Chapter 11 Wilder
Chapter eleven
Wilder
Iwake up to a cat sitting on the windowsill, ek ekk ekkkkkking at something outside.
Birds, most likely. His little animated chatter is adorable.
Or maybe it’s her chatter. I can’t remember all the names.
This one is orange, but that’s about all I know.
Pumpkin? That could be a unisex name. The cat is sitting with its tail tucked up under it, so it’s not like it’s broadcasting its balls, or lack thereof.
“Pumpkin? What’s up?”
I must have the name right because it turns its great big round head and slowly blinks at me before going back to whatever is so fascinating in the backyard.
It could also be a squirrel. Another cat? A dog?
Speaking of dogs, the telltale sound of clicking nails announces Woof Woof Dog’s presence coming down the hall.
A light knock sounds on the door. “Wilder? Are you awake? I thought I heard you talking to the cat. Sorry, I should have warned you that they know how to open and close the doors. Pretty much all of them, but by my count, Pumpkin is missing. Please tell me he didn’t wake you up by parking his butthole right on your mouth or by letting out one of those tuna farts.
He sometimes gets gassy and… err… I’m just going to stop there.
I’m rambling. If you weren’t awake before, you sure are already, and what a wake-up call that conversation is. ”
I slide out of bed. I’m wearing my T-shirt with a towel around my hip. I open the door for her, but it’s Woof Woof Dog who races into the room, dancing around and contorting and wiggling his body in all angles. He looks like a dancing haybale and a mop had a baby.
It’s impossible not to fall straight in love with someone so sweet.
I’m talking about the dog right now.
But Carissa… is gorgeous. One look at her messy bun, glowing skin, and vintage rock T-shirt tucked strategically into high-rise jeans that end at her ankles, and I’m breathless.
“How are you doing?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe when I bend down to scratch Woof Woof Dog between the ears. His fur looks a little bit scraggly, but it’s actually quite soft.
I blow out a long breath. I’ve heard that intentionally sighing helps lower your blood pressure and decrease stress immediately.
Isn’t petting an animal supposed to lower all that bad stuff too?
Or humming. Just going at it like a machine for ten minutes straight has proven benefits, I think.
Anyway, it’s not like I’m going to burst straight into that spontaneously.
“Do you want to sit down for a second?”
The guestroom consists mostly of a queen-sized bed and two nightstands.
I get that Carissa wants to talk. We didn’t exactly have a chance last night.
After dinner, we helped her mom clean up and wash up, then we moved to the living room for tea and kept things light, discussing memories from the road and some of my wildest experiences.
Carissa knew all my stories already. It’s nothing the world hasn’t already heard in interviews I’ve given.
But her memories? Hearing about the tours from her point of view was utterly fascinating.
It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable to sit and talk with her mom, but of course, there was the whole fact that she walked in on us naked after we’d obviously gotten frisky in her kitchen. If the situation were a potato, it would have been a triple-stuffed, fully loaded one. AKA, seriously complicated.
But that’s just me.
In my head, I still think of myself as just a regular guy, but I know it’s not true.
Carissa knows it’s not true.
Her mom knows it’s not true.
I’m used to late nights, but was relieved when an early night was suggested, and Carissa showed me the guest room.
She’d laundered what she could of my clothes, minus the leather pants.
I think we both needed time to decompress.
I still lay awake for a good portion of the night, thinking about her in the room just down the hall from me.
That led me to think about all the memories we’ve shared together over the years, which made for not a lot of sleep.
Despite that, I’m wide awake and alert.
Thinking about getting back into costume to escape her house this morning, only to go back to my big empty one and face all the shit I have coming for me, is a punch to the gut.
I’m usually never quiet, but I’m quiet now.
I drop onto the end of the bed, and Woof Woof Dog jumps up right next to me. He wags his tail madly before circling twice and flipping over, giving me a whole lot of hairy belly and junk right to the face.
“Sorry. That’s a friendly gesture. He does that. He eagles. A lot.”
His head drops to the side, and his tongue lolls out of his mouth as his lips ride up with gravity, giving me the most ridiculously cute happy doggo face.
