Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
LOU
“ H ow are you feeling?”
The question comes from my dad. We’re in the green room—me, my family, the Janes, my band, and Patty’s family. They’re all here, all with special backstage passes that will let us enjoy the day together.
“Ready, I think? Connor hasn’t come out yet, but I’m comfortable with my part.”
My dad smiles behind his bottled water, his eyes roaming around the room, a nostalgic look on his face. And then, something occurs to me that I’ve never considered.
“Do you miss it, Daddy?”
“Every day.” He smiles simply. “Being on stage is like living a different life, letting a part of you connect to something so much bigger than yourself. The adrenaline, the rhythm pulsing through your veins—it’s electric. I loved it.”
“What about life on tour, though? Didn’t it get old?”
“Oh, sometimes, but I liked the camaraderie, the open road. I loved touring with you kids. Do you remember the games we’d play? Gas station roulette? Travel bingo? And every stop had new food, new catering. We’d have you guys pick ingredients to try and cook in the bus kitchen, and we had to eat them.”
A memory surfaces of exactly what he’s describing: Nora holding up a can of lychee, convinced it would pair well with canned tuna and instant ramen. Mom had grimaced, but Dad had declared it a "culinary challenge," and we’d all taken tiny, horrified bites before ordering pizza at the next stop.
I laugh. “I remember! And the time I picked out that durian candy, and the whole bus stunk like a trash can for the rest of the day?”
Mom and Nora come over, having overheard us.
“That was the worst!” Nora says. “It was the middle of December, snowing outside, and we had to keep the windows open because that stuff smelled so bad!”
We all start laughing, but Mom’s smile fades before anyone else’s. Dad’s lingers, nostalgia still warm in his eyes. Then, Mom rests her head on his shoulder.
“I wish I could go back,” she says. “Handle it all differently.”
The bottom seems to fall out from under me.
“You do miss it?”
She pops her head up. “No! No, that’s not what I mean.”
She looks at my dad, and something unspoken passes between them, like a conversation they’ve had a hundred times. But this time, Momma raises her eyebrows.
“It’s time.”
Daddy closes his eyes. “It’s no excuse.”
“I’m not giving an excuse. I’m giving context,” Mom says.
Tears well in her eyes, and I realize this conversation has taken an unexpected turn. June has come over now, and it’s like we’re having a family meeting, the way we’re all circled around each other.
Momma inhales and exhales slowly. Purposefully. “Girls, I had … I had severe depression on tour. It would take me months to gear up for it, and after every show, I would sleep all day. I couldn’t get out of bed until it was time for me to perform, and even then, the only thing that kept me going was that moment on stage when Lou would come out. June, you were too little to remember this, but Nora, I think you always knew.”
“I suspected when I got older that that’s what it was. I wasn’t sure, though.” Nora frowns. “I’m sorry, Momma.”
“Your dad and I thought I would be happier if I could tour with my family, but the toll touring took on me was more than I could handle.”
Her lip quivers, and she looks around the room to make sure no one is listening.
“I was no good to y’all. Therapy could only do so much on the road, and medication never worked for me. And that meant that your dad had to be on all day and all night. Performing, after-parties, interviews. He was at all of them. But on the bus, he had to be both Dad and Mom. And when someone gave him a stimulant?—”
“Stop it,” he says. My dad has owned his addiction and sobriety for years, so talking about it is comfortable for him. “It was never your fault. I made my own choices.”
She’s crying now, and it makes me cry, too. Makes all of us cry.
“He was trying to be there for me, too. He was trying to take the burden off of me.” She swipes a finger across her cheek and then another. “Lou, you’ve always asked me if I regret leaving, and I don’t. Not for a single second. What I regret is not having left earlier so that …” She hiccups. “So that your dad could have kept touring. Because the music was in him. The fire was in him. He lived for it. But because I held on too long, I robbed him of it.”
“No,” Dad says, smiling at my mom and wiping her tears with his thumbs.
In this moment, he reminds me so much of Patty, I physically ache with longing.
“It wasn’t your fault. I should have been honest and admitted I was overwhelmed. I should have gotten you help sooner. It was selfish of me to want to stay on the road for so long. You don’t get to blame yourself and forgive me.”
“I’m a grown woman,” Momma laughs. “I get to do whatever I want.”
“You have to forgive yourself, Momma,” I say in a quiet voice. Sean’s advice to Patty just a few weeks ago bounces around in my head. My lips pull down as the weight of my own pain and regret tugs them. “And I hope you’ll forgive me, too. Both of you.”
My parents turn to me with equally shocked expressions. “What do we need to forgive you for?”
“I’ve been so judgmental,” I admit, the truth squeezing my lungs. “I thought you resented me for choosing a different path than you guys. I thought you were jealous.”
