Chapter 23
NIKKI
“Do you feel like Mom and Dad pushed you to play hockey?”
I’m on the phone with my brother, lying on my bed, one leg bent, the other crossed over it.
“Uh… no. Not really. I wanted to play hockey. They did everything they could to help me do that.”
Hmmm. “Yeah.” I think. “Do you feel like you’re letting them down if you don’t do well?”
“What is this? A therapy session?”
“Just stuff I’ve been thinking about.”
“I guess maybe they’re disappointed if I don’t play well.”
“They don’t give you shit when that happens?”
“Not really.”
“Criticize you?”
“Well, they might give me some feedback.”
“What if you quit hockey?”
“Yikes.” Silence. “I don’t think they’d disown me.”
Gray’s view of things is clearly different than mine. But his personality is different. He’s level-headed, responsible, dependable. I need to think about this.
When I picked up my guitar and played it at the inn in Afton, I experienced that feeling of everything else falling away. When I focus on music, I leave all my problems behind. It’s almost like a form of meditation, and it’s why I’ve always found sanctuary from the world in music.
And I’ve been missing that. I really have.
My thoughts are interrupted by an incoming phone call. It’s my mom. I talk to her and Dad regularly but now they want to come see me.
“I’m not at my place,” I tell them. “I’m staying with a friend.”
“What friend? Where?”
“You don’t know him.”
“Him?”
I hear the unspoken questions vibrating. “Yes, him. I’m in Hoboken.”
“We’ll come there,” Mom says.
“You can’t come here.” Wow, that sounds rude.
“Why not?”
“I don’t… I don’t know.” The truth is, Marek’s leaving on a road trip tomorrow and he’ll be gone most of three days. He won’t even know they’ve been here. And he probably wouldn’t mind anyway; it’s me who feels weird about this. “Okay, fine. Come here. Saturday’s best.”
“What’s the address?”
I give it to her and end the call.
Great.
No. It’s fine. My parents love me. Why am I anxious about seeing them?
Because I don’t want to disappoint them, my inner child reminds me. Because I’m afraid I have disappointed them.
Right.
Gray doesn’t seem to have this same hang-up.
Well, I have a couple of days to prepare myself.
The team leaves Friday afternoon, but their game in Salt Lake City isn’t until Saturday night, so Mabel invites me to hang out with her friends Friday night.
She suggested going out for dinner and drinks somewhere, but I’m still hesitant to show my face in public or be anywhere there’s a crowd, so I politely declined, but she arranged for her friends to go over to her place so now I’m in, and we’re going to make pizzas and drink cocktails.
I’m nervous about meeting her friends. It’s been literally weeks since I interacted with people other than Marek and Mabel and Ben.
Am I ready for this? What do I think is going to happen, though?
They probably won’t make me talk about the tragedy in Berlin.
They won’t make me sing. Will they act weird and awkward around me?
Or, more likely, will I act weird and awkward around them?
Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.
Deep breath, girl. You got this.
I can’t hide from the world forever. This is a low-key way to connect with people.
Mabel’s friends turn out to be amazing, though, which I should have known, because Mabel’s pretty cool. And that relaxes me so I’m not an absolute goober.
Wow. It wasn’t that long ago Mabel stressed me out. Now I like her.
Cami’s a white woman with dark hair cut in a sophisticated pixie style that highlights big eyes and killer cheekbones. Tala is Black with gorgeous smooth skin, bright red lips, and a mass of natural curls.
They don’t make a big deal about who I am, but they do tell me they love my music, so that’s nice.
“What’s the most embarrassing thing that turns you on?” Mabel asks us all as we stand at the island in her condo. I’m rolling out pizza dough, Cami is spreading sauce on another pie, and Tala is shredding mozzarella. Mabel is mixing drinks.
The three of us exchange glances and I roll my lips in. Do I want to tell strangers about my weird kinks? One of them could tell a reporter about it and the next thing you know it’ll be on TMZ.
“I love a man in a vest,” Tala says. “It makes me so hot.”
“A vest?” Mabel grins. “Okay.”
“Like, a nice vest,” Tala adds. “Not a sweater vest.”
“Oh, yeah, that would be dorky. How about you, Cami?”
Cami makes a face. “Weeelll… when we’re doing it and we hear voices outside the door while going at it, or someone coming home… like somebody could hear us, or catch us in the act… that gets me extra spicy.”
“Oh, yeah.” Mabel nods. “Been there when I was staying at Marek’s place.”
I grin. Marek must have been losing his mind.
“What about you, Nikki?” Mabel looks over at me.
“Can I say… dry humping?”
“You can say whatever you want,” Mabel replies with a laugh. “No kink shaming here.”
“It was really hot when we both…” I stop.
