Chapter 24
All In
Istart breakfast while I mull over my talks with Mom and Annie.
I’ll have to call Nathan sooner than later.
I’d rather drive to California in ninety-degree heat with no air-conditioning and a car full of wet dogs than to have this conversation.
It has to be quick, but I see no way for it to be painless.
Unfortunately, it’s still too early in the morning to rip the Band-Aid off.
I start a playlist of songs Sam and I discussed last night to have them fresh on my mind while I cook breakfast and front-load caffeine.
“Are you going to break up with Nathan in person or by phone?”
“You’re cutting to the chase bright and early.”
“I know you, Luce. You need to move quickly before you overthink it or find a way to avoid it.”
“Rude, Mom. I already did. I just want to be sure I was clear. But he can be volatile. I’ll have to take the coward’s way out and do it by phone. Nothing good would come out of having this conversation in person.”
“Lucy! Has he been violent with you?”
“Not exactly. Kind of pushy and in my face sometimes, but I’m not going to trap myself that way, and I’m not waiting until I get home.”
“Do Alex and Joey know how he is?”
“Alex can’t stand him from what she’s seen online, but she hates everyone. Joey doesn’t know much about my life right now unless Alex tells him. They’re not really involved in my life anymore, Mom. We’re too busy and too far apart.”
“Oh, I guess that’s true. That’s sad.” I think it’s just now hitting her that we aren’t teenagers and don’t see each other anymore.
“It is, but I have the guys and Annie.”
“Well, keep Sam with you.”
“Sam?” I snort. “Annie’s the scary one. What would Sam do? Hug him to death?” I grin at her, but she’s not amused. “I’m not worried, Mom. Nathan hasn’t paid attention to me beyond arguing in two months. I said I was done. He just needs to know I meant it.”
I’m not as nervous as I thought I’d be, but I still can’t eat much. There’s a lot of food, so I text Sam to come over and eat. I feel lighter. The weight I’ve been carrying is slowly lifting, and I can see the end in sight. The text buzzing my phone doesn’t hurt either.
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: Morning, Punk. Today will be busy, but I’ll check in when I can. You’re going to be amazing. I wish I could be there to see you. Have fun. Don’t puke.
He follows the text with a picture of Sam and me from the coffee shop, probably one Annie took. We’re looking at each other, singing with huge crazy smiles on our faces. It was a fun night.
Me: No promises. Honestly, I can’t wait for it to be over. I miss you. Be safe and have a good day. ??????
Jude Daniel (Take a Sad Song and Make it Sexy) Crawford: I will. I miss you too. ??
Sam and I sit at the kitchen table an hour later with our messy morning hair and lounge clothes, laughing about everything and nothing.
He squints at me as I get up to get him more food.
“Something’s different with you. Did y’all finally have The Talk?”
“What talk?” I know what talk. I’m just not ready to discuss it.
“You know, the one where you and Danny stop pretendin’ you don’t wanna kiss.”
And that’s why.
“We had a good talk, but there was no mention of kissing.”
And now I’m chewing my bottom lip with nerves churning my stomach, but I’m not thinking about the gig. Nope. The word kissing temporarily cured me of any stage fright.
I’ve psyched myself up to call Nathan all morning. He can’t say anything worse than he’s already said to me. There’s also nothing he can do to change the outcome, so there’s nothing to be worried about. It’ll be just like when Mom and Dad’s divorce was finalized. A relief.
Once the girls are dressed, we let Sam come back to Layla’s room to help us decide which outfit I’m stealing from her closet.
I didn’t bring much because I wasn’t planning to do anything this weekend.
I still have clothes here, but the girls looted all my remaining belongings, so anything worth wearing will be in here.
“I like that white thing that’s like a little dress but shorts. Do you have boots? Ah, man, that would be smokin’ hot, Smalls!”
“I am not wearing boots with that!” I scan their faces, all wearing the same grins. “No.”
Layla’s the stage style expert. Her opinion should hold the most weight.
“Are you sure, Lucy? I think it would be cute,” she pleads.
I dress for fun and comfort. I need both.
“What are you wearing, Sammy? Bro country or rock?” I turn the attention to him. His country look is usually jeans, a Braves jersey, and a hat. Sneakers or boots. When he’s on drums playing rock, he usually just wears a T-shirt and shorts. I don’t think he has much else.
“Probably country. T-shirt under the jersey so I can take it off if it’s too hot.”
“All right. You go get ready while I shower, and I’ll wear the white romper.”
“With boots?” He raises his eyebrows hopefully.
