CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KNOX
Sloan lights up in a whole new shade of bright talking about dancing. The excitement of having nailed a turn she’s been working on, bubbles out of her the whole time I’m driving. Driving and listening.
I’m so in the zone of taking in the words that spill out of her one after the other, it takes me a second to catch on when she ends her story and asks for mine.
“You and Ma,” she repeats when I don’t react the first time. “What did you two do while I was at dance?”
“Believe it or not,” I start, making the turn into the parking lot. We’ve reached our destination. “We went and recorded a song together.”
“For real?”
“For real.” I turn off the engine and drop both hands into my lap, settling in for a minute. “It’s been pretty awesome getting to see your world and I kind of wanted to show some of mine to your mom.”
Sloan smiles. “That was a good idea.”
“You think?”
She nods. “Yeah. She worries a lot. About everything. Sometimes I think she worries so much about things, she forgets what’s real, and what she thinks could be real, if she stops worrying for a second and lets things just happen.
” Her smile falters the longer she goes on.
“Anyway, it’s good for her to see the real stuff.
Especially the good real stuff. The stuff that’s real about you. ”
Sloan’s wise for her age. I’m not surprised she’s so insightful, she’s clearly her mother’s daughter. But I wonder if Kenley knows just how much Sloan sees.
“Can I show you a little piece of my world too?” I ask her.
She lights up all over again. “Sure.”
“Awesome. Hold on just a sec.” I slide my phone from my pocket and scan my call log. She’s never too far down.
I hit call.
It only rings twice before the camera opens up on screen and we’re face to face. “Hey Mom.”
“Knox. Where are you? Your sister said she ran into Matti when she stopped by your place, and he told her you weren’t coming home this trip.
” She’s not worried. Simply curious. She’s used to me taking off at random.
What she’s not used to, is my desire to stay put. Let alone, what I’m about to do next.
“That’s actually why I’m calling.” I glance at Sloan, she’s grinning from ear to ear, same as I am.
“I think I found you another guest for your annual backyard glamping with grandma extravaganza.” It’s a thing she started when my oldest brother had kids.
Back then, it was just her and my two nephews in one tent.
Thirteen years and fifteen grandkids later, the concept hasn’t changed much but the set up certainly has.
“You what?” Her eyes narrow, but the corners of her mouth begin to dance, eager to break into a full smile just as soon as she’s sure of what I’m saying.
“The reason I haven’t been home, is because I’ve met someone. Two someones, actually. And one of them, is here with me now.” I turn the phone out to face Sloan. “Mom, meet Sloan. Sloan, meet my mama, Grandma Bean.”
Her real name’s Jean. Garret, my brother’s firstborn struggled with his Js for a while. By the time anyone else was old enough to call her anything, Grandma Bean was already established.
It takes all of ten seconds before the two of them are chatting it up so intensely, Sloan takes the phone right from my hand.
I just laugh and gesture for her to talk and walk. After all, we made the drive here for a reason. Dinner isn’t going to order itself.
KENLEY
“You look extra happy,” my friend and fellow dance mom, Cheryl, observes.
“What happened? Accidentally run your truck over Ebeneezer’s dick or something?
” She has a shitty ex too. And a lot more rage to work through.
She’s in therapy though, so I can laugh at that joke and not be scared for her ex-husband.
Not that he wouldn’t deserve having his dick run over.
“Um, no. As far as I know Ebeneezer’s dick is still intact,” I mumble under my breath. The room is starting to fill up and while there aren’t any kids left from class, I don’t know all the moms well enough to know where they stand on casual dick references.
“Then what’s got you grinning like that?” Her brow crinkles a bit. “Seriously, dude. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”
“Happy?”
“Is that what this is?” She laughs.
“Might be.” I slide down to sit on the floor. Cheryl does the same. It’s a dance school. They don’t have much need for furniture. “I kind of met someone.”
“Like a man?” Her eyes bug out dramatically. “How? You never fucking go anywhere.” Her expression falls. “Oh, God. Tell me this wasn’t an internet thing. Please say no swiping transpired in crossing paths with this person.”
I laugh. Then I zip it instantly when I notice Natalia, the studio owner, staring at me. Apparently, the meeting has started.
