Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LOU
I wake up to 156 missed texts from the Janes last night.
Parker
I know we’re on Christmas vacation, but does anyone feel like planning my wedding for me? Anyone? Bueller?
Ash
I’ll get right on it.
When you stop being Type A+.
With honors.
Parker
RUDE.
But true.
Why didn’t Sonny and I just elope? Jane, I’m jealous of you and Tripp.
Jane
I take zero credit for it. Except for the refusal to plan my own wedding. I can come over tonight and help, though!
Parker
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes please.
Millie
Whoa. A girl takes twenty minutes to put her daughter to bed and comes back to find Parker asking for help. Did I hit my head on something?
Parker
I’ll hit your head on something …
Ash
Ruh roh. We’ve got feisty Parker.
Jane
Is there any other kind?
ASH
For reals, send me something I can help with, PJ. You know us weirdo creatives love a late night project.
PARKER
ASH’S INSOMNIA FOR THE WIN!
PARKER
Sorry, I meant INZZZOMNIA
MILLIE
*groan*
JANE
I’m going back to sleep.
PARKER
You lovezzz it.
There are so many more, and they’re so funny that it makes me painfully aware of just how much I’m missing.
Every choice has a cost.
I swallow, wishing this one were easier to pay.
I get ready quickly, planning my escape from the house, but before I can even get downstairs, I hear the sounds of my family.
I hover near the entrance to the kitchen, watching them with a weight pressing down on me I can’t shake. The sharp pain of my migraine is gone, but the world still feels muffled, my right ear dulled and a high ringing pressing into my skull. If I’m lucky, it’ll fade by the time I start my show tonight.
Besides, after being too nauseated last night to eat, I’m starving now. The scent of shrimp and grits fills the air, and the morning light slants through the windows as I take a deep breath and walk into the kitchen.
They’re gathered around the huge kitchen island while my dad makes breakfast.
"Hey, Lou Lou, how’s your head?" Dad asks when he sees me. He sets down his ladle and gives me a quick hug. Some of the flour on his black apron transfers to my Visit Sugar Maple sweatshirt, and he smiles, trying to brush it off, but I stop him.
"It’s much better, Daddy," I say. I shake the flour off, and it falls to the floor. "But I ain’t cleaning that up for you."
He chuckles. "Fair enough."
"It’s okay," Momma says, looking at my dad playfully. "I like watchin’ him work."
My dad laughs and walks over to my mom, nuzzling her neck and whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle.
Nope. No, thank you.
"I should get going," I say, because this? Right after last night’s conversation with Mom? Absolutely not.
“You have ten minutes before you have to leave,” Nora says. “We already ran food out to the bus, and Jimmy said it was wheels up at seven. So you’ve got time.”
“Yeah,” June says, looking up from her plate, her hair up in a messy knot. “Unless you’re just eager to see Patrick. I bet he looks extra broody first thing in the morning.”
Nora laughs and grabs a strawberry from the bowl in front of her. “He does have that Byronic hero thing going.”
I sit down between my sisters and pull the bowl of fruit closer. “You say that like it’s a good thing. Byronic heroes are insanely problematic.”
“Byronic heroes are works of fiction,” June says. “Patrick is tall, dark, handsome, and complex.”
“You think he’s complex,” I argue. “For all you know, every time he looked pensive, he was actually cataloguing his favorite flavors of potato chips.”
My whole family laughs at this.
“I’m not saying he’s your soulmate,” June says, “but I am saying you like him.”
“I don’t like him,” I say reflexively.
My sisters share a look that makes me want to pinch them both.
“I’m so excited to watch you perform tonight,” Momma says, coming around the island to give me a hug. I let her thin, strong arms wrap around me, and I lean into the hug in spite of myself—lean into the comfort.
My mom’s hugs are like medicine, and part of me wonders why I begrudge her enjoying the life she has.
“Thanks, Momma. I’ll be sure to dedicate a song or twelve to y’all.”
She chuckles, releasing me, but she holds my arms for a moment longer, her eyes searching. Then she smiles and I settle in between my sisters as our parents return to their flirting.
My mom smiles big, but the image keeps getting replaced by the memory of her at the piano last night, perfectly caught up in the music. Then I get flashes of when she used to bring me out on stage to sing with her, the way she looked so happy. So whole .
One of my nieces screams outside, where she’s playing with her siblings and my brother-in-law, and the sound pulls me back to the present—to where my parents are sharing a secret smile.
I know they’re happy. I know they are.
But they traded one happiness for another.
She did.
Momma always claims she had it all, that she got the best of both worlds—a career she loved and a family she loves more.
Sometimes, I’m afraid that the sacrifices I’m making will leave me with the worst of both worlds. No career and no family.
I’m already being compared to Momma left and right, and if I flame out, I’ll be left without a career at all.
But if I keep forgoing any sort of relationships, I’ll be left without a family, too.
Yet, I’m forgoing relationships so I can build a career that won’t get taken from me?—
“You sure your head is feelin’ better, Lou Lou?” Momma asks.
I follow her gaze to my hands on my jaw, then drop them. I hadn’t even realized I was massaging the muscles there until she said something.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. It’s just hard watching you and Dad flirt like this was always Plan A instead of you making the best of Plan B. And it’s hard imagining that your Plan B might be better than anything I ever get, in spite of how hard I’m trying to do everything right. “But I should go. I have a couple of interviews before sound check.”
“We’ll walk you out,” Nora says.
She calls for her husband and kids, and soon the entire family is escorting me to my bus like it’s my first day of school.
And I’m more nervous than any kindergartner.
Why am I nervous?
It’s a cold morning, and I can’t wait for the heat of the bus. The sun is barely kissing the tops of the trees. My family’s homestead is like something out of an Americana painting, and even more so with my beautiful mom and sisters, my handsome dad and brother-in-law.
My family is practically picture-perfect, and it’s not a lie.
It’s just not the whole story.
And I don’t know why that bothers me so much.
You can have it all, just not all at once .
As I step onto the tour bus, I have to wonder—how long will this choice last?