Carissa sits down on the other side of the bed.
She pulls her knees up, scooting behind me.
She rubs Woof Woof Dog’s belly, finding the spot that makes his back foot kick before she sets her hands tentatively on my shoulders.
I’m not the only one who gets rocked with a tremor at her touch. She’s shaking too.
I lean back into her, letting her know this is more than okay. She doesn’t have to be tentative about touching me.
“How are you doing?” Carissa asks again, this time softer. Her hands find the knots in my muscles, working all the way up to the base of my neck.
The cat on the windowsill isn’t chatting away anymore.
He’s just loafed there, purring contentedly for absolutely no reason whatsoever except the windowsill to cat belly to sunlight ratio coming in through the window must be in perfect proportion.
That, and he knows he’s safe. He’s fed and watered.
He has cat and dog friends. And he’s loved beyond measure by a very special woman and her mother.
“Considering you’re giving me the back massage of a lifetime, I’d say I’m doing alright.”
Her nose drops down to my shoulder. She exhales slowly from between parted lips, her warm breath fanning out over my skin. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, but in a holy shit, that’s unexpectedly sexy kind of way. “This is a lot. You didn’t expect any of it.”
“Sometimes it’s the unexpected things in life that are the most beautiful.”
“Not always. No one likes going on a trip and getting traveler’s diarrhea,” she says.
I make a noise in my throat as I struggle to control my laughter. “Are you comparing yourself to getting a bad stomach?”
“No, I’m just saying.”
“I think your mom’s being pretty cool about this. So are you. Also just saying.”
“We’re not the only ones. You’re always so calm.
Does that come from having years of experience standing in front of massive crowds, or from giving interviews and doing all that press?
You learn to be one way on the outside and keep your inside stuff just for you?
Everyone knows you’re a natural-born performer, but I think it’s more like an acquired skill. ”
“I still get nervous.”
Her hands slip up my neck into my hair. She strokes through the strands, her fingertips catching my scalp. Now I totally get why cats purr and the dog presents his belly for scratching. Because I’d like to do the same.
“I never realized how safe I felt with you.” I didn’t plan those words, but they’re true, and there’s no taking them back.
I can only keep going, even after Carissa’s small gasp.
“Part of it is who you are professionally, but it was more than that. I noticed, but it just didn’t hit until the moment it did. I didn’t have my eyes open.”
“You had a lot going on. Have.”
“Not always.”
She stops stroking my hair and leans back on the bed, waiting for me to pivot around.
I stroke the dog’s belly absently while I stare into her beautiful face.
I’ve never wanted to get something right more than I want to get the next words to come out properly.
While my brain is braining extra slowly because it’s morning, I’m tired, and she’s right about the overload of stuff happening in the background, she fills the quiet.
“I think timing matters.” She crosses her legs and sets her hands on top of each leg.
“It might still be bad timing, but you just weren’t ready before.
Neither was I. I’m still scared. My mom will tell anyone who wants to listen that in a relationship, the person who is right for you is right in every aspect.
True intimacy and a safe space start with seeing someone for who they are and allowing them to be seen in return.
To her, everything comes back to that concept. It sounds simple, but it’s really not.”
My grandma used to say that life always works out.
You just have to look at the bad from a different angle.
Even if you can’t see it coming, or can’t find it anywhere, there’s always good coming around the corner.
The working out might not happen in a moment, or a day, or even a week, but if you give it time, it’ll happen.
I’m not sure I ever believed her, but it was nice having someone teach me that hope, love, and kindness are real. My grandma didn’t have the easiest life. She had her heart broken so many times, in so many different ways.
I don’t know if Carissa feels the same way about things working out as my grandma did, but I like the softness on her face. She opened up yesterday and took a massive risk. We implied it was just one time, just something we both needed in that moment, but we both know it’s far more than that.
Don’t we?
“Carissa.”
She blinks as her name falls from my lips.
How is it possible to say the right thing when I don’t even know what that is?
How many times have I said that the right thing doesn’t have to be without flaws, it just has to be honest?
I need to follow my own advice. I need to sit here, present, and give my all like I do every time I write a song, step on stage, and perform it.