He thinks he had something to do with my becoming a published author. He and Kelley are two peas in a pod.
“Too bad none of us are twenty-one anymore. We’ll all need to take a Tylenol when we get home later tonight to help with the inflammation from the intake of alcohol,” Kelley remarks.
I laugh at her. “You never change.”
“Just being a realist.” Kelley shrugs, but I catch her smiling.
“There’s Amia,” J.R. points out, and we all turn to see Amia crossing the street toward us. She did her best to dress up for the occasion, but the poor thing is like me. High heels aren’t really our thing, so when we do wear them, everyone notices. It’s not hard for me to miss how uncomfortable she looks, but she is beautiful. Amia has straightened her dark curls, and her hair hangs past her shoulders. She even spread a little extra makeup on her face, and the mascara on her lashes make her blue eyes pop. Still, she looks like J.R. The only thing she got from me was my awkward personality.
“You guys are being weird. Why are you just standing here?” Amia asks as she approaches.
“We were waiting on you,” J.R. says to her.
“This place looks like it should be condemned,” she says with her lip curled.
“Hush, girl,” Kelley says to her. “Appreciate the past. It made you.”
The crowd begins to build around us on the sidewalk, and soon, we’re being pushed inside with everyone else. We’re shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers through the entrance, but as soon as we’re able, we break apart and try to find our table from so many years before—the one Kelley, Chels, and me sat at the night we met J.R. The interior looks the same as it did in 2001. I’m pretty sure they haven’t changed a thing, and with that comes a feeling of nostalgia. How many people can walk into a place from their past, and it looks exactly the way they left it?
“There’s the table,” Kelley points out, and she’s right. It’s near the bar, and it still has three chairs around it. We pull up some additional chairs, and all sit down accordingly. Oddly, our seating arrangement is nearly identical as to before with a few extra people we’ve come to know and birth along the way.
“Want to go dance?” Kelley asks Chels and Amia as the deejay begins to play some music. It’s not music from the ‘80s, but I think it’s worse. Rap music. Adam and Jack look nervous that their wives might ask them to dance.
“I don’t dance,” Amia says. “In what world could you ever see me out there dancing?”
“Oh, Rach, she’s your twin,” Kelley says, rolling her eyes and looking at me. “At least Chels danced with me.”
“You don’t want to dance, anyway,” I tell her.
“We really don’t.” Chels adds like she’s also trying to convince Kelley that she doesn’t want to dance.
