18. Amanda
When I was in high school, my most epic love story was when my boyfriend kissed me in front of the lockers for the whole school to see. He was tall, and he had facial hair, and I practically swooned, right up until he mouth-mauled me, anyway.
Meanwhile, Mandy’s high school love triangle could easily be turned into a full-length movie. Maybe it would be a tragedy, à la Romeo and Juliet, but still.
“You really never saw him again?” Maren looks incredulous. “How can that be?”
“Obviously I saw him again,” Mandy says. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“She lived with him when she was. . .” Emery looks at her shoes. She hates when I get all angry with Mandy over it. “Anyway, she’s seen him.”
“Yeah, but was that the first time you saw him since high school?” Maren presses. “When you went out there last year?”
Mandy sighs. “We’ve been in contact this whole time. Letters. The occasional phone call.”
“I think it’s romantic,” I say.
“But it’s nothing but lies,” Maren says. “He finally sees her after sixty years, and he thinks she’s a widow, mourning the death of her beloved husband.” Maren snorts. “I mean, come on.”
“I’m too old for epic romance,” Mandy says. “I have a bad knee and a heart that barely works.”
“Maybe it’s just been broken.” Emery’s smile is shy. “I wonder if you know anyone who might heal it.”
I swat her shoulder.
And someone knocks at the door.
“You really need a dog.” I bump Jed where he’s snoozing at the base of the coffee table. “Your pig sucks at telling you when people are here.”
“I’m sure it’s Tommy,” Mandy says. “He said he’d be by this morning.” She starts brushing at nonexistent lint on her pants.
“Well, get it already,” Maren says. “Can’t keep someone that old waiting.”
“You can’t be here,” Mandy hisses. “You guys have to leave.”
“We do?” I lift my eyebrows. “Because you said last night, you were nervous when he wanted to stay.”
Mandy splutters. “When did I say that?”
“Last night, on the phone.”
She frowns. “Fine, then you answer the door.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “But remember that I was married to Jed. We traveled the world.”
Maren and Emery are rolling their eyes, but I’m smiling as I open the front door. At least, I’m smiling until I see some guy in a white button-down shirt and a blue tie holding a big brown envelope.
“Are you Amanda Brooks?”
That is not what I expect him to say, but then I’m not expecting a nondescript man with thinning brown hair to be at the door at all. I was expecting a very debonair man in his eighties. “Um. Yes. I’m Amanda Brooks.”
The man grins, and I can’t help thinking his parents really should have sprung for braces. “Excellent.” He thrusts the thick envelope at me.
I take it without thinking. “What’s this?”
“You’ve been served.” He snaps a photo with his phone, pivots on his heel, and jogs back to his car.
“Oh, man,” Maren says. “We’re going to be late for school. We better go. You can read whatever that is later.”
“Later?” Mandy asks. “Have you lost your mind, girl? ‘Served’ means she’s been sued. Open it. Find out who’s suing us!”
“Us?” Maren asks.
“We’re in business together,” Mandy says. “It’s got to be something to do with the retreat, and being sued is never good.”
I’m groaning as I slide my finger under the flap of the envelope.
“Seriously, Mom,” Maren says. “Emery and I should go. Maybe I can take your car, and then?—”
“In a second, Maren.” I pull out the papers, and I start to scan, but it’s so much legal mumbo jumbo that I can’t tell. . .until my eyes light on a name I know. “Why does this say the petitioner’s name is Maren Brooks?” I lower my hand and stare right at my little girl. She’s not even eighteen yet, not for nine more months.
And in that moment, I know. No wonder she was desperate to get out of here. She wanted me to have time to cool down before we talked.
“I’m petitioning the court for the right to be emancipated.” She lifts her chin. “Then I can make my own decisions.”
“And who’s paying for this?” I drop one hand to my hip. “On what grounds would you possibly get emancipated? How would you even pay your own bills on your own?”
“It’s that label, isn’t it?” Mandy asks. “The persistent one. They’re paying for this?”
“The lawyer’s working on a contingent fee, sort of,” Maren says.
