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“To escaping.” I repeat, and lift my glass.
We take a sip of our drinks at the same time. I let the mix of favor sit in my mouth for a moment, searching for the taste of alcohol, but it was well made, so there wasn’t a hint of burn to it.
“So, you don’t talk to your mom?” I ask after swallowing.
“No. I haven’t talked to her since getting signed. I told her I got signed, and she begged me not to take the deal, to repent, to pray, to do anything else but make devil music. So no, I don’t talk to her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I have Ben’s mom. She is really proud of us.”
“That’s nice.”
“It really is.” He smiles. “So, no idea who your dad is?”
“Oh no, I know who he is, but I just want nothing to do with him since he wanted nothing to do with me.”
My father is a famous singer in his own right, but I avoid telling people who he is because I don’t need the added drama to my life. I like to pretend he doesn’t exist like I don’t know who he is. It’s easier that way.
“Fair enough.”
Our waiter comes back with our food. He sets a rather large salad bowl in front of me and a plate with steak on it in front of Wes.
“Enjoy.” He says with a smile.
“Can we get another round of drinks?” Wes asks.
“Sure. Same thing?”
“Yes, please.”
“Coming right up.” He says and walks away.
I can smell the steak from where I sit, and it makes my stomach twist in knots. I’m used to being around food that doesn’t smell very strongly, so the smell is unsettling to me. I stare into the salad bowl as well. It was a huge pile of leafy greens with bites of chicken and cranberries in it. While it didn’tnecessarily smell, it was definitely looking like a mountain of food.
“I can’t…”
“Just have a few bites. Remember you are getting a prize for this. Two hours on my bus.”
“Sue would want me to eat the whole thing.”
“Sue doesn’t have to know.” He says. “That’s a lot bigger than a sandwich. Eat half of it and see how you feel.”
“Okay.”
We had a few more drinks as we ate dinner, so we were quite buzzed by the time the waiter came around to ask if we would like any dessert.
“No, thank you.” Wes says.
“A to-go box for the lady?” He asks, eyeing my salad bowl.
“No.” Wes answers again. “We are fine. Just the check, please.”
I have had a little over half of my salad. Wes kept me distracted as we ate with questions about music. What my favorite song was, what was the first song I wrote, who did I take inspiration from, things like that. It made eating more bearable.
“Still set on paying?”
“Yes.” He says, his voice a little heavy from the liquor. He lifts his glass to his lips and finishes the rest of his drink. “It’s not a job.”
