Chapter 11 Keeley
Keeley
The day after the pottery class, Jane texts me that she’s moving back into her house.
I almost drop my phone. But I’m helping Paulino from Lime Velvet run a drum clinic for local high school students for most of the day, so I don’t even get to say goodbye in person…as if it’s that big of a deal.
Still, it’s hard to focus on rudiments when I already feel the absence of her so strongly.
I try to tell myself she’s only leaving because the place was ready, and not because I almost threw myself at her in my kitchen last night.
Letting Jane stay was supposed to be about helping her, not coming on to her. For the rest of the afternoon, I’m distracted by worry, wondering if I pushed too much.
This is all my fault for booking that stupid couples’ class.
I really did make a mistake on the registration—I thought it was ceramics for two as in two people, not ceramics for two as in a romance extravaganza.
Sometimes the ADHD tax is an impulsive purchase that skips the fine print, because I get an idea I’m excited about and just need to make it happen.
I just needed to try something creative.
I wasn’t trying to force Jane on a date, even if those sunflowers might have been a little overkill.
Still, all those feelings from last night felt real.
When I get home from the clinic, I find a plate full of cookies on my counter along with a note:
Keeley,
Thank you for everything. I hope these are still your favorite.
Jane
I grin, my pulse picking up at the little heart she drew next to her name, but I remind myself it’s just a sign-off. Jane doesn’t actually mean anything by it. The snickerdoodles are, in fact, my favorite, and I devour three as I ponder what I want to do with the emptiness of my condo.
Who am I kidding? I’m grinning like the Cheshire cat through every bite. Jane Mercer, I’d follow you through any looking glass.
I want to go see her, but I know she’s busy moving back into her house. She’s probably already deciding which items she’s going to clean and repair, and which are simply lost causes. But I’m fighting the urge to go visit.
Because a simple text isn’t going to cut it. Now that we’re both sober, I need to know if last night was as real as I wanted it to be.
As if on cue, my phone lights up in the Glitter Bats + Wade text thread:
Wade: I have an update. Does everyone have time to discuss it over dinner?
Riker: I’m around!
Valerie: Caleb is at an after-school function, but he should be home by 6:30. Can we do 7:30?
Jane: 7:30 works for me.
Me: 7:30 is good for me too.
Wade: Perfect. I’ll get reservations and send the details soon.
A few minutes later, Wade passes along the directions, and I decide to tidy my spotless apartment. I haven’t dusted in a while, so I do that, even though Jane left the place cleaner than it was when I went to teach this morning.
Last night, it felt like something really was happening between us. Sure, we were playing along for the fucking pottery class, but she leaned into my touch like it was genuine. And after, in my kitchen, she looked like she wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss her.
I don’t think it was just my imagination. But…shit. Now that I know Jane is into girls, I’m getting ahead of myself, and that’s the worst thing I could do.
Cue Stockard Channing.
God, I don’t know how to process this. I’ve never felt this unmoored by the possibility of a relationship before…
because it’s never been Jane. I should talk to someone, but I don’t have the kind of “call during an emergency” relationship with my therapist, and it’s not like I’m going to call one of the other Glitter Bats.
The last thing I need is a reminder that a relationship I desperately want could hurt the band.
We’ve all fought so hard to get where we are.
Why did it have to be someone in the Glitter Bats I was attracted to like this? I’ve tried so hard to rationalize these feelings away, but now that they might be mutual, I don’t have the strength to ignore them.
What I really need is a distraction. I usually FaceTime with my family once a week, but we missed last Sunday. My parents should both be home from work, so I send a quick text to check their availability, and then I settle onto my couch to take the call.
My parents are huddled around the same phone screen, smiling at me.
“We’ve missed you!” Mom says. I can tell she’s changed out of her work clothes, but her silvery blond hair is still pulled back in a no-nonsense bun.
“I wish you came home more,” Dad says gruffly, but there’s an easygoing smile softening the wrinkles on his face. He’s growing out his facial hair into a neatly trimmed beard, and it’s a good look.
“I know, I’ll come home soon,” I say, because I should. Los Angeles to Seattle isn’t that bad of a flight, and I do really love my parents. I’m lucky that coming home feels like a soft place to land, not a place for tension and trauma.