“What does that mean?” I ask. “Sort of?”
“When the motion’s granted, he’ll become my new agent,” Maren says. “Did you know that a lot of the industry’s top agents are also entertainment lawyers?”
“Go to the car, right now.” I point.
“Good luck with that,” Mandy says.
“At least it’s not about the retreat,” I say. “I can handle Maren.”
Mandy’s grim smile tells me that she’s not so sure. But what she’s forgetting is that I have a secret weapon.
Abigail.
There’s no way that I’m going to lose control of my own kid in the last nine months of her first eighteen years. No. Way. Not with Abigail by my side.
Maren doesn’t say a single word to me on the way to school. She doesn’t remind me that her stupid YouTube video got six million views before we pulled it down. She doesn’t tell me that her TikTok recording has been used for over twenty million reels. She doesn’t argue with me about how much I’m ruining her life.
She doesn’t have to, not anymore.
Because now she’s got someone with a much bigger stick to do her arguing for her. How desperate must that stupid record label be to offer a minor a deal and then help her find an agent who will help her emancipate herself? And if they’re that eager to sign her, how bad must their business be doing?
Yes, based on her past single, she’s probably close to a sure thing. In this environment, they must feel like they need it. And beyond that, the story’s making news already. Something like this—tyrannical parents from whom she must be freed, and famous parents to boot—would guarantee them good publicity. But it’s the worst thing that can happen for Maren.
Whether she believes it or not, part of the reason she’s gotten so much attention is that her stepfather has had a successful career. The fact that I was somewhat well known before I disappeared doesn’t hurt, either. People are clearly curious. They want to know more about Eddy and me, and it doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful and that she can sing pretty well.
I’ve just dropped the girls off at school when my phone rings. As if she’s clairvoyant on top of everything else, it’s Abby.
“Hello?” I say.
“I have some bad news,” Abby says.
“How did you know?” I ask.
“Izzy showed me,” Abby says. “Wait. Why do you think I’m calling?”
“Just tell me what you need to tell me,” I say.
“Maren has another single up online, and this one has already hit five million views within just two days of being posted.”
“You’re kidding.” I’m going to strangle her.
“She did it under another account—some girl on her cheer team back in New York City—but it has taken off as well as the last one did. Probably because of what it’s about. . .”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll give her this,” Abby says. “The tune is catchy. I even found myself humming it earlier, and that was after hearing it once.”
“What?” I ask.
“It’s a song about two kids who are in love, and their parents won’t let them see one another, but they find ways. The thing is, the chorus says, ‘Mom don’t know, and Dad ain’t dad, and they think they’re right, but they’re so wrong it hurts.’”
“I am going to strangle her.” I’m clutching the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles have gone white. “Abby, she sued me this morning. She’s asking to be emancipated.”
Abby laughs.
She actually laughs.
“Oh, good.” I sigh. “So you think she doesn’t have a case?”
“Of course she has no case,” Abby says. “If every kid who threw a temper tantrum was emancipated, think what our world would look like. She’s well-cared for by well-educated parents who love her and meet all of her physical, emotional, and mental needs. No judge in his right mind would emancipate her. I’m assuming they’ve filed in California, where there are judges who are certifiably nuts, but we’ll object first to the venue and get it moved to her current locus.”
My sigh’s bigger than any that have come before. “Thank heavens.”
“I personally think you should let her make the album, though.”
“What?” I’m coughing again. “Why would you say that?”
“She’s suing you because she doesn’t respect you and your decisions. She thinks you’re holding her back. You can beat her in court, but you’ll just make an angry girl even madder, and I think you could really damage her ability to trust you in the future.”
“Well, thank you for your advice, Dr. Phil, but I think the only thing I need from you is the legal help right now.” I snort. “Oh, and get that YouTube account pulled down immediately.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.” I hang up. I’m practically shaking when I walk through the doors to our house. Eddy must have a light morning planned, because he hasn’t even left yet. “You are not going to believe what just happened.” I wave the manila envelope at him.
“Maren has more record deal offers?” He lifts both eyebrows and swivels the laptop around, showing me that someone else sent him the newest song already. “I’m not surprised.”
