Chapter 17
NIKKI
Marek and his team have a two-week break coming up for an international hockey tournament that’s being held instead of the All Star game.
That kind of makes me sad, because I like thinking about the All Star game and how much fun it was and how exciting it was meeting Marek there and hooking up with him.
Those are nice positive memories compared to the horrific ones that keep intruding into my brain.
I’ve slept with Marek every night. And we’ve had lots of sex.
It’s like I can’t get enough. I’m desperate and greedy for it.
It’s the only thing lately that makes me feel something.
Connecting with Marek in such an elemental way, in a way that’s beautiful and vulnerable and joyful, makes me feel that life has value.
We talked about what it means. He’s been very clear that his goal in life is to live free and have fun. So I know not to expect more than that. And I don’t anyway; I’m a train wreck right now. So we agreed we like having sex with each other but that’s all this is.
Since I talked to Marek that night about the concert disaster and how I’m feeling, I’ve been able to think about what happened in Germany a little more.
Yes, it’s scary. Yes, those thoughts make me feel things I don’t want to feel.
But maybe I’m able to feel those things and not completely fall into a dark vortex of despair because I get to feel alive and secure.
I’m not exactly a joyful energetic spirit right now.
I still take at least two showers a day and spend most of my days watching TV in bed.
I’ve thought about my music, but I feel so disconnected from it right now.
It was once my whole life and now feels like it doesn’t matter.
But that leaves a gaping emptiness inside me that I don’t know how to fill.
I’ve gone on more walks with Marek and let him feed me healthy meals. I’m not quite as much of a recluse. I even went out to a nearby bodega when I inexplicably had a craving for strawberry ice cream, although my heart was working double time until I made it safely home. But I did it.
And I’ve been making bread. It seemed like something simple I could manage—flour, salt, yeast, water. It’s been oddly satisfying. Thanks to several YouTube videos, I’m now proficient and trying my hand at sourdough.
I’ve become quite fond of my sourdough starter.
It’s a living thing and you have to continuously feed and water it, like it’s a dog or a plant, or a husband.
I feel like this is good training (or a caution?) for having a relationship.
As I lovingly watched him come alive, I named him Breadly Cooper.
We’re in a relationship. The only relationship I can handle right now.
Marek and I have talked about all kinds of things, and laughed, and when I’ve cried, he’s soothed me.
I made him laugh when I told him about my name for Breadly and told him that Breadly is very kneady.
He also laughed when I added things to his schedule on the whiteboard, like MONDAY—have nightmares, TUESDAY—wake up at 3 a.m. for no reason, THURSDAY—buy edibles.
On TUESDAY, he added beneath my note, have multiple orgasms to improve sleep quality.
That made me smile. He’s not wrong. I’m definitely sleeping better.
Two of his games before the break are on the road.
“I’ll get Mabel to come by,” Marek says as he’s about to leave for Montreal.
“No!” I slap a hand over my mouth after the word bursts out of me.
Marek frowns. “Why not? She’ll keep you company.”
I shake my head. How do I handle this? She’s his sister. “She’s… a lot to handle,” I say. “I’d rather be alone.”
He looks disappointed. “I know she’s a lot,” he admits. “But she has a good heart. She was really upset last time.”
“I’m sure she does have a good heart,” I quickly agree. “Absolutely. I’m just… she’s…” How do I tell him I can’t handle his sister and all her chatting and energy? I can’t. “Okay, sure.”
He nods, his face clearing. “I’ll tell her to tone things down.” Then he makes a face as if he doesn’t really want to do that.
Marek’s been gone for about an hour when I get a call from Blake. I’ve let his other calls go to voicemail, but, heaving a sigh big enough to generate electricity, this one I answer.
“Hey! Finally!” he says. “How are things going?”
How are things going? What things? There is nothing going on. “Good,” I answer, walking over to Marek’s couch to sit. “How are you?”
“Busy! As usual. I’ve been dealing with all your social media and business emails, don’t worry about that.”
I haven’t been.
“But I sent you a bunch of emails and you haven’t replied.” To my personal email.
I stare at the view of Manhattan out the big windows. “I haven’t checked my personal emails.” I haven’t even thought about it.