“What have you been up to?” Mom asks.
“Well, Jane is no longer staying with me,” I say.
“I’m glad she was able to move back into her home. That whole situation sounded stressful,” Dad says, frowning. Because of course, I gave them the whole rundown when Jane moved in.
I swallow. “Yeah, I, uh, I’m glad her insurance was able to take care of everything.”
“What else is new?” Mom asks.
My stomach clenches. They’ve always supported me—whether that was in my queerness or deciding to pursue music. But things have been a little tense since I told my parents I was clearing my schedule to work on the Glitter Bats.
“I helped Paulino Diaz with a drum clinic today,” I say, eager to have something to report. “And, well, we have a meeting tonight to talk about the band’s future.”
Mom pulls a face. “You’re not going to try to buy the masters, are you?”
I shrug. We talked about that too, briefly, and I know she’s worried about the cost. “I don’t know if we can, but we have to do something. That music is ours.”
She hums. “Just be careful, honey.”
I stiffen. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I was talking to your brother about entertainment law the other day…” Oh, here we go. I’m going to have a word with Ollie later. “He said these fights can be expensive. Shouldn’t you all focus on moving forward and releasing more music instead?”
I purse my lips, sinking back against the couch. “We can do both. Like sure, buying our masters will be expensive, but then we’d be making profits off of them instead of most of the money going to the label.”
“That’s a good point,” my dad says, ever the reasonable one. “But could going up against the label hurt you professionally? It seems like they have a lot of power.”
“This is my concern,” Mom says. “The last artist who went up against Label Records—who was it, Nick Evans? I did some research. He hasn’t been able to get another contract since.”
Nick also doesn’t have an original bone in his body, so I’m not surprised. Still, it makes me nervous, thinking about all the ways Label could ruin our future. What if we fight them and lose? Will that wreck our future as a band? Maybe this isn’t worth all the effort.
A part of me wonders if I should listen to my parents this time. I’ve always trusted their guidance. And maybe, just maybe, I’m pushing too hard because I’m being stubborn and not calculating every move the way I should be. This battle could be for nothing.
But then I remember the smirk on Landon’s face when he said he could take our music down. I have to believe we can win—even if it scares the shit out of me.
I try to defend it. “Wade won’t steer us wrong. That’s what Ortega Management’s lawyers are for.” I’m not used to arguing with my parents, and it leaves something leaden behind. Still, I won’t back down.
“Just…don’t sink all of your money into this.”
“Isn’t that what my savings and investments are for? To use for things I care about?” I don’t know if I’m trying to convince myself, or her.
Mom sighs. “You know it’s to make sure your future is secure, especially since there’s no Glitter Bats money coming in right now. Are you sure you don’t want to take some other drumming jobs? I’m assuming that clinic today didn’t pay very well.”
It didn’t pay anything, but I’m not going to tell Mom that I worked for free. If I want to make quality drum instruction available to teens, I’m not going to let her shame me for that.
“I’ve got it under control,” I say bitterly.
Mom puts up her hands. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll drop it.”
Dad nudges Mom’s shoulder. “We taught our kids to take care of themselves, Sasha. Keeley is going to be fine.”
I hope he’s right.
“So…what’s new with you guys?” I ask, desperate for a change in topic.
My parents tell me all about the renovations they’re finishing up on the house.
Even though they’re changing all the things that made my childhood home so familiar, I actually can’t wait to see the new cabinets and wooden floors.
But when we end the call, I’m feeling anxious about dinner, and not just because I’m concerned about our fight for our music.
I’m nervous to see Jane. We’ve only been apart for a day, but after the past month, I don’t like not having her around.
And I’m starting to hope she might feel the same, especially thinking about all that heady tension last night.
I’ve never seen Jane blush as stunningly rose pink as she did in my kitchen before that damn alarm went off.
My heart races with nerves, but more than that, it races with possibility. If I didn’t have the last few weeks to prove it, I’d tell myself I’m a sucker and I need to stay away and pine in peace. But I have hope, now, that I never had before. Maybe this isn’t unrequited at all.