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“What if you fall in love on the road?” she added. I rolled my eyes. Touring made maintaining romantic relationships a living hell. I hadn’t dated anyone seriously since college. Andwhile I’d been guilty of fucking an errant roadie here or there, I wasn’t looking for anything serious.
“The road’s the best place to fall in love! Just stay away from drummers,” Abbie warned me.
“I don’t care about drummers! They’re my colleagues! That’d be like telling you to stay away from Principal Sackler!” I said, growing exasperated.
“She’s got her dumb rule!” my mom added.
“Oh, who could forget?” Allison said.
Together, Allison, my mom, and Abbie took a deep breath before trilling: “Never fall in love on the road.”
“Again, honey, I love you, but you’re so boring,” my mom said.
“I’m sorry you think having boundaries is boring,” I grumbled, dipping a grilled piece of red pepper into the container of hummus my mom had set out on the picnic table.
“Besides, it’s not drummers you should stay away from; it’s guitarists,” Abbie added.
“Duly noted,” I deadpanned.
“That’s how you were conceived,” Abbie said, elbowing Allison. We both mimed gagging.
The identity of Allison’s dad had been shrouded in mystery since we were kids. My parents were divorced; boring, according to kids’ logic, but Allison’s dad could be anyone. According to Abbie, he was a rock God, but she was prone to exaggeration, and we were banking it was a bassist in an Eagles cover band.
“Not this again,” Allison mumbled.
I sighed. “I know it’s an amazing opportunity, and I am excited, but I also don’t want to get distracted. I want to enjoy myself and have fun, drumsticks or no drumsticks.”
My mom rolled her eyes. “When you talk like this, it makes me wonder if they switched babies in the hospital,” she muttered.
The walls of the hotel are thin. I can hear Vince and Cynthia giggling. I slap my palm against the wall behind my headboard, hoping to signal that I can hear them. For a moment, the giggling stops. It’s finally silent.
“Did you hear that?” Vince asks.
“Hear what?”
“That banging noise. I think we’ve got a ghost!” he exclaims.
I stuff the pillow over my head and scream.
“She’s angry,” he remarks, trying to sound wise.
“I bet her spirit is trapped,” Cynthia adds.
I slam my back against the wall, reveling in their screams, before drifting off into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 2
Vince
Boston, MA
Time loosens on tour. Days either feel like minutes or weeks. My sense of internal geography dissolves.
America blends into fields, truck stops, and rows of corn until it feels like I no longer have a body. That’s why, if I’m relatively relaxed at home, I maintain a strict schedule on tour.
The bus pulls into the venue around two, and Lyndsey’s the first person out the door. I know she thinks I’m annoying. I looked like an asshole when we met, and now, every time we interact, I only seem to fuck it up further, playing into the image I’ve built for the media.
I can’t help myself. I try to keep it cool, but a “love” slips out anyway. I lose myself in her eyes, dark brown with thin strands of gold.