“Jesus, Nik. We canceled the tour but there’s still a lot going on. We need to figure out if we’re going to reschedule, and if so, when, and how that’s going to set back your next album.”
“Next album.” I keep repeating what he says because none of it makes any sense to me. “Blake. There isn’t going to be a next album.”
Silence. “Excuse me?” he finally says.
“I can never come back from this.” I run a hand through my hair. “I can’t do it.”
Give yourself some grace. Marek’s voice echoes in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Of course you can do it,” Blake says. I think he’s trying to sound soothing and encouraging but his voice has an edge of impatience to it. He’s not really a touchy-feely guy. “You’re Nikki Sullivan.”
“That’s my name,” I agree but I’m not sure who Nikki Sullivan is anymore.
“What have you been doing for the last two weeks?” he asks. “Have you been writing?”
“No. I’ve been doing… nothing. Sleeping a lot. Taking a lot of showers.”
“Jesus. You need to get it together, Nik. I have to get back to Bruno and Todd. We need to revise this year’s plan.”
Bruno is my booking agent. He’s the one who arranges my live performances, negotiating finances, arranging technical set-ups for shows, and setting up logistics like flights, hotels, and dinners. Todd is an A&R guy at Realm Records.
“Also, we have interest from Universal looking for a track for a movie. Imagine what scoring a sync like that would do for you.”
For a moment, I feel a spark of interest. “What movie?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Sync deals can be huge—like Blake says, imagine one of my songs in the soundtrack to a movie… wow.
Then exhaustion sweeps over me, making my limbs heavy. I cover my eyes. “Okay. I’ll… think about it. And I’ll get to those emails.” I end the call abruptly, which I know is rude, but I can’t listen to him talking to me like everything is normal.
* * *
When there’s a knock at the door that evening, I know who it is. I sigh as I amble over to let Mabel in.
She beams a smile at me, although there’s a hint of wariness in her eyes. “Hi!”
“Hi, Mabel. Come in.”
“How are you doing?” she asks, breezing in with the energy of a tropical cyclone.
“Okay. A little frustrated.”
“Oh? About what?” In the kitchen she sets a bag on the counter.
I shouldn’t have said that. “Nothing.” I wave a hand. “Well, my manager called this morning. He was talking about work stuff. I felt pressured.” Why am I telling her all this? I don’t even like her.
“That sucks.” She pulls a package of sour gummy worms out of the bag. “These are for you.”
“Oooh. Thank you.” I’m actually excited about this mouth-puckering candy. I rip it open right away and pop one in.
“Don’t they realize you need time to get back on your feet?”
“He thinks I’ve had enough time.”
“Well, there’s no schedule for this kind of thing. You have to take the time you need.”
One corner of my mouth hooks up and I shrug. “I guess. I feel I should have been back on the job after a day or two.”
She snorts softly. “Maybe if you’re a machine.”
I eat another candy.
“Are we watching the game?” she asks, thankfully changing the subject.
“Sure.”
She has another bag of popcorn that she pours into a bowl. She also brought a big jug of lemonade, which I love.
“How did you know I like lemonade?”
“Lucky guess.” She grins. “Marek told me you like sour candy, and lemonade is sour, so I took a chance. This stuff is really good.”
I take a big pull on the straw. Delicious. Sour. Icy cold. But I’m drinking it anyway.
“I want to apologize for the last time I was here.” Mabel regards me with a solemn expression. “Maybe I was a little excited to meet you, and I’m always kind of chaotic and undisciplined and I should have realized you were overwhelmed and shut my mouth.”
I blink at her.
“My boyfriend is very introverted,” she goes on. “I’ve learned a lot about being with introverted people and—”
“Undisciplined?”
She closes her mouth, then says, “Um. Yeah.”
“Huh.”
A little divot appears between her eyebrows. “I’m better than I was as a kid,” she says. “I manage to hold down a responsible full-time job now.”
And I laugh. “Good for you.”
She still looks a bit perplexed as we walk over to the living room.
“What is your responsible full-time job?” I ask as I sit on the couch.
“I’m a librarian. Actually, I’m the manager and children’s librarian at a Newark Public Library branch.”
I try not to show my surprise. “Interesting.”
She grins. “It is. I have lots of fun with the kids.”
I turn on the TV and find the game, which has already started. “Your boyfriend is the captain of the Storm.”
