33. 33 Gigi
33
33 GIGI
…BABY ONE MORE TIME
Before I knew it, we’d arrived at another ’90s night at Heathcliff’s. Patti Mayonnaise was setting up onstage, and I was doing every teensy, meaningless task I could think of to keep from joining them. My current meaningless task? Polishing the wine glasses that I’d already polished two hours ago.
Tailspin didn’t begin to describe how I’d felt the last few days. Between my conversation with Vaughn, and the revelation of Parker, there wasn’t a single moment of peace, of quiet in my brain.
Or in my heart.
Vaughn had handed me a permission slip. A Get Out of Jail Free card. Not that I thought of Heathcliff’s as jail, but it wasn’t the stage. It wasn’t music.
It wasn’t my dream.
My heart both sang and sank, depending on the day, the hour, the minute. Because, oh, I wanted to listen. I wanted to tell the band I was in. I wanted to chase the high of performing, breathe in the melodies, feel the crash of the music on my skin.
I wanted, I wanted, I wanted.
I wanted Parker, too.
My sweet Parker, who had knocked me so off course no map would right my ship. And I loved it. I loved her .
Fuck, I loved her.
I had so much good right at my fingertips. So much happy. All I had to do was grab it.
“Check, check.”
I jumped, Ryan’s voice in the mic yanking me from my thoughts. Reaching for another glass, I watched as he tested the volume with a couple bars of “Closing Time”. Halle gave him a thumbs up, and he moved on to tuning his guitar. My fingers could almost feel the strings as he strummed.
If I thought long enough about it, I could see the trajectory of my life if I said yes to this thing I wanted so badly. I’d join the band for their local gigs, then on their summer tour around the Midwest. I’d be home less and less, be at the bar less and less. My relationships—the ones I’d worked so hard to cultivate since coming home—would suffer. Vaughn and I would grow apart again, he’d begin to resent me as he was forced to step back into his role at Heathcliff’s. We’d go right back to where we were before: him being the responsible big brother, shouldering the burden while his flighty kid sister traipsed around the world.
I couldn’t do that to him. Not again.
Reaching for a new glass, I forced myself to look away from the stage.
Then there was Parker. This new relationship that had knocked my whole world off its axis, in the best way. She was kind and smart and surprising. In a matter of months, she’d burrowed so deeply into my heart that removing her would likely require open-heart surgery. Even then, I wasn’t sure I’d make it out alive.
She wanted the band for me, too. She and Vaughn had that in common. But neither knew what it meant to say yes . Not really. They didn’t have a selfish bone between them. So, of course, they wanted me to do what made me happy.
But I’d done it before. And I hurt the ones I loved most in the entire world. One of whom I’d never get to apologize to. I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t let myself get wrapped up in this thing that sucked me in, that fed my soul, that blinded me to all else.
I couldn’t risk it.
“I think the spots are gone.”
I glared at my brother, who’d snuck up on me quieter than a man his size had any right to be. “I don’t know,” I said, reaching for another glass. “I think I missed a few.”
Vaughn grunted. From the corner of my eye, I saw him fold his arms over his chest, and I waited. I’d had enough of these big brother talks over the years to know what was coming. Especially since I’d just had one. He hadn’t so much as mentioned it since then, but I knew my luck had run out.
Heart thumping painfully in my chest, I put down the towel I’d been using and brushed my hands over my jeans. Vaughn was right: the glasses were good.
“I think I’m gonna go do the schedule,” I said, stepping around him.
He pivoted into my path. “I can hear your brain whirring,” he said. “What’re you thinking?”
I peered around him, eyeing the employees-only door like it was the gates of heaven. “Nothing.” I started forward, only to be blocked by him again. “I have a lot to do.”
“Bullshit.” His dark eyes glared down at me. “You’ve got the schedules done three weeks out. Payroll was done yesterday. You’ve inventoried so thoroughly, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could tell me how many maraschino cherries are in each jar.”
“Fifty-seven, roughly,” I mumbled, shoving my hands into my pockets.
He snorted, but didn’t give any ground. “I’ve been giving you space to mull over our conversation,” he said, softening his tone. “And to…do whatever you’re doing with Parker.” This was said with an awkward glance over my shoulder, as if he couldn’t look me in the eye while talking about said whatever .
