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“Sorry about that. My niece got into ’Bama. We’re having a brunch celebration.”
“Hey! That’s fifty bucks to you, right?”
He chuckles low into the phone, and the sound warms me from the inside out.
“Yeah. So of course Scott’s pouting into his beer.”
“Too bad. Uncle Scottie should have paid better attention. Even I knew she was a ’Bama girl through and through.”
“How was the wedding?” he asks, and I sigh, spotting a bench and sitting down. Rogers flops over in the shady grass, exhausted. I might have to carry him home. Ohdarn.
“Beautiful. Gorgeous weather, gorgeous bride, awestruck groom, all the fixings for a disgustingly perfect day,” I tease.
“How’d your song go?”
“Without a hitch. You were right. I shouldn’t have worried. They loved it and Cam cried like a six-foot-two bearded baby.”
I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “I knew it.”
It matches the grin in mine when I say softly, “You usually do.” I fight the urge to clear my throat. I’m not usually soft. Only for Huck, I guess, which is concerning.
Silence fills the miles between us, and I rush to fill it. “So, the wall? The chalkboard paint? I say the more rustic one. It matches that whole farmhouse look Melissa has going on.”
“That’s whatIsaid.” He sounds aggrieved. “She was giving me all sorts of shit for not bringing you along this morning. I told her you were in Michigan, but apparently my family likes you more than they put up with me. What can I say?”
“Aw, that’s not true. Your nephews adore you.”
“Only the ones who haven’t hit puberty yet. The older ones definitely choose you.”
I laugh because he’s probably right. “Fair enough.”
“I should get back. I have to go kick D’s ass in Fortnite.”
I swallow back the disappointment. Which is stupid, because I’m sure I’ll see him this week. In the next few days, even. Maybe I’ll surprise him on our balcony tomorrow night when I’m back in town.
Oh god.
“Good luck!”
“Thanks for calling, Jones. I’ll be sure to tell my sister I was right.”
I laugh and we say goodbye and I end the call before slipping down to the ground to sit cross-legged on the grass next to Rogers. I smooth his little drooly jaw and stroke his speckled fur. I have no idea how long I sit there, but by the time I stand up and we return to the trail, I’ve made plans to invite myself upstairs to Huck’s the minute I get back into town.
7LORELAI
I TAKE MY CHANCES
After carrying one very tired puppy home and parking him on the bathroom rug while I shower off my almost-run and the wedding from the night before, I spend the afternoon catching up on work emails. Well, really just a handful of emails from the same person: my agent, Jennifer Blake. We go way back. Maybe too far back, if I’m honest. She was my agent before and up to when everything went haywire after the “Ohio” incident. When I was twenty-four, Jen found me in a tiny coffeehouse playing covers. Not long after that, she found my old bandmates, Carissa and Lanie, and we became the Belles. For several years, things were the stuff of dreams coming true. Sure, Carissa was a prima donna who always wanted to go solo and Lanie hated touring because it took her away from her model/actor boyfriend… so that was never ideal. Really, though, that only made things easier when they fell apart. No hard feelings. Or at least none outside of what I read in the comments section.
After “Ohio,” Jennifer dropped me, but again, I couldn’t really blame her. I mean, if my own fiancé… well, anyway. Maybe I should have tried harder to find new representation when I returned to Nashville, but after a few hard passes right out of the gate, and the widespread rumor that my name had been cancelled around town by several top executives, I was feeling lucky Jennifer didn’t slam the door in my face. In fact,shecame tome.Aside from Craig and Arlo, she was the only one. Besides, ifshebelieved I had a chance to make it again… that’s half the battle, right? Finding someone to believe in you?
Right. Or so I thought. The thing is, back in Michigan, I was all ready to say “fuck you!” to every single doubter and hater who gave up on me all those years ago. And then I got to Nashville, and everyone was kissing my ass and feeding me lines and offering me deals that sound suspiciouslyexactly the sameas the ones they’d previously yanked away from me.
Including Jen.EspeciallyJen. Who very much wants me to smile pretty and say, “Oh gosh, thanks for giving me this second chance! I won’t disappoint you again, mister!” She has this whole “apology tour” worked out. Wants me to sit in with country radio deejays and executives and recant my rebellious ways. Explain that I was young and rash and shortsighted, butnot anymore.I’ve learned my lesson!
Which is a crock of shit, frankly. I’ve spent at least half a decade teaching in Michigan, and if anything, things are even more horrifying and I’m even more furious. I stand by what I did. I won’t apologize for having a soul and the platform to use it.
But—and here’s the real fucking crux of the problem—how can I effect changewithoutthe platform? If I don’t kiss the asses of people in powerful positions, I won’t have a career in music and I might as well go back to teaching third grade. Which, let’s be real, is tempting.
