Chapter Seven. Riley
Chapter Seven
Riley
The next morning, when I bring Luna’s breakfast to her greenroom, no one answers the door. I set the tray on the floor and turn to walk away, when I hear the door open and I turn my head back to it. But what I see wipes my I’m a good and totally professional employee smile off my face.
I had expected Luna to potentially still be spending time with Hudson this morning, so I made two iced coffees just in case.
But it looks like she may need both of them.
Luna’s makeup from the show last night is still on, and it’s remarkably in place with the exception of the mascara that’s run down her cheeks, because she’s clearly been crying.
Her eyes are puffy and her hair is tangled.
“Are you okay?” I blurt out before I can think better of it. Obviously she’s not okay, and she probably doesn’t appreciate that being pointed out to her.
Luna looks exhausted, and so fragile that I want to wrap her up in my arms. Is she alone in there? She bites her lip. “Will you stay with me?” she asks.
I hesitate, thinking of Ashley’s warning, and how much work I still have to do. “Please?” Her voice cracks and I melt. I would do anything to make this moment easier for her, even if that means the rest of my day being twice as stressful.
“Of course,” I agree. I pick up the tray from the floor and follow her into the dressing room.
This is my first time actually stepping inside her dressing room and it’s like an explosion of color.
There’s a rack of show outfits, at least twenty pairs of shoes, a rack of sweatsuits, and of dresses, a makeup desk with about a hundred products out, and a table with every snack she could possibly want.
She walks over to the couch and I follow suit and place the tray on the table in front of us.
She picks up one of the coffees and chugs half of it in one go.
I don’t say anything. She’s clearly hurting and I don’t know her well enough to know what to say, what would help, or what might make things even worse in these fragile hours before the show.
“Hudson left before I woke up this morning,” she says finally.
Of course, that’s why she’s upset. She misses her boyfriend. I saw their chemistry onstage last night, as did everyone else in the arena and online. And they looked so good together on their way to that party. They’re the perfect couple. “I’m sorry, that sucks. Hopefully he can come back soon.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure he’ll be back when he wants some more press from me.”
She sounds so bitter and jaded. So much older than twenty-one.
“I dated someone who didn’t really like me once,” I offer.
I don’t know why I’m even saying this. I don’t feel qualified to comment on her relationship.
I don’t want to be responsible for breaking up the internet’s most beloved couple.
But I do understand how she’s feeling. “Not that Hudson doesn’t like you.
He’d be stupid not to be completely in love with you.
I mean … who wouldn’t be? But I dated a woman one summer, she was spending summer on the Cape and she was rich, she was older than me, and we had such a great few months.
But when fall rolled around, I realized that for her it was just that.
A summer. And for me it was my real life, that I really cared a lot about. ”
“And what happened?” Luna asks as she moves on to the second coffee.
“She went back to the city. But so did I, because I was in school. But I could just tell that she was pulling away; she was getting more distant but wouldn’t say anything.
She never even broke up with me. She just stopped calling and eventually I called and asked her if it was over, and she just laughed and asked what I meant.
And then I saw her out with someone new.
Someone … more like her.” I flush. The only person I’d told that part to was Liv, who said if she saw her the next summer, she’d throw a drink in her face on my behalf.
“That sounds like an easy breakup, in a way,” Luna says softly.
“I mean, it sounds really painful. She sounds so callous. But it would be a relief to be able to end a relationship and have no one care. If I ever break up with someone without a clear reason, then I’m the bad guy.
Even though if they did the same, they’d just be moving on. ”
I look at her. “I would never think that. You don’t need to stay with someone just because they haven’t given you a reason to leave. And I think the fact that you’re here with me, instead of him right now, that could be a reason. If you’re looking for one.”
I shouldn’t be saying this. But how can I tell her to just grin and bear it when she’s this upset?
Luna breaks my gaze and looks up at the ceiling, blinking.
