4. Mateo
MATEO
What the fuck just happened?
This is why I should really only ever open my mouth to sing.
I don’t flirt. I don’t do banter.
I don’t play into the hotshot rockstar reputation that precedes me.
That version of me works fine on stage—carefully manufactured chaos I started stepping into like a costume and taking off again when I’m done.
And people believed it.
They still believe it.
That’s the funniest part.
Because in reality, I’m a theatre kid who got his big break and has been mildly panicking about it ever since.
The only boy in the school choir who traded his all-black clothes and stupid studded belt for basically the same outfit, just in higher quality and better lighting.
Meanwhile I’m sitting here trying to remember what to do with my hands when I’m not holding a microphone.
On stage I can command a room. I can make the crowd scream my name. I can make it seem like confidence is pouring out of me.
Easy.
In this bar? With the way that woman was looking at me? It made me want to apologize for existing before asking to close my tab even though I haven’t ordered anything.
My head falls into my hands, and I’m thankful that the woman I just made a fool of myself in front of left when I still had some of my dignity intact.
And that no one I know was here to witness it.
“Matty?”
I look up from my hands to find my ex-wife staring at me with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face.
“Please tell me you just got here.”
“I could,” Talia says, stretching out the words as she sits down, “but I’d be lying.”
I let my head fall back down into my hands with a groan that probably has people turning and looking our way.
“It’s okay,” my ex-wife says as she pats my shoulder. “Maybe she was wondering all about your hat choices, and you saved her from having to ask.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” The words come out muffled from where my face rests in my palms.
It’s normal to be recognized when I’m out, especially when I’m in my hometown, and especially here. Lenny’s is one of the bars Cross My Heart played at when we were just starting out, and the coffee shop next door used to be our practice space before the owner knew what he was going to do with it.
But the recognition here is more like someone seeing an old friend—a huge difference from what my bandmates and I get when we go out in towns we’re touring in.
I could’ve explained that to the woman at the bar.
Or, I could’ve just asked her name. Maybe even bought her a drink.
Literally anything would’ve been better than word-vomiting the first coherent thought my brain managed to produce when I saw the only open seat in the bar was next to a woman who looked like she was pulled directly out of my dreams.
And the worst part is I could literally feel it happening in real time—the very careful, very fragile version of myself trying not to implode because a stranger with sadness hiding behind the mischief in her eyes was sitting next to me.
And now she’s gone, and I’ll probably never see her again.
I’ll never know which of her tattoos was her first or which ones have meaning and which ones don’t. I’ll never be able to ask her which of her piercings hurt more or if she was a fan of Cross My Heart.
I’ll never be able to find out why seeing her made me feel like maybe my shot at a happily ever after didn’t come and go with my divorce.
Maybe I just haven’t found mine yet.
The bartender comes over to us, asking what he can get us, and Talia orders a glass of wine for her and a beer for me as I collect myself, resisting every urge to sink into the floor.
Or maybe I’m just fooling myself into thinking I get a second chance.
“So,” Talia starts, and I realize I’ve been staring at my hands interlaced on the bar for probably longer than deemed normal. “You’re probably wondering why I wanted to talk.”
Her words bring me back to why I’m here in this bar to begin with, allowing me to push my encounter with the most beautiful woman I think I’ve ever seen to the back of my mind.
Probably a good thing too.
I’m having thoughts I haven’t had in years.
I shake my head, as if the action itself can clear my mind. “You said it had to do with Crew and our current arrangement?”
Talia inhales, her shoulders rising high before she blows out a breath. Her short hair is tucked behind her ears, her hazel eyes closing for a moment as if gathering the courage to say what she wants to say.
My hand instinctively goes to her forearm, never wanting her to feel like she can’t tell me anything. While our relationship had its ups and downs, ultimately turning into more of a friendship than anything else, there’s nothing she can’t tell me.
She pats my hand with hers before she exhales again. “You know I took a step back from work when we were together, and the band really took off.”
I bring my hand back to my lap. “I know.”
When I met Talia, she was a photographer, and that was something we sort of had in common.
My sister was Cross My Heart’s photographer at the time because I needed to keep an eye on her, and I met Talia while looking into different agencies Mia might be interested in.
At the time, I noticed her getting a little too friendly with my best friend—the drummer of Cross My Heart.
Her now-husband.
What started out as friendly slowly turned into something more with Talia, and she was my first serious girlfriend in a long time—maybe even ever.
When we got together, she was working with an agency that required her to travel a lot, and when Cross My Heart was taking off, she was the one who offered to leave her job to support me.
She played with the idea of going back once we got used to what she called “the rockstar life,” but then she got pregnant with Crew and decided she wanted to stay home with him rather than return to working full-time.
“I don’t regret doing that,” Talia quickly adds. “Even now, Daniel understands how important it is that you see Crew and how part of the arrangement you and I have is me traveling with him to see you,” she continues. “My husband is supportive of that, and his job financially supports it.”
“Okay,” I say carefully, wondering where she’s going with all of this.
“But,” she starts, her eyes going to where she holds her glass of wine in both hands, and I realize I’m holding my breath.
“You want to go back to work?” I ask.
She nods her head, rubbing her lips together like she has more to say.
“That’s great, Tal.” I smile wide, not only happy for her and the life she’s creating for herself but relieved that she had good news to share.
But as I say the words, she stays silent, and it’s like something is holding her back from being happy. Worry immediately bleeds into my relief.
Talia must sense it because she finally says, “It’s not just going back to work.”
I lift a brow. “Then what is it?”
“Well, I ran into my old boss, and when we were catching up, she was telling me how she was thinking about retiring,” she explains.
“And she asked if I was in the market for a new job. So, I told her that I had been thinking about going back to work since Crew will be in school full-time next year, and she asked if I’d be interested in taking her place. ”
My lips part, and I can’t hide my shock. “She wants you to run the agency?”
Talia nods, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip like she’s trying to hide her smile.
“Holy shit, Tal. That’s amazing!” I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into a hug.
Talia always had dreams of running her own photography agency, and I think she gave up the idea when she kept having to put her career on the back burner for me and then for our son.
I know she wanted to, and I know my ex-wife well enough to know that she doesn't do anything she doesn’t want to do, and this is huge—everything she’s always wanted.
“Thanks, Matty,” she says, sitting back in her chair, her smile finally on full display, but it softens slightly as she looks at me.
“And don’t worry. We can figure out Crew’s schedule and make it work with yours. I’m sure Mia can help too since she comes and visits Eddie with the twins.”
“But Matty—” she starts, but I continue, wanting her to know she has my full support.
“And tour is over in June, so it’s only about eight more months, and then I’m home for good.” The words come out of my mouth with a lightness that quickly turns heavy, like a weight dropping into my gut.
Home for good.
Because I had my years doing what I loved. Singing on stage, traveling the world with my best friends, getting to show my son my dream coming true.
It’s all going to be over soon.
The thought is sobering in a way I’ve been avoiding.
“Mateo,” she says, and that gets my attention. She rarely uses anything but her nickname for me. “There’s one more thing.”
I let out a dry chuckle. “You say that like it’s not a good thing.” I take the first sip of my beer just to do something with my hands as I wait for her to continue.
“The agency moved to Paris.”