Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-four
“So this is what you do when I cancel out on you,” Richie said. “You go to nightclubs and drink champagne with guys named Swinging Dick.”
“Don’t sleep on me, sweetheart,” I said. “I’m a hot commodity.”
“So I’ve learned.” Richie grinned.
“Wish I could teach you further,” I said. “In person.”
“Me, too,” Richie said.
I smiled. I loved being around him, even if it was just over FaceTime.
It was close to two a.m. He’d texted me after he’d gotten home from work, asking if I was still awake.
I’d called right back. We’d been talking for a while.
We were both in bed. But unfortunately, they were separate beds, 290 miles apart. It was better than nothing, though.
We’d both recounted our days, like an engaged couple living under the same roof. I’d just told him how, despite my misgivings, I’d acted on his suggestion and called his dad for tech support.
“How do you think Melanie Joan is doing now?” Richie said.
“Sleeping, I hope.”
After I’d left Icon, I’d texted Tony, telling him that I had a new lead on Book Babe.
I’d figured he’d be sound asleep in his own hotel room, and that he’d reply the next morning.
But he’d texted right back: Still in MJ’s suite, he’d typed.
Harold and I are sleeping in shifts. According to Tony, Melanie Joan had tried to wrestle her phone away from Harold and escape the hotel.
Twice. Each time, it had taken both of them to subdue her, and so Tony had opted to stay. I shared all of that with Richie.
“Not sure I get it,” Richie said. “Why?”
“Tony said Melanie Joan wanted to clap back at Leila Donnelly.”
“Video herself and post it?”
“Yes. He said she kept screaming that she wanted to use her own words, without ‘policing’ from Harold and him.”
“Doesn’t sound like a great idea.”
“It most definitely was not,” I said. “But she’d drunk half a bottle of wine from room service and so she was extra, as Tony put it, ‘emboldened.’ ”
“Jesus.”
“That’s Melanie Joan.”
Richie had been lying on his back. He rolled onto his side, facing the screen. “I know it’s been a long time,” he said, “but I don’t remember her being quite so…”
“Volatile and self-destructive?”
“I was going to say loud,” Richie said. “But that works, too.”
“People change,” I said. “Life throws us curveballs, and sometimes they hit us and leave scars.”
“Good metaphor.”
“Thanks,” I said. “And as you know, I don’t even like baseball.”
Richie smiled. “You haven’t changed, though, Sunny,” he said. “You never change.”
I inched closer to the screen. His soft gaze on my face.
I knew what he meant. In the past several years, I’d been thrown a lot of curveballs—more than one of which had been direct threats to my life.
Yet I hadn’t hidden away or switched jobs or become embittered or paranoid or even loud like Melanie Joan.
Unwavering conviction was my superpower—or maybe my kryptonite.
And it was just as true when it came to my personal life.
I knew Richie had meant it as a gentle observation—a compliment, even.
But it made me think of what Elizabeth had said to me at dinner.
People change, Sonya…you should try it sometime.
“Richie,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“When you told me you couldn’t make it for dinner with my parents, I was really angry at you.”
“You were?” he said. “You didn’t act like it.” He started to apologize, but I cut him off.
“I didn’t act angry, because I knew I was being unfair.
But the thing is, that never stopped me in the past. Every time you did something that didn’t fit in with my way of dealing with the world, I complained, I pouted.
I was a general pain in the ass,” I said.
“Remember when you decided to marry Kathryn? We were divorced. You had every right. But I took it as a personal affront. Same as when you told me she was pregnant. Even last year, when we hadn’t even seen each other in months and I heard you were moving to Jersey. I was furious.”
“I got it, though,” he said. “All those times, I understood.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have.”
“Why?”
“Because I shouldn’t have been trying to stop you from changing.”
Richie gave me a smile. “Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “It all worked out.”
“I know, Richie, but if it’s going to keep working out, I need to…go with the flow a little more, I guess. Not be so selfish.”
“I’ve been selfish, too,” he said.
“Getting married and having a kid isn’t selfish.”
“I’m talking about now,” he said. “I’ve been putting this job over your needs. It’s because I’m new at it, but that’s not an excuse.”
“Richie…”
“Pick a night.”
“Huh?”
“Any night this summer. I’ll make sure I’m covered at The Room. I’ll come stay with you and I’ll cook dinner and you can invite your parents. Elizabeth. Anybody you want.”
I smiled. “How about just my dad,” I said. “And Spike.”
“Deal,” he said. “And I’m going to spend more time in Boston. Mondays and Tuesdays, we don’t usually book bands. I’m going to work it so I don’t have to be there on those nights. I’ll talk to Carll Greenwald. Tell him it’s a deal-breaker.”
Carll Greenwald was the owner of Candy’s Room. Richie and I often speculated about why he spelled his first name with two l’s. “You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“Yes, I do,” he said.
“You love The Room.”
“I like The Room. I love you. And you hate the Shore in the summer.”
I stared at him. “How could you tell?”
“Because I know you, Sunny.”
I felt a little choked up. “Thank you,” I said. I wanted to touch his face. I touched the screen instead.
“Wish I could feel that,” Richie said.
“Me, too.” It had been a long day. An exhausting one. Already, I was starting to fall asleep.
“Soon,” he said.
“I can’t wait,” I said.
We ended the call. I closed my eyes. Rosie twitched in her sleep and I put my arms around her. Richie’s changing. You’re changing, I told myself. Elizabeth doesn’t know everything.
I drifted off. It was a deep sleep, velvety and dreamless—the type of sleep that spa folks like Natalie Blythe would have called restorative.
I didn’t toss and turn the way I usually did.
I wasn’t even sure I moved at all. I just stayed curled up with Rosie, the two of us cocooned beneath the cool sheets, until my phone rang and my eyelids fluttered open.
I rolled over to answer it, rays of sunlight poking through my drawn curtains. I looked at the screen. It was Tony calling. It was also seven a.m. I answered quickly. “What’s going on?” I said.
“Good Morning Boston,” he said. “Turn it on. Now.”