Then suddenly she stops and lets the tears fall.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. My makeup’s already shit anyway.
” She wipes the tear roughly, streaking more mascara across her cheek.
I get up and grab a pack of makeup wipes and pull one out of the pack.
She makes no move to take it from me, so I lean forward and take her chin in my hand and gently wipe the mascara off her face.
For a moment it’s like neither of us are breathing, like if we talk, this fragile balance will break.
I cradle her jaw in the palm of my hand as I trace the contours of her face with the makeup wipe, and I’m just so close.
Our faces are mere inches apart and I have to take great care not to let my gaze snag on her lips.
Once her face is clean, I ball up the makeup wipe in my palm and toss it into the trash next to the couch, turning away to hide my ragged exhalation.
“Thanks for saying that,” Luna says eventually, breaking the thick silence.
“Everyone else is so obsessed with him. It’s, like, no one asks about me, my process, my goals, what I want.
I wrote this entire album before I even met him.
Not one song is about him, but people want to credit all of my success to him, asking if he wrote under a pseudonym with me, what we’re doing next.
I wish there was a ‘we’ to tell them about.
Really, I wish my mom were here.” Her voice cracks on that, and another tear falls.
“I’m sorry. I sound like an asshole complaining that I want everything to be about me. ”
I take her hand and squeeze it, but when I move to take it away, she interlaces her manicured fingers with my rough ones. My stomach flips.
“Luna,” I say. “I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you.
My sister, Liv, she passed away about two years ago.
And nothing can replace them being there for you.
But this is about you. I’m here for you, and this is your hard moment.
The way the media treats you, and women in general, is genuinely unfair.
You don’t need to feel bad about recognizing it even if other people ignore it. ”
“Thanks,” she whispers, her voice shaky.
We’re still holding hands, and I should be itching to pull mine away so no one walks in and sees me once again acting less than professional.
But I love holding her hand. It’s so soft, but her nails are short for the guitar, and I can feel the calluses on her fingertips from the guitar strings.
She must be examining my hand too, because she runs her finger over a scar and I get a chill. “What happened here?”
“I’m a chef. I battle with knives every day,” I joke.
But I also glow, because for the first time I really get to feel like I can say it.
I’m a chef. A private chef, but still a chef.
At the shack I feel like a cook, mass-producing a few great things, and when I’m making my videos, I feel like I’m a skilled hobbyist. But now that I’m being paid to cook, this finally feels real.
“I hope you always win,” Luna says, and she finally smiles.
This all feels dangerously close to a moment.
Which I know logically that it isn’t, but something in my gut won’t get on board and is telling me that this is something more.
I stand abruptly. “I should go. I left chicken marinating.” Luna doesn’t move from the sofa, her mouth a round O of surprise.
“Good luck today. You were amazing last night, and you’re too good to be crying over a guy.
I would never have left without saying goodbye to you like that. ”
What am I saying? Fuck. I can tell that my cheeks are blazing. “I mean … I would just never do that. No one decent would. So fuck him.” Somehow every word I say makes this worse. I swivel and walk toward the door, wishing I could disappear into the floorboards.
“Riley,” Luna calls after me. I freeze and turn toward her. “You watched?”
“Of course I watched, Luna. You’re phenomenal. You. Without him.”
She smiles, and I can see in her eyes that it’s real. “Thank you.”
When I get to the kitchen, I start digging through the swag bag that production left there and change into a clean Luna Leya World Tour tank top, because my shirt is now just a ball of sweat.
Why did I encourage her to basically dump Hudson?
This isn’t one of my friends and some guy he met during Bear Week or a girl I took on a walk across the breakwater or a friend’s high school boyfriend.
This is a breakup that would be front-page news, with potential ramifications to match.
It just felt like no one had ever given her permission to say fuck him, because they’re all too busy collecting their checks and they’re bigger when she’s putting up with him.
And she should never be dating someone she has to put up with.