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A rock sank through her middle, landing at the bottom of her tummy. Her mom was coming a week from today. She had tried not to think of it. But time was passing fast. “Hi, Mom.”
At the words, TJ stiffened on stage. Melody turned her back. He didn’t know much, if anything, about her mom, and she intended it to stay that way. “Can I call you back?”
“Well, that’s a way to greet your own mother you haven’t spoken to in more than a year.”
Momwouldblame her for that. “I’m busy at work.”
“Work? Nice excuse. What lousy job keeps you at work this late? Couldn’t land a better one, I suppose.”
“Really, I need to go.” Melody choked out the words. “I’ll call you in twenty minutes.” Before her mom could say another word, she ended the call and jammed the phone into her sweater pocket.
When she turned around, all she saw was mess. The props were a mess, the backdrop was destroyed, she didn’t know her lines, costumes still weren’t organized, and she was only surviving because of TJ. Without his intervention, this play wouldn’t be happening, and she likely would have gotten fired by now.
She was a failure. Just like her mom had always said.
“Mel?” TJ’s voice rang out onstage, insistent, but she ignored him, almost running from the practice room and down the empty halls of Artisan’s Hope.
Hope. She’d long ago lost hope she would amount to anything but a failure. When Jeremy told her she wasn’t, she almost believed him. She had tried to tell herself that her whole life. But it never stuck.
She’d always be a disappointment. Just ask Mom. Ask her music students. Ask Debra. Ask her members of the play cast.
Ask TJ.
She was certain now. His feelings for her, though generally well-hidden, went far deeper than mere friendship. That meant there was no one in all the world she’d disappointed more than TJ. And he didn’t know half of it.
When she got home, she pulled out her phone to call her mom back but stopped, her finger hovering over the dial button. She looked at the Holy Appimony icon and thought about Jeremy’s invitation to the wedding. She still hadn’t given an answer.
He had a good point. With her mom coming, she would need an excuse to get away. Plus, shewasrather curious to meet him. Would they get along as well in the flesh as they did online? He already knew so much of her dirt and still persisted with this “relationship,” whatever it was.
Only one way to find out.
Dear Jeremy, I hope you’ve had a good day. I’m bracing for all the snow we’re supposed to get this weekend. I’ve thought a lot about the wedding date and I accept your invitation. I’d love to meet you in person and go. We can discuss the details later in the week when I’ve made it through the play in one piece. Have a wonderful evening. – Your new date, Melody
She hit send and dropped the phone, deciding her mom could wait a few more minutes.
TJ would be at that wedding. He would see her there with a new guy. It would kill him.
But he’d just have to deal with it. By now, he should be used to being disappointed by her. It was all she ever did. All she ever would.
Chapter Eight
TJ stared out his back window toward the lake. Snow had been falling steadily since he woke up, and there were at least eight inches on the ground already, from his second-story estimate. The forecast called for eighteen to twenty inches.
He swirled his caramel coffee under his nose, inhaling a heavenly whiff. He might have an addiction. He was okay with that.
“Melody, Melody,” he sighed her name aloud, setting his cup on a decorative coaster atop the coffee table and sinking onto the couch. He threw his hands behind his head, stretching his legs out along the length of the sofa.
He had a date to Karly’s wedding. Kinda, sorta. How exactly was he supposed to dig himself out of this twisted mess of falsehoods he had created? He’d written back last night, acting as stoked as he should be. Apparently, he was a little too good at online dating. How could Melody be ready to move forward with Jeremy so fast after knowing so little about him when he, TJ, had been trying forhalf his lifeto win her heart—and nothing? Nada? Zilch?
Maybe not. There had been a subtle shift lately since he began volunteering to save the play. She wasn’t blind to his efforts to be there for her. But every time he sensed one of her barriers breaking, she replaced it with another.
“God, I give up.” The second the despairing words left his mouth, he knew he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He loved her too much. But it sure was discouraging.
He sat up, downed his remaining beverage, and reached for his laptop. For the first time in his life, he’d brought work home for the weekend. Thanks to his new acting career.
With a snorted laugh at the terrible joke, he resumed where he left off editing yesterday before he ran out of Reliant Tidings Publishing like the building was on fire, afraid he was late for Melody. His coworkers probably thought he’d lost his last marble.
Glasses on, he frowned and reread the sentence. Was that the correct usage of the word? He looked it up to be sure, made the correction, and moved on. No capitalization needed for that improper noun. A comma here. Please, no semicolons in fiction!
