Chapter 21 #2
“We need to get in place. You ready?” Tate asks, seemingly unaware of all the side conversations going on around her.
I nod and she directs our steps to the corner of the stage, the one opposite of where Jan is standing.
Mia is finishing her version of “I Hope You Dance,” and her vocal range is out of this world, but all I can think about is the girl holding me.
I look down at her, wanting to memorize this moment.
Our bodies cast in dark blue. Every once in a while we shift slightly and one of the stage lights bounces off mirrored freckle stickers applied to the slender bridge of Tate’s nose and up and over the rounds of her cheeks.
Sparkles rivaled only by her toothy grin.
“You ready for this?” she asks, looking up, catching me off guard. The rasp of her voice, among other things, has wrapped itself around my heart, twisting me up in the best sort of way.
“Always.”
***
Mia does a little bow and walks off the stage towards Jan.
The lights overhead dim until you can’t see anything but the small footlights of the stage.
A man dressed in all black runs to place the stool and adjust the mic before scurrying off.
The overhead light clicks back on, spotlighting the stool.
I grab the guitar from the stand next to the wall, squeezing Tate into my side once more, before taking wide strides towards my seat.
I arrange myself, every movement charged due to the nearby mic.
Once settled, I look out towards the judges, nod, and then begin a slow strum.
Down, down, up. Down, up, down.
Admittedly, when I got the song list. I thought my dreams of making it to the top were over, but then Tate came and turned everything around.
She helped me to see that what I thought was a problem was a push towards finding my voice.
My sound. I love country, cliche as it sounds.
The Chicks or Waylon Jennings...it just fits.
Then they told me it was a duet, and I don’t know if I was feeling the lack of control or what, but I had an absolute toddler-worthy tantrum.
I take a glance over my shoulder to where she’s swaying, eyes closed.
My cowgirl in metallic boots. As I hit the last line, another spotlight drops at the edge of the stage, uncovering Tate.
She walks out towards me. My breath hitches as she gets closer.
Definitely not a great thing when singing, but the crowd is too busy losing their minds at the sight of her to pay any attention to me.
..and for obvious reasons. Our knees brush as she takes her first line like it was made for her.
She rounds me, running her fingers along the span of my shoulders.
I straighten, pressing back into her fingertips, with my head slightly rolled back so I can look at her.
When she does finally release me, I stand, chasing her touch.
We take turns walking in and out of one another’s space.
Like a bee dipping in and out of the most beautiful flower.
I pick up the mic and bring it to my mouth as she finishes her portion, and the chorus begins.
The hooting and hollering we’re getting is nothing short of that at a Tennessee Volunteers’ game.
Tate’s eyes are glossy with amusement. No way did we expect this response, but I hate to say it, Jan was right.
Tattooed Michelle Pfeiffer’s words fill my mind.
“Show her how you feel and then take the next indicated step.” I’m going to show her tonight.
I’m going to kiss her. We’re so close now as we sing the last lines.
Cowgirl take me away, closer to you...
I take my shot, pressing my lips to hers. They’re so soft and plump. I want to stay there, to explore, but she pushes my chest, ripping our lips from one another. The lights dim and the look on her face isn’t a good one.
“What is wrong with you!” she hisses, and I know I messed up big time.
***
My phone rings and it’s an unknown number.
Normally, I wouldn’t answer it, but it’s got an LA area code, and who knows, maybe it’s someone who wants to sign me and pull me out of this mess I made with Tate.
It’s been two days since the performance, which, by the way, went really well.
We made it to the next round. Tate won’t even look at me though, let alone talk to me. I pick up the phone. “This is Levi.”
“Hey there, cowboy.” The voice is of a woman, familiar...yet not.
“Who is this and how did you get my number?”
There’s a sound of frustration through the phone. “You know, you’re really touchy. This is Kim. You know, the blonde bartender you had against a pantry wall a couple weeks ago, but then declined a repeat performance with last week?”
I laugh. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”
“Nope.”
“How did you get my number anyways.”
“I have my ways...” I think for a second she might tell me, but nope.
“So, what’s up?” It might be a little short, but I can’t play any more games. I’m still trying to untangle the mess with Tate.
