Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Travis
Suddenly, everything moved fast.
After eighteen months of no schedule, no career, and no love life, I could barely keep up. Days flew by, then weeks, then months, with hardly a moment to breathe.
I spent most of my time in Portland, working on the new album. I recruited a band, wrote songs, and recorded in the Road Kings’ studio, usually in sessions that lasted fourteen hours or more. Finn produced the album, and we spent days rewriting, rerecording, and remixing, often with Finn playing instruments himself. Finn could play anything.
Katie was in L.A.—except when she was in New York for meetings or in Portland visiting me. She’d had an explosion of offers recently, and she went into prep and rehearsals for Honor Student . She was nervous about her first thriller, and whenever we were together, we ran lines, with me reading all of the other roles so she could practice. It didn’t matter that I was the worst actor in history. We still had fun.
I traveled to L.A. to do publicity and interviews to get people excited about the new album. We had started to plan a tour—my first ever solo tour—and the dates and cities were being worked out. I needed a road crew, a set list, rehearsals. There was a publicity tour planned for when the album released.
The Love Fix-Up was the most successful movie Katie had ever released, probably because it came out after she was dating me. I had stopped being rat poison in the music business again, probably because I was dating Katie. I hated two things about this setup: one, that I no longer gave a shit about what Katie could do for my career, and two, that I didn’t see her nearly enough.
When Katie went to Austin to shoot on location for Honor Student , I took a break from recording and flew in to join her. Even then, we didn’t have enough time, because she was on set for ten hours a day. I visited the set, took pictures with the cast and crew, made nice with everyone, and fooled around with my girlfriend in her trailer between takes. I also tired her out in her hotel room every night until she fell asleep. She had to work off her anxiety somehow, and I was happy to help.
But then I had to go back to Portland, and Katie had to go back to L.A. before she could take any time to come stay with me—and we went in a circle again.
The internet was fascinated with us. The KatieWatch account had passed three hundred thousand followers, a fact I forcibly blocked from my mind. There were a dozen videos on it from the premiere, including one of Katie straightening my collar on the red carpet while I adjusted her dress. It had over eight million views. Even Jonathan had started giving me social media updates. Your Instagram has four million followers. Don’t you think you should post something? By something , he meant another selfie of Katie and me. I hadn’t posted one after the picture of us in bed. The only post I’d put up in the last few months was a selfie of me at the Road Kings’ studio, with the caption New album coming by the end of the year, I promise. See you soon on the road.
I didn’t want to post another picture of Katie and me. The more famous we both got, the less comfortable I felt. This wasn’t an arrangement to me anymore—even though it was, and we were both benefiting.
If I ever wanted Katie to take me seriously as a boyfriend—for real—I needed my career back. Katie didn’t need a man who sat depressed and naked by his friend’s pool or who cried on the sofa in his other friend’s borrowed apartment. She deserved better. I needed to be better than that. So I needed the fake relationship in order to be good enough for a real one. How’s that for a mindfuck?
Edgar Pinsent delayed the start of his next film for a month, and then another. I could do this. By the time Katie didn’t need me anymore and our deal was over, I’d convince her that I was a man she’d want to be with in real life. If I had enough time, I could make it happen.
After my final day of recording the album—which I had titled The Lowest Equation —I called Katie. It was July, and Portland was ridiculously beautiful. I hadn’t seen much of the summer while I was holed up inside RKS. I watched the sun set out the window of the loft as I sat on the sofa, wishing that I wasn’t here alone.
“Hi,” Katie said when she answered the phone. She sounded pleased and tired at the same time.
“Hey,” I said. “Where are you? Are you busy?”
“I just got back to my apartment. Did you finish the record?” She knew this was my last day in the studio.
“I did,” I said.
She gave a squeal of excitement. “Yes! When do I get to hear it?”
I’d been putting off letting Katie hear the songs I’d written, but she wouldn’t let me do it any longer. “I’ll send it to you after we hang up. You can listen to it tonight.”
“At last.”
“I wanted to get it right before you heard it. It needed to be perfect.”
“I’m sure it’s perfect, Travis. I can’t wait.”
I took a breath. “You have a break in your schedule, right?”
“I do. I have a week. There are just some meetings I need to?—”
“Wait.”
She went silent on the other end of the line. The word had come out sharper than I intended it to.
“I mean.” I cleared my throat. “Um. Didn’t the script you wrote for us have something in it about a vacation?”
There was a beat of silence, and I kicked myself for doing a normal phone call instead of FaceTiming her. I wished I could see her expression right now.
“The script had us going to Cabo,” Katie said.
“Yeah, well, let’s scrap that. They wouldn’t leave us alone there, and I’m not keen on having pictures of my foxy girlfriend in a bikini all over the internet.” I paused. “Unless you wanted to go.”
“No,” Katie said, and I could read her in that one word. She had been dreading the idea. “No bikini photos on the internet, please. I’d rather get bird flu.”
“You don’t need to get bird flu.” I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead. Be cool, man, be cool. “How about visiting my parents instead?”
Shocked silence from Katie. “You want me to meet your parents?”
