Epilogue.
TJ
In all honesty, it’s like I traded in my summer road trip for a superiorly upgraded version.
Gave up the California beaches and got endless oceans of grass and grain out any given window of the bus, with the noise of Raj’s laughter, or hum of the microwave as Wily awaits his Pop-Tart, or Fiona giggling while on a video call with her girlfriend Laina.
Gave up Las Vegas for a dozen other cities that sparkle and shine in their own unique ways, though perhaps minus a Zombie Marilyn Monroe or an Elvis.
Gave up exploring the breathtaking lava caverns for mazes of backstage hallways that change every venue, some of them short, some of them vast and cavernous. Dressing rooms large or small. Stages deep or narrow.
And instead of AJ, I’ve got Austin by my side.
Every day is a brand new adventure.
Every night is a surprise of what will happen at the show.
Dee captures me on my way to bringing some water to the green room, hand hooked in my arm, and says, “Be a doll and take this headset to Emmett? His isn’t working and I’m tied up with—”
“On it!” I tell her cheerily, do our funny little wiggly-fingered handshake thing, then head on with the water and headset.
No one questions it anymore.
I’m part of this family.
Rob stops me at one of the backstage doors and holds out an arm, blocking the way. “Excuse me, young suspicious man,” he states with great authority, “but I am going to have to see your ID, your backstage pass, and a stick of that tasty-ass fruity gum I know you keep in your back pocket.”
“Will just a stick of gum do?” I suggest, one already whipped out. This is sort of our thing.
His authoritative voice crumbles into a giggly, “Thanks, bud,” as he whips off the shiny wrapper and pops the gum past his lips with a great and satisfied rock-back of his eyes before heading off.
And when there’s nothing going on and I’m in the greenroom with my pink-and-red notebook out, I flip past my recent doodles of various cat and duck and rabbit versions of Raj, Fiona, and Wily respectively, and arrive at a new list I’ve started:
Things TJ McPherson can be:
Sound engineer. (Ever since watching Noah and the tech guys working magic at the pavilion this summer, I’m crazy intrigued by how it all works.)
Lighting designer. (Naomi, though not a designer herself, just the one who operates the whole dang thing, shows me some cool tricks and stuff, and isn’t it basically painting with light over a blank canvas of a huge stage? How fucking cool is that??)
Wedding DJ in Iceland—still there, circled twenty times, and finally crossed out with a rueful sigh. Side note: look up if Duolingo teaches Icelandic next time you’re on the bus, por favor, gracias.
Professional pianist. I did take one and a half lessons as a kid.
Caricature artist. I mean, isn’t turning people into cats, ducks, and demented rabbits adorable? How can I not love my life if I’m doing that for a living?
I’m about to add something else to the list when Ian drops by the greenroom.
His energy is as unpredictable as the weather.
Hot some days. Cold on others. Always happy when he’s on a call with his daughter or wife Hailey, with whom he’s gotten along better lately according to Austin.
And tonight, when he meets my eyes, I see him purse his lips in thought, fingers twitching at his sides, as if unsure what to say.
Then he adjusts his glasses and says, “Frog.” Satisfied with his answer, he leaves. And I’m left smiling.
I had asked him earlier what animal I should draw him as.
Y’know. So I can include him in my doodle family.
One night on the road, pretty soon after leaving Spruce, I got a call from AJ, and boy, did we have so much tea.
He was sorry for being the “dumpster fire of bad news” when he called me while I was in the Strong Fitness Zone bathroom—but more than that, he felt terrible about his “gear crew” stealing my road trip out from under me.
Of course, I told him it was for the best. After all, didn’t I just find the man I hope becomes the love of my life someday?
He inspires me every waking minute. “So wait, are you his muse, or is he your muse?” asked AJ. I shrugged and said, “Why not both?”
Paris finally cracked. She had gotten her feelings hurt at some party they all went to.
AJ had already concluded after a month of chasing her that she just wasn’t into him, so when he comforted her, it was sincere and with no expectations.
I guess that did the trick, because it was that night they kissed for the first time.
And I guess they’ve been kissing every night since.
“Will you tell me when you tour in my area?” asked AJ. “You know you’ve gotta get backstage passes for both me and Paris. She is a huge Chase Holt fan. Help me impress her even more, bro! This is still new between us! She might find out I’m boring and ditch me! Help your bestie out?!”
Of course I’m gonna help him out.
Call me a wimp. Or call me compassionate. Or call this a fluke because somehow we all got what we wanted in the end, but I just have to forgive the guy no matter how things went down.
He’s got a good heart and I still love him.
“Who in the fucking fuck ate all the fucking cashews?!”
Oh. I forgot to mention.
Miranda totally met and hooked up with Skeleton from Soul Biter during the two week break. They’re sort of a thing now.
And she’s on the road with us, too.
It works out. There’s something strangely perfect about her being here that balances me out, keeps it real, and helps me take everything a little less seriously.
She’s usually roped into working the merchandise stand (which I at first found surprising, thinking she’d scare away customers with her cussing) but she’s actually stunningly sweet and charismatic when she puts her heart into it.
Like, all of her heart. At full blast.
And if no one dares to eat all the fucking cashews backstage.
I don’t know why it happens—perhaps it’s these lucky banana socks I’m wearing tonight—but I’m sent to go grab Austin.
He isn’t in his dressing room. My fun little quest is brought to a halt when I hear the soft strum of a guitar.
I smirk knowingly, slow down my pace, and follow the enchanting melody.
It leads me to a dim hall in the back of the building where Austin is chilling with Glorious, doing his usual preshow ritual of offering something to the venue.
I listen to him for a while, unhurried, moved, as he plays with his eyes closed, looking as sexy as a dream.
“Didn’t realize I had an audience,” he says with his eyes still closed, lips curling up.
“Don’t we always?” I echo back, then slowly saunter his way. “You know … I keep thinking back on that first night we met … all of the icky things I said to you … about music … sellouts … a ton of stuff I pretended to know the first thing about …”
“Don’t sell yourself too short,” he teases, looking up at me.
I stop in front of him and crouch down. “What I should have said was … thank you. For being there. For catching me when I was falling with no bottom in sight. For being the voice that so gently coaxed me away from a dark place.”
He smiles. “Funny. I was thinkin’ I should’ve thanked you that night for exactly the same thing.”
He takes hold of my shirt and pulls my lips to his.
Every time we kiss, I feel like I’m home. No matter what city. No matter what venue. No matter if it’s in a dressing room, a hotel room, the back of a bus, or a dim lost hallway with no one in sight.
I’m home when I’m with my Austin Love.
My favorite thing is standing here in the wings each show and listening to the roar of the crowd when Austin struts out onto that stage.
He opens every show with our song. And before he sings the first lyric, he’ll always gaze my way, catch my eyes, and throw me that sexy smirk of his, before the melody carries us off together as one—on a wild road trip to the stars.
The End.
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Thank you for reading!