“Oh, no!” Mabel’s mouth drops open in horror. “Not with my brother!”
“You asked the question!”
Cami and Tala both crack up laughing.
“Can confirm, that is hot,” Tala wheezes.
“Okay, forget I asked that, let’s change the subject,” Mabel blurts. “What—”
“Oh, no,” I say with an evil grin. “You haven’t answered yet.”
“Yeah!” Tala and Cami support me.
Mabel rolls her eyes and hands me a whiskey sour that she made using Ina Garten’s recipe. “Fine. I think priests are hot. Sexy priests.”
“Does Ben have liturgical vestments that he wears to turn you on?” Cami asks.
“Not yet.” Mabel smirks.
As we eat pizza, I confide that my parents are coming tomorrow. “Marek won’t mind that they come to his place, will he?” I ask Mabel.
She shrugs. “Doubt it. But you could ask him.”
“I’m not sure I want him to know.”
She cocks her head. “Why not?”
I look down at my pizza with sausage and kale. “Well, I don’t know that either. I just think this visit isn’t going to go well.”
“Why?” Cami’s voice is gentle.
“It’s a long story.” I make a face. “I’ll just say my parents are really invested in my success as a singer and… I’m really letting them down right now.” Not only do I like Mabel and her friends, I feel okay telling them one of my biggest fears. It’s nice to have friends.
“But you’ve just been through a tragedy,” Mabel says. “They must understand that.”
“I don’t know if they do.” I sigh. “Sorry, I don’t want to be a downer. Let’s talk about more embarrassing kinks.” I’d rather tell them about my sex in public fantasy than talk about my parents’ visit.
* * *
My parents arrive at exactly one o’clock on Saturday, just like they said. We exchange big hugs and Mom looks me up and down. “You’ve put on a little weight.”
“Probably.” I shrug and smile. “I’ve been baking a lot of bread. Remind me to give you a loaf of sourdough when you leave.”
“Bread? I thought you didn’t like bread.”
I wave a hand. “Come in. Would you like coffee?”
“I’d love a coffee,” Dad says.
They both look around curiously as I move into the kitchen and prepare coffee for them.
“Whose place is this?” Mom asks again.
“It’s Marek Smits’.”
Dad’s head jerks back and Mom’s eyes widen.
“The hockey player?” Dad asks.
“Yes.”
“How do you know him?” Dad’s eyes narrow.
“We met at the All Star game last year. Remember? When I went to Vegas and sang at the game.”
“Oh.” Mom thinks. “But that was over a year ago. You mean to say you’ve been dating someone for over a year and we’ve never met him? Or even heard about him?”
“No, no, it wasn’t like that. After the All Star game, we texted and talked a bit, but we didn’t see each other until… well, until I got back to New York.”
“Oh. But you’re dating now?”
“No.”
A look of frustration passes over Mom’s features.
“It’s just hard to explain,” I say gently, tamping down my own frustration. “I needed somewhere to hide out for a while.”
I tell them about the media that was camped outside my condo, and how I’ve felt safer staying here.
I tell them I talked to Gray the other day.
I try to reassure them that I’m doing okay, even though I still spend most of my time baking bread and watching soap operas.
Should I tell them I’ve been playing my guitar and singing?
Nothing serious, just fooling around. Nah.
I don’t know where that’s going and I don’t want to mislead them.
“You can’t hide out here forever,” Dad says.
“I know.”
They’re full of questions about what I’ve been working on, what my plan is, when I think I’ll start the tour again. And I feel like shit when I tell them I don’t have a plan. That I haven’t been working. That I don’t know if I can ever go on tour again.
I see the dismayed expressions on their faces.
“What can we do to help?” Mom asks. “Do you need to see a psychologist?”
Ugh. Marek suggested that, too. “No, no. I’m good.”
“We could go to L.A. with you,” Dad says. “Stay for a while.”
“I… don’t know when I’ll go back to L.A.”
“Blake’s there. Your whole team is there. You should be there.”
“How are you going to get back into things if you’re not there?” Mom asks.
My stomach tightens. She assumes I want to get back into things.
“Think of the people waiting for you to pick up your career again,” Dad says. “Blake and Harper and Bruno, everyone at the label. Your band and your dancers.”
“Your fans,” Mom adds. “You should see them on social media.”
I wince. I don’t want to see that. I know only too well that social media can be toxic. I’ll bet a lot of people aren’t happy about my absence.
But she has a point. Even though I try not to take their questions as judgment or their comments as criticism, even though I have that ugly feeling that I’m letting them down in the worst way after all they’ve done for me, I’m letting other people down, too.
Most especially my fans, who I love, who are so important to me. I wouldn’t be where I am without them.
And that makes me feel decidedly queasy.
* * *