Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
KAYLEE
Afundamental difference in values.
That was what risked coming between me and Micah. We were taking a few days apart so we could think about things, but we had both agreed to try and get past it. To work through it and stay together.
But that didn’t solve the real problem.
The band was split in half over that difference, and I really didn’t know if the six of us could overcome it.
We had all gotten so angry. We had all said things we hadn’t meant, things I knew we would regret. But there had been a grain of truth in everything we said, too. We all knew each other so well, it had been easy to attack sore points and weak spots.
It was true when they said that the ones you love are also the ones who can hurt you the most.
“Need some help?” Chris asked as he came up behind me in the kitchen.
I was on my tiptoes trying to reach my favorite coffee mug. One of the cleaning staff we brought in did the dishes three times a week and kept putting it on the highest shelf, which of course meant I could never reach it without straining something.
Anya was down in the kitchen several times a day to satiate her caffeine addiction, so she was usually around to help me out.
But I hadn’t seen Anya in a week. It wasn’t unusual for her to hide herself away in her room for days to work if she was caught up in a flurry of inspiration, but I knew that wasn’t the case this time.
I had a feeling none of us were feeling particularly inspired at the moment.
“Thanks,” I told Chris, pointing to the dark purple mug with cat paws on the rim and a tail for the handle. “I really need to get a footstool.”
“Always happy to help,” he said.
It came out sincere, not snarky or joking like Finn or Zain might have said it.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, ducking his head to give me a concerned look.
Chris was a foot taller than me, and built like a linebacker. I’d always meant to ask why he went into music instead of sports. Then I would see the look on his face when he was wailing on his guitar, or playing on stage, and I knew the answer.
It was the same reason we were both on the same side of the band’s contentious debate.
“I’m doing okay,” I told him.
I avoided his eyes as I prepared the coffee machine. Not Anya’s fancy European espresso machine, of course. No one dared touch it after what we called “The Incident” when Finn tricked Corinna into using it, and, in the process, breaking it.
I hadn’t seen Finn since the band’s falling out, either. He had stayed over at his girlfriend’s house. He was usually over at Corinna’s on most days anyway, but this time I felt his absence keenly.
The house we all shared had always been lively and full of loud voices, laughter and music.
Then Micah had moved out, and Zain moved in with his girlfriend, and Finn met Corinna.
It had soon felt like Anya, Chris and I were rattling around in this vast place like the last few balls in a bingo machine at the end of game night.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Chris asked as he filled his water bottle from the tap. We might have been millionaire rock stars but that didn’t mean we wanted to use bottled water and contribute to humanity’s destruction of nature. “You look a little…” Chris trailed off with a cough.
I looked up with a start, realizing I’d been staring into my empty coffee mug, lost in thought.
“If you’re trying to say I look like shit, I’m well aware,” I said with a weary snort.
“Your hair is more of a rat’s nest than usual,” he agreed with a small smile. He tilted his head, examining me. “You also have darker circles under your eyes than Anya usually does.”
I looked worse than our perpetually sleep-deprived, caffeine-addicted insomniac? I really must have looked awful.
“You look fine,” I noted, then winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to insinuate anything bad. I’m just saying, you seem to be handling this much better than the rest of us. You’re not hiding away or losing sleep.”
“It’s called healthy coping mechanisms.” He feigned a sage nod, then sobered up.
“We’re going to get through this, Kay,” he said.
“I know things seem bad right now, but these things happen. Bands fight. They disagree. They yell at each other and storm out.” He shrugged.
“You’ve only ever been in Until We Break, but I’ve been in enough bands before to know that it’s part of the process.
” There was a pained look on his face, his eyes going distant with reminiscence.
“We’ve never fought like this,” I said, turning to the coffee machine and fiddling with the handle.
My stomach churned and twisted. “Not over something so important. Usually our fights are over stupid stuff. Anya being late to the studio because she tossed her alarm clock on the floor. Zain hogging the stage to noodle away on his guitar for ten minutes. Finn pulling a prank to cause havoc during an interview. All that stuff was just surface level crap. This, though?” I picked up the coffee pot and poured the coffee into my mug.
My hand was trembling. “I told Micah this is about a fundamental difference in our philosophies.” My shoulders sagged.
“Irreconcilable differences. Isn’t that what bands say when they break up? ”
I took a sip from my mug as the backs of my eyes stung. The coffee was hot enough to scald my tongue, but I welcomed the sensation. Pain on the outside to distract from the pain on the inside.
I knew Chris wouldn’t say anything if I let a few tears slip. He would probably say something comforting and pat me on the back with a large, consoling palm. But I was trying to keep myself together and I worried that if someone showed me the slightest bit of sympathy I might lose it completely.
“You and Micah are working through this, yeah?” Chris asked.