My mom snorts. “Not even slightly.”
“I am a little,” my dad confesses. “I’m jealous that you have so much more figured out than we did. You’re better with boundaries, more careful with the people you surround yourself with. If we’d had a tour manager like Manny and crew stipulations like yours, things might have gone differently. But I had to leave. Staying on the road might have kept me from ever getting sober. And that’s a risk I couldn’t take.”
“I’d still have retired,” Momma says.
“Really?” June asks. “With a better crew, with a better manager, with longer breaks between concerts?”
“Nothing could have changed it,” Momma says, putting her arm around June. “All I wanted was to stay home with my kids. And I was so tired of apologizing for it. Making excuses for it and feeling like I was less of a woman for it.”
“I get it,” Nora says, her voice gaining an edge. “Because being a mother is a no-win game. Have a career? You’re either an inspiration or a selfish monster who doesn’t love her kids enough. Stay home? You’re either a saint or a failure who’s throwing her life away. Work too much? You’re neglectful. Work too little? You’re unambitious. Homeschool? You’re ruining your kids. Public school? You’re endangering your kids. Private school? You’re raising entitled snobs.
“If you love being a mom, people tell you you’re losing yourself. If you struggle, they say maybe you shouldn’t have had kids at all. And heaven forbid you want something for yourself—then you’re selfish. Then you’re ungrateful.
“And no one ever stops to think that maybe—just maybe—you’re breaking yourself in half, trying to be everything for everyone at once.”
She shakes her head, breath hitching. “So yeah, Mom. I get it. I don’t blame you for choosing. I blame the world for making you feel like you could never win, no matter what.”
My jaw drops like a mic.
My mom grabs my sister and pulls her into a fierce hug while June and I stare at each other.
“I had no idea it was like that,” I say.
Tears of righteous indignation shine in Nora’s eyes when she and Mom release. “That’s because you don’t have to know it. Everyone acts like you have to know everything the moment you arrive. The second you’re in high school, you’re supposed to know what college you’re going to. The second you’re in college, you need to have your degree and future job picked out. They act like the moment you’re seriously dating or even married, you have to know if you want kids and how many, if you want a career, how many hours you’ll work. If you want a hobby, how are you going to turn it into a side hustle?
“But it’s a lie. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to care enough about your future self to remember she’s the one who’ll live with the consequences of the choices you make now.”
“Someone get a time machine and tell that to my tattoos,” Dad says.
We all bust out laughing, and June reaches for his sleeve, trying to get him to show us the dragon tattoo he got when he was eighteen. Well, wrinkled lizard, really.
It has not aged well.
“I love you guys,” I say, smiling at my family. “Thanks for being here.”
Everyone smiles back. My dad slings an arm around me and kisses my forehead.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
After a few more minutes of mingling, Patty still hasn’t come. It’s been fifteen minutes, maybe longer.
I go over to Sean and his dad, Danny, and give them both hugs.
“Hey, I’m so glad you could both make it. Was the flight okay, Mr. O’Shannan?”
“It’s Danny,” he tells me, looking up from his wheelchair.
Patty told me that his arm braces are getting harder and harder for him to use, and I swallow, thinking of the painful surgery he’ll have so soon.
“And it was fine,” he continues. “We’re excited to be here.”
“We’re excited to have you,” I say, heat rising in me. I just referred to Patty and me as we .
“Have you heard from Pat? He should be along any minute.”
“Not yet,” Sean says. “But he’s probably helping someone connect a cable or double-checking that everything has been set up safely.”
“That sounds like him,” I say with a smile. I look at Danny. “You’ve raised an incredible son.”
“Two,” Sean says.
“Eh. I have no way of verifying that,” I tease. “Let me go find Patty.”
On my way out of the green room, I spot the young record exec in the hallway, Greer, the one who told me I’m not good enough on my own, the one who told me I need Connor Nash.
She’s talking on the phone, but she spots me and waves me over.
I pretend I don’t understand what she’s getting at and instead wave back.
What would the label think if they knew I’ve already made my choice about Connor?
I’m not going to kiss him on stage. I’m not going to give them what they want. I can’t kiss a man when I’m in love with someone else.
But what if that costs me my career?
You can have it all, but not all at once.
Watch me .
I pass Greer without another glance and hunt for Patty.
I go down one corridor and then another, my slippered feet landing softly on the polished floor. I’m on my way back to the stage when I pass a row of dressing rooms.
Soft voices carry from the one closest to me—Connor’s.
I stop and get closer, almost pressing my ear to the frosted glass.
The murmur of voices grows just loud enough to hear.
I look around the hallway, and because I’m a crafty woman, I sink to the floor so my ear is close enough to the gap at the bottom of the door.
And I listen.
I hear every word.