Chapter 6. #3
It’s my phone on the table next to me, mooing.
Fiona, who for some mystifying reason retained my passcode after helping me with one tiny thing a year ago, likes changing my ringtone.
I think she finds it funny. Don’t know why I still haven’t updated my passcode.
I guess the cow’s better than the blood curdling scream she set it as before—which woke me from a dead sleep not too long ago when I got a call at around this hour, too.
So it’s with conviction that I pick up my phone, figuring Fiona to be watching from her hotel window, grinning mischievously.
What I find instead is an unknown number.
I never answer unknown numbers.
And sure as hell not at 3 in the damned morning.
Could Fiona be blocking her own number just to play out this whole cow-moo thing? She really could be watching me from her hotel window. I’m within view, after all. Unless she got one of the odd-numbered rooms that face the other way.
Fuck it. I answer. “Moooo back at you,” I say right off.
There’s silence. Not even a snicker.
I grow unsettled at once. “Uh … hello?”
“Moo back at me?” comes a voice.
I sit up at once, nearly catapulting poor Glorious off my chest, catching it at the neck to prevent a catastrophe. “Timothy?”
“Sorry. It’s late. Like, really late. But you did tell me you’re up until, uh, ‘dead-o’clock’ I believe you said. Don’t know why I called right now and not during the day like a normal person.”
“I was up,” I tell him right away. Silence. I shrug. “I’m … not a normal person.”
“Who really is?” he asks back.
I hear the lightness in his voice. I’m still stunned he called. It doesn’t even matter to me what time it is. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“What was that about mooing …?”
“Long story. Ringtone. My—” I can’t say bandmate. He thinks I’m a groupie. “… sister keeps changin’ my ringtone. So it’s a cow now. Mooin’ at me at all hours.”
“My phone’s been on silent so long because of school, I can’t even tell you what mine is.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “You could … make it a favorite song.”
“I’d ask for a suggestion, but I already know you’ll just barf more Chase Holt all over me.”
I smile. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“And yes, I … couldn’t sleep.” After a second, he sighs. “I don’t know what it is about this time of night. I keep waking up. Then I pace around my room. Then I try to doodle. Then I remember that I’m not an art major and laugh myself to tears. Are you sure you want to keep getting to know me?”
I’m still smiling, hasn’t gone away. “Why’d you call me?”
“Because I couldn’t sleep. Didn’t I say that already?” He takes a breath. “So you have a sister?”
“Well, yeah. But the ‘sister’ I mentioned just now is … more of a friend. A sisterly friend … who acts more like a prank-playin’ frat bro I can’t get away from. My real sister’s older. Then I’ve got two younger brothers.”
“Wow. Big sis and her trio of little brothers. Your parents had their hands full.”
I chuckle. “You can say that.” I wait a moment. “And … you?”
“Just me. Only child. Kind of a sad story. My parents had a … a really, really hard time having a child. They tried for years. Failed. Then when they weren’t trying, I sort of just happened. I’m their miracle baby. All their hopes and dreams … right here.”
I try to picture his face telling me this, as if he’s here, seated on this picnic table by my side. I even turn my head that way. “It sounds like … a lot of pressure on those shoulders of yours. To live up to all them hopes ‘n dreams …”
“Bingo,” he says cutely.
I run my finger over my lips, thinking. “Is that why you called your town ‘quicksand’? Feels like you get sucked in every time you go? Like you can’t get out?”
“And the more I try, the more I’m sucked in. It’s part of why I don’t think I can ever tell my parents I’m gay. I’m their only hope for grandkids. Dad wants to hand off the family business to me. Mom’s been molding me into their perfect heir my whole life.”
“And … they wouldn’t be okay with you being gay?”
“Of course they would be. That makes it worse. It’s more like they don’t even see who I am. Like their idea of TJ is … this person I’ve never met. They talk to me like they’re talking to him. When my mom hugs me, she’s actually hugging him.”
I think about the days I used to greet a crowd of fans by some side door of an auditorium, and how when they looked at me with their adoring eyes, it was like they were seeing someone else.
An idea of Chase Holt. What Chase Holt represented to them.
Their perfect idol. Their dream guy. Their own wounded heart.
Never just … me.
Is that why I cracked the moment I met Timothy?
Because all he saw was me?
“Okay, fine. Chatty Cat Coffee.”
I flinch from my thoughts. “Huh?”
“It’s right on the edge of town. Quiet on the weekdays. No big crowds. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. Maybe 3 or so. Deal?”
Twelve hours from now. I smile. “I’ll be there.”
“Okay. Goodnight.” And just as abruptly as that, he hangs up, and I’m left staring up at the sky in wonder, my mouth agape, all the beautiful stars spread out before my eyes.
They seem so much closer suddenly.