‘There was no swiping,” I whisper. “It was in person. Random.” Then I remember the real point I mean to make. “And I fucking go places.”
“You met this man in the studio parking lot?” she probes. “At the gas station? Or perhaps in your driveway? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe that covers all of your regular outings.”
“This wasn’t a regular outing,” I concede.
“I went out Saturday night. Arizona came into town, and we went to a concert. And I met him there.” I turn my attention to Natalia while Cheryl takes in this latest information.
Also, I’ve yet to decide where I’m taking this conversation from here.
When is a suitable time to casually work in that you’re dating a rock star?
“Before I forget,” Natalia says loudly, probably to get those of us still whispering to shut up and listen, “I’m going to need extra muscle to help unload costumes and such before the show. Anyone have a man or two to volunteer for the gig?”
“Oh!” My hand shoots up. She makes this request before every big show and never once have I been able to volunteer anyone ever. Until now. “I do!”
Cheryl side-eyes me. “The guy you met forty-eight hours ago?” She can’t seem to decide between laughing at me and being straight-up appalled.
Somewhere between her tone and the look in her eyes, it happens. My bubble bursts. The fantasy I was so thoroughly enjoying washes away like the water pouring out of a busted snow globe, leaving behind a cracked, hollow structure drained of all magic.
And I suddenly feel like an idiot. “No, not a guy I met forty-eight hours ago,” I mumble.
Because what kind of mother would that make me?
What kind of fool would integrate a perfect stranger into her world so blindly, so naively, so delusionally , she’d volunteer him as a backstage parent?
After two fucking days? “Me. I’m the extra muscle. ” Me. I’m that kind of fool.
Beside me, Cheryl chuckles under her breath. “You had me worried for a second there.”
I don’t answer. I just do my best to pay attention to the rest of the meeting.
It’s not that I care what Cheryl thinks of my choices. I don’t. But I remember other people looking at me the way she looked at me, years ago, when I eloped with Ebenezer, and I didn’t care what they thought either.
I’m still no interested in living my life according to the opinions of others, but I can’t pretend like my judgement has always been the best. And stubbornly closing my eyes and ears to the warnings certainly served me even less than my own gullible tendencies.
And it wasn’t just warnings from others. I saw my own share of red flags and let my ex explain them away. Even when it didn’t make total sense, I let myself believe him because I wanted to believe in us.
When that dream turned into a nightmare I couldn’t escape for a decade to come, I swore I’d never allow myself to be so vulnerable, so fast, ever again.
As the years went by and I settled into being single, I thought for sure I’d learned my lesson, that I unscrambled the patterns that lead me to a relationship like that, not once but twice , in my twenties, but here I am, at forty, doing the same shit all over again.
Leaping like a fool, headfirst into some epic love story with a man who existed as a fantasy in my life far longer than he’s been real.
And yet, with the fairy tales written right there on the walls in front of me, I’ve still pretended to forget that the rock star who followed me home after the concert will turn to dust at the stroke of midnight when the spell wears off.
When he goes back on tour. Has another show.
In another town. And likely follows another girl home after.
The thought sends a twinge of pain through my chest. Not because I believe it. Because deep down I know it isn’t true. But I want it to be. All of this would suddenly be easier if it was.
By the time the meeting ends, I’ve missed half of it despite my intentions to give it my full attention. My eyes were glued to Natalia the whole time, but my brain just couldn’t stay put.
“So, what’s the story with your new guy,” Cheryl asks, nudging my side as we’re walking out.
“Does he live ocean side? Mainland? Work? Divorced? Kids?” She makes a face.
“Please tell me he’s not forty and never married or reproduced?
I can dig the lack of baggage, but come on, why haven’t those things happened over the course of your adult life, dude?
” She laughs. I know she’s just rambling on about the things running through her own mind when she’s out there, trying to give love another shot, but it’s not helping the noise already clanking and clattering about inside my own head.
“He’s not local,” I mutter, scanning the parking lot and spotting my truck at the very end with Knox casually leaning on the hood, waiting for me.
“That sounds complicated.” She tips her head and smirks. “Or perfect.”
“Yeah.” I don’t even know what I’m agreeing to. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“You know it.” She pulls her keys from her pocket when we reach her car.
“Drive safe.” I wave and keep walking.
“Holy shit.”
So close.