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“So, this is about Allison?” I ask.
“No. Don’t pin this on her. It’s not her or you; it’s me. I know that’s the oldest fucking cliche in the book, but it’s true. I need space. I need some time to myself. I’ll keep working on the tour, and I hope we can keep our working relationship separate from our personal lives.” Lyndsey sniffles, the cool, calm managerial facade returning to her face.
I hate it for a moment. Then I realized that I could never hate her. She has a point, terrible and clear: we’re in completely different stages in our lives. Even though I won’t be fifty untilnext July, I was starting to think about retirement or at least slowing down.
Touring takes its toll on your body. Lyndsey’s right. She’s just starting, and the last thing I want to do is hold her back.
I try to picture our future. What would Lyndsey do if I was decrepit, and she was barely forty? The truth breaks my heart. In a moment of desperation, I reach for Lyndsey, and she evades my touch.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, snot dripping down onto her upper lip. I get up and grab her a tissue. She blows her nose with a honk, and it endears me to her. Fuck.
“I- fuck. It’s okay. I mean, it’s nowhere near okay. Fuck, Lyndsey, I love you so much! I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”
“I know,” Lyndsey sobs, “That’s how I feel about you. But Vince, I can’t. I just can’t. I’m so sorry.”
“I think I’m gonna stay at my mom’s place until we get back on tour on Friday,” Lyndsey says, trying to steady her breathing.
“Are you sure? It’s a bit of a drive. Are you okay to drive? You can stay in the guest room if you want.
Lyndsey shakes her head, “I’ll be okay. I need to pack. I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.” She sniffles and crosses the room in long strides before closing the door behind her. I want to beg her to stay, but I’m frozen in the spot.
I walk downstairs and pace in the foyer, hoping to catch her on her way out. Lyndsey hauls her suitcase down the stairs. I move to help her, but she waves me away.
“I’m all good.”
“How are you getting to Pasadena?” I ask.
“I’ll take a Lyft.”
“That’s an expensive Lyft.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Do you want to do this?” I ask. I wait for a beat and hope this is some sick joke, that the inches of space between us will stop feeling like barbed wire digging into my torso. Lyndsey looks at me. I lose myself in the stands of gold in her brown eyes, and my heart plummets again when she shakes her head no.
“I know it’s hard now,” Lyndsey says, “But I think it’s for the best.”
Chapter 15
Lyndsey
Two hours outside of Tuscon, AZ
One Week Later
I’ve never backed out of a contract.
I worked a show with Olli June with unbearable menstrual cramps that turned out to be appendicitis. I was back on the road when my scar was still tender to the touch.
I’d work a dozen shows with my organs in various states of disrepair if it meant Vince wouldn’t look like he’s about to cry every time he looks at me.
This week has been agonizing. The sadness that lingers between us like a magnetic pull makes it impossible for me to fall asleep. I toss and turn.
The bunk that once was a cozy reprieve now feels like a coffin, a claustrophobic boxing ring between me and my terrible decisions. At night, I hear Vince shifting uncomfortably in the bunk below me. We don’t talk anymore. He doesn’t say good morning to me. I was hoping we could still be friends, but it’s still too fresh.
The band knows about the break-up because the bus is a minuscule rumor mill, and Vince cried himself to sleep while listening to Elliot Smith every night last week.
I take my crying jags in less public places, like gas station bathrooms with faulty locks. I slam my foot up against the door and sob. I blow my nose with a scratchy brown paper towel and tell Priya I’m fine when she asks me if I need anything. Other than that, I’ve managed to keep it together.