It was my turn to snort. He didn’t look amused.
“I’ve thought about it,” I said. “And I’m good. Right here.”
He dragged his eyes back to me, searching my face before speaking. I held steady, not allowing anything to peek through. I’m fine, I thought. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.
“Look,” he finally said. “I’m not trying to push you into anything you don’t want to do. If you truly want to run this place, I’ll leave you to it. I mean, you’re doing a damn good job, so no complaints there.” His brow lifted as he leveled me with a glare. “But I can’t take your word for it. Your word is bullshit.”
I gasped, throwing a hand to my chest like a scandalized church lady. “My own brother won’t take me at my word. What has the world come to?”
“If I thought even you believed what you said, that’d be a different story.”
Ouch.
“Vaughn.” Frustration bubbled under my skin like a thousand bees. I hated the whine in my voice, hated the way it made me sound like a kid. To compensate, I steeled my spine and mirrored his stance, arms crossed, feet apart. “What do you want from me?”
He met my eye, his unflinching but somehow still compassionate. “Gi.” His tone was gentle and steely. “I want you to be honest. With yourself and with me.” He glanced over my shoulder before finding my gaze again. “And I want to hear you sing.”
My heart stopped. My next breath stalled somewhere between my lungs and my mouth. I tried to speak, but no sound came out. Shaking my head, I looked from him to the stage, then back. “Why?” I finally managed, the single syllable a shaky whisper.
He shrugged, nonchalant. As if he hadn’t asked me to pry my heart from behind my ribs and leave it onstage. “It’s been a long time.”
I rubbed my hands over my arms, willing my pulse to slow. “Can’t you, like…watch some videos?” Even as I spoke, my eyes kept finding the stage. The easy camaraderie between the band members, the laughter and joking as they got set up, reeling me in. The sounds of tune-ups and soundcheck a precursor to the night to come. My palms itched to wrap around the mic, my skin craved the heat of the stage lights.
My body was a traitor.
“Not the same.” Vaughn stood firm. “It’s been years since I saw you perform.” He looked me over before he added, “If you’re going turn down their offer, at least do it after your big brother gets to see you shine.”
I tried to roll my eyes. Tried to scoff at his cheesiness. But my stupid heart melted, eyes filling with hot tears. “You asshole,” I mumbled, squeezing myself tighter. “You cheesy, corny, guilt-tripping asshole.”
“That’s what I hear.” He put his arm around me and crushed me in a cajoling hug. “What do you say, Gi? One more for the road?”
“Fuck,” I muttered, softening. He hugged me tighter, knowing he had me. “They might not even need me,” I said. “They might have someone for tonight. Maybe they found their new singer and I’m not even a thought in their minds.”
“They do, and they don’t. They haven’t, and you are.”
I pulled from his embrace to face him, narrowing my eyes. “How do you know?”
He shrugged. “I asked.”
“You—”
“Get over there,” he cut in, his eyes crinkling. “Break a damn leg, kid.” Then he shoved me forward.
The motion caught the band’s attention, and a cheer erupted.
“Fuck yeah,” Halle said, throwing her arms up in victory. Behind her, Olsen gave me the thumbs-up and Ryan did some approximation of a white-boy twerk. I looked back at Vaughn. He shrugged, as if he wasn’t the cause of all of this, and shooed me away.
In a daze, I walked across the bar, one foot in front of the other, until my snail’s pace annoyed Halle and she dragged me the rest of the way. Instantly, I was enveloped by the rest of the band. Ryan shoved the setlist into my hand as Tommy gave me a bear hug.
Despite myself, I let myself get swept away, and before I knew it, we were running through the set as if I’d done this a million times instead of just twice.
Had it only been twice?
As I watched Halle count us in for a run-through of the opening number, I let that thought roll around in my mind. Twice, I’d given in and taken stage with these guys. Two times. Those two performances had left such an imprint on me that they triggered a full-on crisis of identity. What would a third performance do?
Before that thought could take root, the opening keyboard riff of “…Baby One More Time” pulled me from my thoughts. Without missing a beat, I jumped in, letting the gospel of Britney ring through my veins.
This is it, I told myself as I sang the opening lines. This is the last time. Better make it count.