Chapter 20
Twenty
BEATRICE NIX
I’m a terrible person.
And a liar, the one thing I’ve never wanted to be.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve never wanted to be a murderer or a puppy kicker either, but I’ve always hated lies. Ever since I was a little girl.
Lying to my fans feels awful.
Just…awful.
By the time I’ve scrolled through the five-hundredth—Sending you so much love, Beatrice.
My entire family is praying for you and all the members of the band.
Your music has seen me through some seriously dark times, girl.
Now, we’re going to see you through this one.
Violet Widow Stan forever!—comment on my social post announcing the “sabbatical,” I start to feel physically ill.
I press a fist to my stomach, hunching over Charlotte’s lovely breakfast nook table, wishing I’d never opened my laptop. I’d be enjoying this homemade banana bread and French press coffee a lot more without the side of liar’s guilt.
But then, maybe I don’t deserve to enjoy my breakfast.
Maybe banana bread without misery is for people who haven’t spread blatant falsehoods across the entire internet.
“What’s wrong?” Charlotte asks, leaning back in her chair, her plate clean except for a few crumbs. “You feeling okay? Maybe I shouldn’t have opened that second bottle of wine last night.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not that. I feel fine.
I mean, physically fine.” I pick at the edge of the bread, but can’t force myself to bring it to my mouth.
“It’s just my fans…” I nod toward the laptop.
“They’re being so wonderful and supportive and praying for me, and…
” I wince. “I feel awful for lying. They probably think I’m fighting cancer or something, and here I am, feeling fine and feasting on homemade banana bread. ”
“To be fair, you aren’t feasting on anything,” Charlotte says. “You’ve barely touched your breakfast or your coffee. But more importantly, there’s no need to feel guilty. Seriously. You’re fresh out of a horrible relationship. Domestic violence is serious shit.”
I sink lower in my chair. “I know, but I’m not sick. And I—”
“No, but you’re in recovery all the same,” Charlotte cuts in, the no-nonsense tone in her usually calm, soothing voice making it clear she isn’t saying this just to make me feel better. “You have a lot of healing to do before you’ll be the person you were before Kai.”
I press my lips together, fighting a wave of something darker than guilt.
She’s right.
I will.
And honestly…
“I don’t think I’ll ever be that person again,” I say.
“I was just a kid when we met. A girl. Now, I’m a woman, but I’ve never been a woman without a partner.
Without Kai. He’s the only person I’ve ever kissed, the only person I’ve ever…
anything.” I shoot a pointed glance her way.
“I’m basically a ‘sleeping with guys who aren’t controlling psychos’ virgin.
Which probably isn’t healthy this close to thirty. ”
“Healthy, smealthy,” she says. “None of us have love or sex figured out in our twenties, girl. I’m not sure I’d even been naked with someone with the lights on by the time I was your age.”
My eyes widen despite myself, but Charlotte only laughs.
“I know, right?” She rolls her eyes with a wistful smile. “Poor twenty-eight-year-old me. She was super repressed. But then, six years of cotillion classes and weird, Deep South, daddy-daughter coming out dances will do that to a girl.”
I laugh. “I can imagine.”
“See? We’re all a little bit messed up. But I figured my shit out, and you will, too. Just be gentle with yourself. You’ll be fine.” Her tone softens as she adds, “You’re smart, strong, and talented as hell. And you have a big brother who would lie down in traffic for you, so…”
My lips twitch. “Yeah, he’s pretty great.”
“He is,” she agrees. “And now, you have me, too. No matter what happens with Baylor, I’m on your team, okay?”
I nod, the backs of my eyes beginning to sting. I hunch even lower in my chair, tensing every muscle and sipping in slow breaths, refusing to cry again. I spent half an hour sobbing in the shower last night before bed. I’m done crying over Kai.
At least for the next day or two.
When I can pull in a breath without sobbing, I say, “Same. I don’t see you and Bay being anything but long-term material, but if he fucks it up for some reason, I would really love to stay on your friend list. You’re smart and strong, too.
” I shrug, adding shyly, “I’ve always wanted a big sister.
Having a big brother is great, but sisters know things brothers don’t.
Heart things. And girl things.” I grin, tone lightening as I add, “And I could really use someone who understands fashion to take me shopping. It’s past time I ditched the little goth girl lost look and found a style that feels like me. ”
Charlotte beams as she clasps her hands together. “Oh my God, yes! I mean, you’re an adorable little goth girl lost, but I’m a sucker for a makeover.”