Micah was currently at his mom’s place, keeping an eye on her after a bad spell.
I’d stayed in the mansion, both because I didn’t want to intrude, and because I wanted to give us space.
“If you two can make it through, the rest of us can as well.”
Chris put his hand on my shoulder, just like I had imagined he would. I hadn’t even needed to cry in front of him to know I needed that kind of consoling.
“I don’t want you to give up hope,” Chris said.
I took in a shuddering breath, trying to hold myself together.
“I love Micah,” I told him with a sniffle.
“But I love this band, too. I loved it first. This band was my first love. My family. My life. If we break up... If we can’t get through this.
.. If I don’t have this anymore…” The salty tears I’d tried to keep at bay fell down my cheeks. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Chris made a soft, pained sound and put a hand on the top of my hand, ruffling my rat’s nest of hair.
“You can’t let this band define your entire life, Kay,” Chris said quietly. “It’s not healthy.”
Healthy communication skills, healthy coping mechanisms… Zain always said he hated therapist platitudes, and I was beginning to understand why.
So what if I was letting the band define my life? What other alternative was there?
I had been in this band for almost half my life. I didn’t know what kind of person I would have ended up being without it. I didn’t know what kind of person I was without it.
Who was Kaylee Richter without the rest of Until We Break?
With one last pat, Chris took his full water bottle and left the kitchen, probably to return to our home gym where he spent most of his time when he wasn’t practicing.
I stayed in the kitchen, sitting at the marble-topped island counter and nursed my beverage.
The smell of coffee always reminded me of Anya, who seemed to subsist on caffeine and chocolate protein shakes.
Cooking is too much effort, she always said.
You can have every food imaginable delivered straight to our door, I would remind her.
It’s always lukewarm by the time it gets here, she would shrug and continue slurping her shake.
I found myself smiling as I reminisced. Anya was a force of nature on stage, but off-stage it sometimes seemed like a gust of wind could knock her over.
It was always so interesting to see that transformation as she stepped into the limelight.
I regretted the fact that, as the drummer, I was always behind her and could rarely see her face as she sang.
Her expressive bearing was what drew people in, making concert go-ers feel like she was singing straight into their hearts.
Anya was half the reason our concerts were always packed.
The fans loved her. And she always wanted to please those fans.
I looked down at my now-lukewarm coffee. Anya really did care about the fans. She wasn’t wrong when she said we needed to give them the music they wanted to hear.
But how could we know they didn’t want to hear our new stuff if we didn’t try?
I groaned and slumped forward to rest my forehead against the counter. I just kept going around and around in circles, with no answer.
Micah thought I was being stubborn, but I wasn’t the only one clinging to my ideals with both fists. It was just as frustrating for me to replay their arguments in my head and try to come up with counter arguments to convince them.
If Finn and Anya hadn’t been hiding away, maybe we could have talked things out.
If Zain hadn’t stormed off in a huff maybe we could have come to some sort of solution.
If Micah would just listen to me, and try to see it from my point of view, maybe we could come up with a compromise.
I made a displeased noise in the back of my throat and kicked the stool next to me. Micah wasn’t the only one who was frustrated. The emotional swing from despair to irritable was a welcome one. I didn’t want to be angry with my friends, but it sure was better than wallowing in my own misery.
My phone rang, startling me, and I looked at the screen.
It was my mom.
That irritable frustration swelled up within me. My ire had been seeking an outlet, and here was the perfect one.
Maybe it was time to end this once and for all. Maybe I could channel this anger and keep myself from folding and giving my mom whatever she wanted.
I pressed the answer button.
“Stop calling me.” Not the best way to begin a conversation, but I was already worked up.
“How dare you speak to me like that?” my mom screeched. Apparently she was already all worked up, too.
“I’ll speak to you however I like,” I stated. “In fact, this is the last time I’m going to speak to you at all. I’ve already given you enough money that you should be set for life. I’m not giving in anymore.”
“You selfish little—”
“You can call me selfish if you want, I don’t care,” I cut her off. “I don’t want to hear from you anymore. I don’t want to have anything to do with you from now on.”
“But you’re still going to keep playing those songs about me, aren’t you?” she snarked. “You’re going to keep sullying my reputation, making everyone think I’m a terrible mother? Don’t you think I deserve some of the money you’ve made off all your whining?”
“Then go ahead and sue me,” I snapped.
“You—”
I stabbed my index finger on the end button. My hands were shaking so much it took me three tries.
A part of me couldn’t believe I had just told my mom off like that, and without even bursting into tears.
Another part of me felt so much relief it felt as if I had lifted off the ground, weightless and free.
Another part of me was worried about her wrath, worried about what she might do next.
Show up in person again, probably. But now I knew how to channel this anger and aim it at her.
Next time I would be ready.