“I know it isn’t in the script,” I said quickly, “but they’re good people. You’d like them. I haven’t seen them in a long time. They’re living in an RV, but my mom makes killer homemade no-bake granola bars, and my dad will probably give you a lesson on how to grow and harvest weed. They’re in Washington right now, so we could drive, and since there’s no room in the RV, we’d stay in a hotel. They’ll love you.” Why wasn’t she saying anything? “It isn’t a PR thing, but it’s like method acting, you know? It’ll keep us in character. Meeting my parents is something we’d do if we were really dating.”
Her voice was impossible to read. “Travis, meeting the parents is something you do if the relationship is serious.”
“We’ve been dating for three months,” I said. “That’s the story. People who are dating for three months can meet the parents. I think we should keep the story realistic.” I squeezed my eyes shut, glad she couldn’t see me. So much for being cool here. I was burying myself fast.
“You’re serious?” she asked. “You really mean it?”
“Of course I do.” Did she think I was fucking with her? I was dead serious when it came to Katie. “You don’t have to decide now. You can think it over, or?—”
“I’ll do it,” she said.
“Okay,” I said, trying for cool again. “Okay, great. I’ll arrange it.”
“I have one condition.”
“Anything.”
“After we meet your parents, we go to Minnesota and meet mine.”
A laugh bubbled out of me, pure relief. “Babe, I’d love to meet your parents.”
“They’re very square,” she warned me, humor in her voice. “Nice, but square. I guarantee they’ve never heard Seven Dog Down, and there’s no weed in my dad’s garden.”
“I’ll behave,” I promised her. “Fly to Portland tomorrow, and we’ll leave for my parents’ tomorrow night.”
After we hung up, I pulled up the final file of my new album on my phone. I composed a text to Katie and hovered my thumb over the Send button, trying not to panic.
It was stupid to be this anxious about her opinion. People had heard the album—everyone who worked on it, Finn, the Road Kings, Will Hale. Pretty soon, everyone in the world would be able to hear it if they wanted to. Why was I so terrified of Katie’s opinion?
Because most of the songs were about her, that was why. Maybe she’d find that awkward. Maybe she wouldn’t care. Maybe she wouldn’t even notice.
It was too late to worry about it now. I tapped Send.
Every time I met Katie at the airport now, we got noticed. I usually had to sign autographs and take selfies with a few wrung-out travelers before Katie came out and we made our escape. I’d had to stop the show-off kisses because it started to feel weird to do it with everyone openly staring. I could have stopped meeting her at all, but that didn’t feel right, either. Fake or real, she was my girlfriend, and I wanted to see her when she got off the plane to visit me.
More people noticed me today than the last time, which had been more than the time before. I had to contain my impatience and try not to be short with people as I took one selfie after another, but I kept the rock star charm turned on. “You’re waiting for Katie?” one woman asked after she took a photo with me.
“I am,” I said, smiling.
She smiled back. “When are you going to marry her? We’re all waiting!”
Jesus. Was this what people talked about? I was saved from having to answer by the sight of Katie walking toward me, pulling her rolling suitcase while tugging her earbuds from her ears. “Excuse me,” I said to the woman with—I hoped—believable politeness, and I jogged away.
People watched me approach Katie, watched me take her suitcase and put my arm around her shoulders. Katie snugged an arm around my waist—our usual pose, one we’d started doing because it looked good. We did it now because it was the quickest way through the crowd, which was pulling closer so people could see.
“We love you guys!” a girl’s voice shouted.
“Get married!” someone else called—not the woman I’d been talking to, either. There were two people in this airport who thought it was cool to say that to a stranger.
Katie’s arm flinched tighter around my waist, but she kept her gaze down as we walked through the doors and headed for my car. “Well, that made it weird,” she said.
“Very weird,” I agreed. “We need to rethink the airport pickups. I’ll be spending more time in L.A. now that the album is finished.”
Now that I was done recording, my homelessness was on my mind again. I wasn’t going to sponge off of Finn for much longer. I had enough money to rent a place, but where? I liked Portland, and I still had work to do here. Los Angeles was where the heart of the music business was. It was also where Katie lived, and I wanted to be where she was. I made a mental note to ask Andy if he knew of anything good the next time I talked to him.
Katie was quiet as I put her suitcase into the back of my car. I didn’t like the serious look on her face. “What is it?” I asked as I shut the door. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “I can’t put my finger on it.” She looked beautiful, even after getting off an airplane, even in a jeans and tee with no makeup. I hadn’t seen her in too long. “Travis, the album?—”
“You hate it,” I said, half serious. “You can be honest. You think it sucks.”
Her eyes widened. “What? No. Travis! I loved the album. I’ve been listening to it on repeat. It’s incredible.”
“You can admit you hate it,” I said, stepping toward her. “It’s a hack job, right?”
That got a smile out of her. She tapped her hand lightly against my stomach. “You’re fishing for compliments.”
“Me? Never.” I kissed her then, because I couldn’t not do it, because I couldn’t be this close to her and not kiss her. I tilted her face up to mine and tasted her. Right in an airport parking garage that smelled like damp urine. What can I say? I’m a romantic guy.
When we broke apart, Katie said, “The album really is good.”
“Okay,” I said, looking into her eyes and trying to read what was wrong.
“I’m glad we’re taking this vacation.” She looked past me and around. “Something has changed. It’s getting stressful. I can’t explain it. I feel…” She trailed off.
“Yeah.” I felt the same. I dropped a kiss to her forehead. “It’ll be different in the wilds of Washington, I promise.”