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I open my text app and tap on his name.
LORELAI: I worked on a little something today. It’s not finished yet, but I wanted you to hear it first. >>
He doesn’t respond right away. In fact, he doesn’t respond all day. To the point that I end up turning my phone off and on again to make sure it’s working. But I get texts from Shelby asking for an update while I’m eating a comfort dinner of boxed gluten-free vegan mac and cheese, so I know everything is operational.
I’m halfway through a draft of a text where I tell him it was an accident, and I wasn’t ready to send that song and to please disregard, when I see the gray dots of his reply pop up. I sit back on my heels, my heart in my throat. Oh god. What if he was grossed out? Okay, probably not grossed out. We’re adults. And he was definitely into it that one time. But hecouldbe trying to figure out how to let me down easy? To be professional. Holy fuck he owns his own recording studio. What was I thinking?
I panic, flipping the phone facedown on the table and jumping to my feet. For a second, I stand in indecision. I have to go somewhere. Do something. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the small stack of dishes from dinner and so I methodically make my way through them, hand washing and drying and putting them away. Then I move on to laundry… I need to keep on top of my sweaty running clothes, after all. When I’ve exhausted the too-short list of housekeeping chores, I turn to my phone, my lips pressed together. It’s only a text, Lorelai. Fuck’s sake.
I reach for my phone and on the count of three, I flip it, revealing the empty lock screen.
No notifications.
He didn’t respond. He saw the text and started to respond… I saw it. I know I didn’t imagine it.
But thenhe just didn’t respond.He’s never not responded to me before.
Oh my god. What have I done?
11LORELAI
MAYDAY
It’s been five hours since I made it back from Denver—my tour officially canceled, my future officially fucked—and my fiancé still hasn’t called me back. Someone else in my position might worry he’s giving me the cold shoulder, but I know better than to panic. Well, panic aboutthat,anyway. This is standard Drake. He’s notorious for holing up in the studio and turning off his phone, shutting out the world so he can become one with his process or whatever. Case in point: his grandmother had a terrible stroke last fall and it took me flying in from D.C. and literally pounding down the studio door to notify him she was gone. Even then, I got to him only because Huck answered the door.
So his silence isn’tthatunusual. But hell if it’s not aggravating as heck and a tiny bit hurtful. On the surface, I’m pretty independent, and we’ve never had one of those clingy relationships (the man is deathly allergic to PDA), but for just once in our lives, I could use a hug and some fucking reassurance from the man I’m marrying. If ever there was a time to be needy…
I try his cell again. And again, nothing. By the time he checks, he’s gonna have seventy missed calls and probably freak out.
Which, well. Considering I just crashed and burned my entire career with one four-and-a-half-minute protest performance, maybe it would help. I would love to not be the only one freaking out.
I nearly smile to myself. Yeah, right. Famous Drake Colter lose control of his careful facade? Not a chance. One of the things that first drew me to him was his calming presence. Nothing rattles him. I could use a voice of reason. Encouragement. Logic.
I call again. “Pick up, pick up, pick up… Hello? Dra—”
“Shit. No, I’m sorry, Lore, it’s Huck.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and double-check the name on the screen and bring it back to my ear in time to catch Huck still speaking.
“I should have used my phone, but I have just a minute and I saw your name flash on the screen and—”
“Where are you guys?”
I can hear Huck’s exhale. “New Orleans.”
“Oh. Well, that explains it. Have you been in the studio all day? I’ve been trying—”
“Yeah, we have,” he cuts in, in a rush. “But listen to me, Lore. Drake already knows. What happened at your show and with your tour… He’s being a dick, okay? He heard the news right away. Powers called first thing this morning.” Huck’s tone is pained as he mentions his and Drake’s slimy manager.
“Oh,” I repeat, icy realization cooling the blood in my veins, freezing me in place. “I see.”
It’s quiet a beat before Huck speaks. “I’m sorry, Lore. I’ve been trying to get him to take your calls, but Powers told him not to talk to you until he figured things out or some shit. I’m not supposed tobe talking to you, either, technically, but that’s such bullshit. I’m—this is just all so fucked up. You didn’t do anything wrong, Lorelai.”
“He won’t talk to me because Powers told him not to?” I ask, snagging on the detail.
“Yeeeah.” Huck exhales loudly over the speaker. “Yes.”
I swallow back the sudden rush of emotion, feeling the hot sting of tears for the very first time since this whole thing began, and clear my throat before saying, “Just to clarify, the man I am supposed to marry, tie my life to—who is supposed to love me in sickness or health, for richer or poorer—he won’t talk to me because hismanagertold him not to.”
