Chapter 10
It only makes sense that stupid Cowboy Casanova would end up in my shop today. And even more so, that he would use my best friend’s crush as leverage to get us to go out with them.
I let out a breath, wishing she could see the mistake of having a crush on someone she wants to sign, but question if my inherent pessimism about all men is the reason I feel this way.
So instead, I refrain from bringing it up.
After all, who am I to say that Sawyer isn’t the one for her or whether or not the entire thing is a good idea?
She’s a hopeless romantic, and it’s not her fault I only find hopelessness in it all.
I ponder Rhett’s offer for us to meet them out later for drinks as we head toward my house.
I’m not interested in his bullshit, but I do think Daisy and I both deserve a bit of fun to celebrate all we have accomplished since we met.
After all, how many people get to live their dream or become successful at our age?
Half the twenty-three year olds I know can barely wake up before noon.
“You know what? The girl I know came here for an adventure, so let’s give her one.
” I’m excited to finally get to show my best friend what it’s like to enjoy a night out in Nashville.
Yes, we’ve gone out plenty of times before this, but it’s all been for Daisy’s work, which consists mostly of her stressing over finding the next big country star.
The one with the “spark”, as she likes to say.
Tonight won’t be like that. Tonight will be about letting loose, enjoying the music, and learning to live a little.
Being wild, crazy, and carefree for once in our lives.
Walking up to the steps to my duplex always brings me joy like nothing else.
This is the first real home I’ve ever had.
Something that is all mine. A sanctuary filled with everything that is me.
I grasp the black handle on my hot pink door, jamming the key in before letting it swing all the way open.
Tossing my purse onto my navy corduroy sofa, I sit down in front of the mound of magazines that splay across my coffee table.
“I just got this one yesterday. I think it had a best and worst dressed article in it. Let’s see if I have anything that will get us on the right side of that list.” My fingers glide over the magazines and I settle on a Teen People magazine to toss to Daisy.
“Let me know if anything in here catches your eye. I bet I can match just about anything you find, but better.”
“Match?”
I just now realize I’ve never shown Daisy all the clothes I have. “I’ll show you in a minute, just look so we can get ideas.”
We both flip through the pages in silence until I land on a picture of an outfit I like. A black cropped tank with a mini skirt that laces up the front and matching boots. “Everything Christina Aguilera wears is sick, I don’t dislike a single outfit I’ve seen her in.”
“Now that you mention it, you’re kind of like her doppelg?nger.” She laughs. “Like, you look so similar it’s scary.”
“Too bad our similarities don’t boil down to our bank accounts,” I tease. “She’s definitely where I got the black and pink hair from and the edge to my look, but most of the stuff I wear has a little bit of a country element to it. Might as well embrace the city I’m in, right?”
“Are you telling me you own cowboy boots, Kaylee?”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Of course, I do. Can’t let assholes have claim to things that look way cuter on me. At least, not all the time.”
She taps her fingers on the table, closing the magazine in front of her. “Well now I’m dying to see.”
“Upstairs we go.” A little rush of excitement wells in my chest. I don’t know why I haven’t ever shown Daisy my closet.
It’s not like it’s a secret, it’s not a hidden wonder of the world, but it is pretty impressive.
I guess I just never think about overly sharing about myself, so it never came to mind.
Swinging open the double doors to my walk-in closet, Daisy’s jaw practically hits the floor.
She hurries for the first rack of clothes, touching every piece she passes.
“What is this? Sex in the City? Are you the younger, more country Carrie Bradshaw?” She rakes through rows of my bedazzled skirts and shirts.
“How have I been here so many times and you never once showed me this?” Spinning toward me, we only make eye contact a tick before she rushes over to my shoe collection.
Rows and rows of boots in every color and fabric line the wall. Denim, jewels, animal-print, tassels, and suede, each placed in a rainbow pattern on the shelves.
“Where… How… What did you forget to tell me, girl?”
“For starters, Carrie bought most of her stuff.” I laugh, sitting down on the edge of my bed.
The way she’s acting, you’d think she just found Santa’s workshop.
The raw, genuine excitement on her face is infectious.
I can’t help but smile. “So, before I had the shop, I bar-tended wherever I could and worked as a waitress during the day. As you know, there’s always a singer anywhere they can get a stage, and most of the bars have hired help who stay behind the curtains to keep the show flowing and help the singers with whatever they need.
I stepped in one night when someone didn’t show up for her shift, and, of course, that’s the day a girl backstage had an outfit malfunction.
” I imagine the girl who was once in tears, thankful that I could do something to help.
“I sewed her into her top with dental floss and a Bobby pin. And then every night after, I couldn’t help but judge everybody’s outfit as it came through the door.
Singers from all over with amazing talent, but outfits that looked the same or didn’t stand out.
I had a rough patch with some asshole and couldn’t sleep one night, and then an infomercial came on TV for a bedazzler.
” I hop up from the bed, pacing toward a clothing rack and reaching for a denim jacket.
I twist it so that light reflects off of all the gems I added to it.
“Clearly, I couldn’t help myself.” I grin, as I place the jacket back on the rack.
“I make most of my own clothes, and concert clothes are even more fun. Especially the shoes.” Doubt washes over me as I realize I’m yammering about my silly little hobby.