I fill him in on her stupid lawsuit.
He looks like he might be sick. “But what if the court?—”
“Abby says they won’t.” But now that she’s not on the phone with me, insisting it’ll be fine, I’m nervous again. “She seemed pretty sure.”
“If she’s sure, then it’s fine. The one time she lost, she told you she might lose.”
That’s true. I wasn’t listening at the time, but she wasn’t saying it was a slam dunk. “She also said. . .” I can’t actually bring myself to say it.
“What?” Eddy straightens. “Abby said something, you mean? Or Maren?”
“I should watch the video.” I sit down and hit play on the YouTube channel. The song is good, and I worry about how many people will see it in the days it takes Abby to get it pulled down. The last thing we need is more people clamoring to sign her.
I do have to begrudgingly admit that Maren’s dancing has improved, and she’s even recruited some of her friends as backup dancers. The girl has an eye for choreography. I’ll give her that, too. Even their outfits are pretty cute. . . “Do you think she has been in touch with the stupid label this whole time?”
“I’d be shocked if she wasn’t,” Eddy says. “They don’t relinquish gold mines easily, especially these days. They’re all hurting for money right now.”
Great.
I hate to admit it, but the tune really is catchy—Abby was right. The lyrics are even pretty good. “Did she make this up herself, do you think?”
“That might be my fault.” Eddy’s broad shoulders fall a bit. “Two or three weeks ago, she was playing around on the piano.”
“What?” I can’t help arching my eyebrow. “Your piano?”
He scrunches his nose. “It was that one, my practice one.” He points at the corner. “She was going over and over this melody, but it was missing a consistent theme.”
“You helped her.” I should have known.
“I didn’t realize she was planning any of this.” He sounds sheepish. “I thought we were bonding, and we didn’t say she couldn’t learn, just that she was too young to sign a deal.”
“Maren’s always been someone who’s willing to use any angle to get what she wants. She gets that from her father.”
“Or she’s a typical teenager,” Eddy says. “They all do that. It may be from her dad, or maybe she’s just itching to have control she’s just not ready for yet.”
“Abby thinks we should let her record the album.” I finally blurt it out. “Can you believe that?”
Eddy swallows, but he doesn’t look outraged. At all.
“Don’t tell me you agree.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not saying that. Not at all. But I have wondered how much of our vehement denial was because of what I did and not because of her situation.”
“All of it is because of what happened to you,” I say. “Think about it. Because of your past, you’re uniquely qualified to know exactly how hard this would be on a teenager.”
“But my parents knew nothing about the music industry, about contracts, or even about traveling more than twenty miles from home.” He sighs. “They didn’t get in over their heads, they basically chucked me into the ocean. Without a raft or a paddle or even a life preserver. That’s not what it would be like for Maren. We could guide her.”
“Or we could tell her no, because that’s not the kind of life she needs.”
“We know that because we had it and we walked away,” he says.
“Right, that’s why we have to say no for her. She’s too naive to do it for herself.”
“When you were a kid, did you ever just stick a lemon wedge in your mouth?” He tilts his head. “Or kick an anthill just to see them come pouring out?”
I roll my eyes. “Just say what you want to say, Eddy. You’re not Abigail. Your analogies suck.”
He’s smiling. “Takes one to know one, Abby-wannabe.”
I kick his steel-toed boot. I know it won’t hurt him, but at least he can tell I’m mad. “Just say it.”
“For the record, I don’t want to be Abby. Steve maybe, but not Abby. I like my man-parts right where they are, thank you very much.”
I laugh.
“The thing is, I think that when you’re young, you can’t really learn some lessons by being told that it’s a bad idea. Sometimes you have to touch that stovetop for yourself.”
“But she’ll get burned.” A tear wells up in the corner of my eye. “I can’t let her. She’s been through too much already—don’t ask me to watch that, too.”
“What’s worse than her being burned?” Eddy looks a little sad.
I shrug.
“Being burned when we aren’t there to bandage her up.”
I hate that he might be right.