“Highly unlikely. Go.”
“Yes, ma’am. My stuff’s still at Cade’s, so I’ll load up and come back at three.” He stands up to leave, leaning toward Liza. “Psst, work on the boots for me, Glow Worm. Maybe a hat too.” I land a balled-up pair of socks against the doorframe next to his head, but he just laughs as he ducks out.
Once he’s gone, I take my phone into the bathroom before I shower and try to call Nathan without giving myself time to overthink it. It rings and goes to voicemail twice, so I shower and focus on our set list before I try again. Still nothing, so I text.
Me: I need to talk to you. Won’t take long.
Layla and Liza watch me do my hair and makeup, while trying to convince me there’s nothing else to wear with a cotton white eyelet spaghetti-strap romper besides vintage-style Western boots with lacy floral stitching.
“They have a square toe, and they’re comfortable,” Layla insists, Liza on her heels with her own guilt trip.
“This is the best look. You’re doing this to help Sam’s career, right? So wear them for him. You have to match his energy, Lucy!”
I try to hide my amusement, but she’s beyond enamored with him. I’m surprised she hasn’t begged to tag along. “I can’t match his energy, Glow Worm. That’s physically impossible.”
“Wait … why did he call me that?” She looks confused, suddenly unsure how to feel about it.
“Because your face …” I begin.
“Lights up when you see him,” Layla and I say at the same time and laugh.
“What? Is that bad?” Embarrassment tinges her cheeks, and her smile fades.
“No! It means you’re adorable.” I tug her braid. “It’s a compliment.”
My words seem to thwart her impending mortification, and it’s all forgotten once Layla screeches, “Does Mom know about your tattoo?!”
“I think the whole block knows now. Thanks, Layla,” I say dryly.
“Let me see!” Liza crowds into the bathroom to look at the tiny words and notes on the back of my left shoulder blade. “Take a sad … soap?”
Layla laughs at her. “Song. Right? She can’t read cursive.”
“And make it better,” I finish the lyric.
“It’s so pretty!” Liza sighs. “That’s a line from ‘Hey Jude,’ right? When did you get it?”
“Thanks, I’ve had it for a couple of years. Before I moved back here the last time.”
“How have you hidden it for so long?” Layla shrieks, obviously appalled at my behavior.
“I don’t know. I was sort of hiding it at first, but not after a few months. You can’t see it unless I wear something strappy like this. Even my swimsuit has a ruffle that covers it, and it’s not like I wear anything other than work clothes or sweats most of the time. I forget it’s there.”
“But does Mom know?” Layla presses.
“I don’t think so, but I’m twenty-three, Layla! She’s not going to ground me. Maybe I’ll wear this outfit to Dad’s house … because I can.”
“I’m coming with you for that.” Liza grins.
The girls glam me up more country style than I prefer, but I draw the line at buckle bunny. I refuse to dress like a stereotypical sparkly fake cowgirl at a Nashville bachelorette party.
“You can’t be a buckle bunny because you used to wear this outfit all the time and those are YOUR BOOTS!
By definition, buckle bunnies only buy an outfit and glittery boots for one occasion,” Layla insists, forcing her way back into the small bathroom to put a simple silver chain with a swirly “L” charm around my exposed neck, a perk of us all having the same first initial.
My hair’s big and wavy, like it knows we’re going to Nashville. I should pull it up because of the heat but feeling it on my face and shoulders is a comfort habit. I don’t want it up today, but I slip a hair tie around my wrist with the bracelets, just in case I change my mind.
There’s also the little matter of the ink on the back of my shoulder. It’s not big, and it was never meant to be a secret, but it’s only for me. And because of … umm … reasons, I probably should’ve shared it long before now.
Annie’s seen it, but she’s probably the only one. At least with my hair down, there’s a chance it won’t be noticed right away.
People expect me to dye my hair pink, chop the sleeves and collar off my T-shirts, shred my jeans, and sometimes say what everyone else is thinking, but that’s where my rebellious streak ends.
I don’t drink, smoke, vape, drive fast, or even take Benadryl unsupervised.
I hardly ever swear because it grates my own nerves.
I’ve also never made out with anyone in an elevator or a stairwell or a storage closet, although that might make a short list of approved rebellious behaviors if I had the right accomplice … wait, what was my point again?
When I left Lexington the last time, I needed a symbol to remind myself that I hadn’t failed. Moving back to my parents’ house was a deliberate personal decision to step back in order to move forward.
Cheesy as always, I had to make my sad song better. And I’m still a work in progress.
Maybe I always will be.