“Anyways, I went a little overboard, but you wouldn’t believe how much of this was just second-hand. ”
The amazed look in her eyes turns to confusion as she scrunches her eyebrows. “If you can do all of this, then why a coffee shop?”
“I really don’t have a good answer. This feels too fun to be anything more than a hobby.
I think the shop felt more…stable?” As boring as the answer is, it also feels true.
Starting a small business like that needs connections.
Ones I don’t have. The coffee shop, on the other hand, was located in the perfect spot and had no competition.
Has it been hard? Yes. But it just felt like the safer bet.
“My life has always been the opposite of that.”
I remember back on a conversation I had with Daisy about my dad, discomfort lodging its way back into my chest.
Daisy’s blue eyes swim with sympathy as she offers a warm smile.
“I’m really sorry that your dad walked out on you.
It’s truly his loss. You’re an amazing person and that’s no thanks to him.
” Her sigh is filled with sadness for me.
The main reason I tend to keep this information to myself.
“Are you close with your mom? You never mention her.”
It’s weird, for so long I’ve stopped thinking of my mom all together.
“No, she was checked out before he left.” I think back to when I was younger and how even though she was physically there, she wasn’t ever actually present.
What little I saw of her was nothing more than a passing glance or the scent of her lighting up her thousandth cigarette.
A once bright and happy person devoid of any feelings.
“She wasn’t always like that though. She used to love to be around people and helping others.
It felt like everyone around us loved her too.
I was too young to realize my dad didn’t, though.
But the more obvious that became, the more obvious it was as her light burned out.
” My throat tightens as I try to dampen my emotions.
Anger, sadness, and confusion of how someone could do that to a child circles my mind.
“By the time he was gone, she already had been…at least the her that I knew.”
I can’t meet her gaze, so instead I look down at my feet. This is the first time I’ve ever shared any of this. It feels weird…but also nice. Almost like an invisible weight has been lifted off me.
“What happened after he was gone?”
I remember the darkness like it was yesterday.
Young and merely alone, having to figure out life with little to no interaction outside of school.
“At first, she locked herself in her room. She didn’t work or leave to get food—not while I was awake, at least—and then the warnings came.
Delinquent taxes, unpaid bills, repossessions on the car.
The more that came, the more worried I was that Child Protective Services would be next.
I had seen it happen to an older girl in my school whose parents consistently got arrested for drugs, so I called my grandparents and I guess they didn’t want her to muddy their name anymore than she already had.
” Anger fills my chest at the reminder of their coolness toward me needing someone to be there, all because I was a product of the lowlife my mom ran away with.
I thought maybe they would realize I didn’t choose this life or my father, that they’d help me, but in the end they were only ever concerned about themselves.
“Oh my God. What did you do? Did you find someone else to help?” The worry in Daisy’s voice is unmistakable. A direct contrast to the lack of compassion my grandparents had shown when I, a child, sobbed to them all those years ago.
“Yeah, well they did save me, just not the way a kid needs. They paid the bills, they gave me a grocery allowance, and beyond that they were non-existent too.” My eyes well up at the reminder of how lonely my life has always been.
Daisy’s big blue eyes fill with tears too. “Oh, Kaylee, I am so sorry.”
Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I try to compose myself. Realizing the only thing my grandparents truly gave me was the idea that tears meant weakness, and weakness would only make my life harder.
“Where is your mom now?”
“To be honest, I have no idea. She started to leave the house from time to time whenever she thought I wasn’t home or asleep.
I dove into reading because we couldn’t afford cable and it was the only way for me to escape to a world that was filled with love.
I rarely saw her, but when I did, it was quiet.
I never said anything, and neither did she.
My grandparents stopped paying for things when I turned eighteen and I had been saving every penny I made or had left over from them.
One day I wrote a note, telling my mom I loved her and where to find me, and I left.
I haven’t heard from or saw her or my grandparents since.
I guess since then, I’ve considered her dead. ”
It’s easier than accepting that another person who should have chosen me chose not to.
The air feels thick with sadness and silence—two things I’m sick of and can live without moving forward.
Truth is, they’ve had enough of my tears, enough of my sorrow.
I’ve had years to come to terms with my sad little origin story.
The past is the past and that’s where I want it to remain.
With my tears already dry, I replace my frown with a small smile.
“I’m okay, Daisy, I promise. I mourned the loss of her long before I left.
She could have contacted me and chose not to.
I already buried the hatchet." My smile deepens and I grab one of the prettiest things I’ve made.
A pair of denim cowboy boots with gems that spill down every piece of fringe.
“Now, since we already landed you a super star, how about a man too?”
Daisy’s gaze looks doubtful but she doesn’t push.
She never does. Never demands answers I’m not ready to give, or forces me to talk about feelings I clearly need a break from.
It’s one of the things I love most about our friendship.
She makes it known she’s here if I need her, but also respects that I sometimes don’t.
Her doe eyes find mine, the soft blue hues filled with love. “For what it matters, I’m proud of you.”
The sentiment is simple, but to me it’s everything. Rushing to my side, she wraps her arms around me, and even though I’m not really a hugger, I lean into her. Her tender embrace makes me feel more loved than I have my entire life.