“What’s up is that kiss, man! What were you thinking putting her on blast in front of the entire country? I mean, it wasn’t your best look.”
I feel wires cross in my mind, sparking to life. “You told me to do it!”
“I did not,” she quips back.
I laugh but it’s humorless. “You said, verbatim, ‘Show her how you feel and then take the next indicated step’ and that’s what I did!” My feet start involuntarily pacing the room.
“Nooo, I said tell her. You heard ‘show her’ because you probably wanted to kiss her, but that’s all on you.”
Shoot, I think she’s right. I run my free hand up my face.
“Okay, so how do I fix this?” She had advice before. She’s a girl...she’ll have advice now.
“Oh, yeah, I’m not sure you’re coming back from this.”
“What? From one kiss! That’s crazy!”
“It’s not about the kiss, you meathead!”
“What’s it about then?” We’re yelling at each other now, like it’s the most natural thing, until she breaks it with a low chuckle.
“It’s not about big gestures, as much as Hollywood wants to make it seem like that. She wants to feel seen. She wants to be loved, cherished, and safe. Like the two of you are in your own little world.”
“I want all those things too,” I argue.
Her answer is quiet. “Then make it happen, cowboy.”
Click.
I need to go find Tate. I toss my phone onto my bed and head out.
I’m going to tell her, with words, how I feel about her.
Wait, no...apologize and then confess. I check the theater, the study, the kitchen, and the studio—no Tate.
For that matter, no anyone. My feet take strides back upstairs, then down the hall to where her and Gabriella’s room is.
In the doorframe, I pause, trying to remember what Kim said, when I hear her voice.
“It’s not that easy, G.”
“Getting out of bed is, in fact, very easy. We do it every morning, but you have been sulking and I’m not sure why. The kiss was hot and I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
“Please don’t be cryptic right now.”
“I’m not! And I prefer mystifying. You’re all over the web. People are eating up, Tay-vai.”
“Who is Tay-vai?”
“How have you been on this earth for twenty-four years and not know about the celebrity couple name mash-up?”
I feel like a child with my face pressed to the door of my parents’ room trying to figure out what they got me for Christmas.
I know this is wrong. An invasion of privacy.
On top of the moral obligation to walk away, I also don’t want to get caught.
Gabriella is scary and I’m not sure I can handle being in any more trouble with Tate.
A large squeak from the mattress wails out like someone just jumped on the bed.
“Look, I know you don’t have socials, but you guys are everywhere.”
“No way. That is so weird.”
“Look, there you guys are in the studio... How did they get that?”
“Oh, yeah.” Tate lets out a heavy sigh. “Jan told us there are cameras throughout the property that we apparently signed releases for.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Ow. Gabriella, you can’t hit.”
“I would have done things so differently...”
There’s a pause. “Like what?” I hear Tate say.
“I dunno. Maybe found a guy to write a rom-com with. Seems to be working out for you.”
“I didn’t plan this. Unlike you and Levi and probably everyone in this house, I’m not the girl who just goes around kissing people for fun.”
“Ouch, Tate.”
“I’m sorry, that was wrong.” There’s a heavy sigh. “I think I like Levi, but in a different way than he likes me.”
“Are you saying you just want to be friends?”
I press harder into the wood paneling of the door, my whole existence teetering on what she says next.
“I’m saying...” She pauses and I have to strain to hear her voice over the loud pump of blood flowing through my ears. “I think we might have two different end goals. I date to get married, to eventually have a house, kids, and a couple of dogs. I think, at most, he just dates to...date.”
As quietly as possible, I push from the door and make my way towards my room, digesting Tate’s words that all of a sudden feel like I ate an entire cow and topped it off with mashed potatoes and a pie.
A normal person would probably be offended by the accusation.
In so many ways, she said I’m a noncommittal floozy.
..and she’s not wrong. I mean, I could date someone and not cheat, but the forever game isn’t for me.
I saw what my parents’ divorce did to my mom and I have no interest in being a part of that.
I toe my way back into my room and then stop.
Old me doesn’t just hang out in my room.
Old me goes out. Likes to drink and have fun.
I think it’s time I get back to that. No more Tate.
I’m not the person she needs. The thought is like a kick to the stomach.
I reach for my phone and send out a mass text.