“That’s right. Ben Antonov. Number twenty-three.” Her smile is soft and affectionate.
“And he’s very introverted?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s so funny, though. We knew each other as teenagers and I thought he was stuck-up and rude, but actually he was just shy. I had such a crush on him back then.” She sighs.
Her obvious love for Ben is kind of charming.
“But you can’t judge people based on their covers,” she chats on, eyes on the TV, fingers dipping into the popcorn bowl. “You know what I mean.”
“I do know what you mean.” I remember at the All Star game thinking Marek was a charming sweet talker who skims through life all easy and lighthearted.
I didn’t realize then that that’s what he wants people to think, that he wants his life to be like that because he doesn’t want people to know the pain he’s been through.
“I’m obviously not an introvert,” Mabel adds.
Obviously.
“But Ben and I understand each other. I know he needs time on his own and it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about me, and he knows that I need to socialize. He has a safe word that he uses when we’re out and he needs to leave.”
I bunch my mouth and nod. Sounds reasonable.
“Ben says why does everyone try to force introverts to be more talkative and outgoing, but nobody ever tells extroverts to shut up? And it’s true.
So if I’m babbling too much or making you anxious, just tell me to shut up.
” She turns to meet my eyes and though she’s smiling, her eyes are serious. “Really.”
I nod. Like I’d ever do that. But I do appreciate her honesty. “Okay.”
“So, what do you love to do for self-care?”
The rapid change of topic might be a little scattered but my brain follows along without issue. Unfortunately I don’t have much of an answer. “I don’t know.”
She slides me a disbelieving look. “You don’t do self-care?”
“Well.” I look down at my lemonade. “Lately, caring for myself seems like the least important thing I need to do.”
“Ohhhh.” She shifts on the couch to face me more directly. “I’m sorry. But…” The corners of her mouth turn down. “Shouldn’t your self-care be the most important thing right now?”
My immediate response is no, absolutely not. I don’t deserve it.
“You can’t do anything for others if you don’t take care of yourself,” she says softly. “That’s why you have to put your oxygen mask on first when you’re traveling with kids.”
I nod. This makes sense. “I guess.”
“If you feel like coming to a full moon circle with me sometime, I found it really freeing. I’d just gotten out of an abusive relationship.” Her unvarnished words don’t hide the pain that shadows her eyes. “I needed to figure out what I wanted my life to be after that. Who I wanted to be.”
“I’ve, uh, never heard of a full moon circle.”
“I was skeptical.” She nods. “A bunch of women get together in a circle and connect with the energy and power of the full moon. We did meditation and set an intention, and then we let go of something or someone we wanted to get rid of in our life. Mine was my ex. And it felt good.”
“Good for you. I’m sorry about the abusive relationship.”
“Thanks.” She makes a face. “It was a hard time. It was hard to leave him, even though he was making me miserable. I finally realized I had completely lost myself, trying to be what he wanted me to, and I had to get out.” She gives me more details without me asking, and I regret thinking that she doesn’t know what suffering is.
Clearly, she does. But like her brother, you wouldn’t know it.
“Anyway, there are other things you can do for self-care.”
“I’ve been having a lot of showers,” I confess.
She tilts her head. “I don’t know if that counts?”
I lift my shoulders. “I’ve also been making bread. Would you like a loaf of sourdough?” Marek’s freezer is now packed full of crusty round loaves.
“Um, sure. You need to do something for you every day,” she continues. This woman can talk, but this time it’s not giving me a headache. “But you know what is one thing you can do that’s really easy but really hard?”
I slowly move my head side to side.
“Let people help you.” Her smile is compassionate. “Easy, right? But also so, so hard sometimes.”
I feel like this is a deeper message she’s sending me. I stuff popcorn into my mouth and nod.
“I didn’t want anyone to know about how my ex was treating me. I didn’t want to be seen as weak and helpless. A victim. But I was robbing the people who love me of the chance to help me. I didn’t realize it at the time—oh!”
We both swivel our heads toward the TV where the Storm have just scored the first goal of the game.
“Benny!” Mabel claps her hands. “My man! Yay!”
As I settle in with my popcorn, candy, and lemonade and my chatty companion and the hockey game, I’m actually pretty happy.