“Yay,” I say, though I immediately feel compelled to confess, “but I have no idea what I like. I’m not much of a clothes girl.
It was honestly kind of a relief when Kai started dressing me to match the band’s vibe.
In high school, I was just a band nerd in jeggings and giant sweatshirts.
Usually with zombie unicorns or something on them.
I could be a legitimately hopeless fashion case. ”
She waves a breezy hand. “Not at all. You’re a blank slate.
Which makes things even more exciting. Just start looking around while we’re out and about this weekend, point out things you like, and I’ll get a vibe for your aesthetic.
Then, we can go from there. Maybe start with a small capsule wardrobe you can try out to see if it feels right. ”
I nod, the tight feeling around my midsection easing. “Yeah, that sounds great. Thanks, Charlotte. Really. I appreciate you so much.”
“Of course, honey,” she says, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “I’m happy to help. Truly. Besides, this is what friends are for.” She stands, collecting her empty plate. “Now, eat up. My nona sets a brisk pace. She will not be slowing her roll through the garden to accommodate low blood sugar.”
I laugh as I break off a piece of the bread.
“Understood.” I take a bite, moaning at the rush of sugar, cinnamon, vanilla, and mystery spice.
“Oh my God, that’s incredible. I’d forgotten how good bread can taste first thing in the morning.
Kai’s gluten-free, so we hardly ever have bread on the bus.
” I stuff another bite in, moaning like a porn star. “Sorry. God, it’s just so good.”
“Don’t you dare apologize for moaning over my bread,” Charlotte says with a wink. “You keep at it. One bite at a time. I’m going to run shower. Feel free to grab another slice if you want more. I made an extra loaf. Help yourself to anything you want from the fridge or pantry, too.”
I do grab an extra slice.
And a hunk of aged English cheddar from the fridge.
And an apple from the bowl on the island.
And another cup of coffee and a banana for the road.
I’m suddenly hungry in a way I haven’t been in ages. Maybe since I was that seventeen-year-old girl, Kai said he thought looked so “ethereal” when she was just a little too skinny…
I’d almost forgotten about that—at least consciously—but as I tuck the banana into my purse, the memory resurfaces.
I shiver, wondering how many other things that I’ve assumed were just “the way I am” or “what I like” are actually seeds planted by my controlling ex back when I was too young to have an ounce of psychic protection against him.
I don’t know. But I suddenly decide that I like myself with more meat on my bones.
The kind that I can maybe turn into muscle with some weights and time at the gym.
Aside from a brisk walk most days, I’ve never worked out, but it feels like time to start.
It’s not like I’m in horrible shape. I dance, sing, and run up and down a stage for hours at a time on the regular when we’re on tour.
And we’ve been on tour for most of the past five years.
That tour bus full of men, where I only had peace tucked away in my sleeping pod with the curtain drawn, had basically become home.
But now…
Now, I get to make a new home, a new life, in addition to a new me.
It’s exciting.
And terrifying.
And daunting and invigorating and inspiring and…dizzying.
But the journey of a million miles starts with a single step, so…
I step. Out the door, following Charlotte to her SUV to go join her nona for a day at the botanical garden.
The rest of Saturday unfolds with gentle ease that’s a balm to my over-stimulated nervous system.
Charlotte’s grandmother is another #olderwomangoals inspiration, a gorgeous, silver-haired octogenarian dressed in head-to-toe shades of gray, who manages to make monochromatic dressing seem classic and edgy at the same time.
She tells stories about dating an obscure European prince as a younger woman before she married Charlotte’s grandfather and encourages me to sow my wild oats now that I’m single.
“Enjoy yourself, sweetheart,” she says over tea at the café near the Japanese garden.
“We’re here to enjoy ourselves as much as anything else.
There’s something I wish I’d understood when I was younger.
Not that I regret the law degree or having any of my three babies, I just wish I’d made more time to enjoy the gifts of the flesh before the flesh became so… temperamental.”
“You know they have estrogen cream to help with that now, Nona,” Charlotte says seriously, hiding her grin behind her teacup.
Nona arches an imperious brow. “Oh, hush, Charlotte. I refuse to let you embarrass me this time.”
“But why?” Charlotte says sweetly. “When it’s so much for both of us.”