Chapter 5
First, I’m frozen in my seat, and I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry.
I was saving listening to this song for a special moment, when I was ready.
I can’t believe it’s being wasted on a drunk sorority sister slurring her words.
This song was supposed to be for me. Not for her.
Not for anyone else. This song belongs to me.
But then, the anger bubbles in my stomach and I want to push her off the stage. This is my song. I won’t let anyone else but Andy sing it. I quickly stand up, some of the contents of my bag clattering to the floor. The ibuprofen bottle rolls right to Dean’s foot.
“What are you doing?” Dean hisses, handing me the bottle. “Eat your dinner.”
“That’s—that’s my song. She can’t sing that song,” I hiss back, haphazardly throwing things back in my bag.
“What do you mean? It’s a song!” He’s hovering over the table, like he might stop me from getting up and leaving.
“It’s not just a song!” I shout, drawing the attention of some nearby diners.
Dean’s face twists as the realization that this is one of Andy’s songs hits him. I don’t have a plan for what I’m going to do next, but I start walking towards the stage, and the lively, drunk man leading the growing crowd in front of it.
“Madeline, sit down! Leave them alone!” I look back as Dean whisper-shouts, but I forge ahead. The song isn’t even halfway over and I’ll be damned if this drunken trollop of a woman finishes it. Dean gets up from his spot in the booth, abandoning our plates, trailing behind me.
Once I reach the stage, I inhale a large breath and tap the man’s shoulder. He looks me up and down and coughs right in my face. “Who are you?” He stutters.
“I’m Madeline,” I say, wiping the spit off my brow. “You need to get your lady—” I gesture towards the stage wildly, feeling myself become more unhinged by the second. Only a crazy person does what I’m doing right now.
“My girlfriend.” He interjects.
“You need to get your girlfriend!” I shout over the loudspeakers. We can barely hear each other. “She can’t be singing this song!”
“What?” The man yells. “Why not?”
“Because it’s my song!” I shout, growing fiercely frustrated, my reason doesn’t even make sense, but the fire in my soul is arguing with all rationality right now. I feel Dean towering behind me now, and he places a hand on my shoulder, but I don’t even care.
“You want to sing?” The man asks. He gestures to his girlfriend up on the stage.
“No! I want her to stop singing!”
“So, you can sing?” He laughs, clearly drunk and not understanding what I’m asking. “Gina! Come down here!” He calls.
She calls back and walks towards the edge of the stage, the song coming to an end now.
I’m so infuriated, I can’t get my words out.
Gina hands Mike the microphone, who in turn, hands it directly to me.
But all I can do is sigh. This is not exactly what I wanted.
Mike and Gina are highly disappointed in me for not singing.
“Sing!” Mike shouts.
“I don’t know any songs,” I reply flatly, the microphone ringing with feedback. Mike yanks the microphone from me, and hands it to Dean instead, who has been hovering over me nervously.
“Sing!” Mike shouts. The music from Andy’s song has ended, and the opening notes to a new one are beginning. It’s not another one of Andy’s songs, thank god. I don’t recognize this song until Dean opens his mouth.
“You think I’m pretty without any makeup on?” It sounds like a question coming from him. It’s Teenage Dream by Katy Perry. Dean’s voice is deep and melodic, and while he sounds a little confused, he gets the lyrics right without looking at the screen.
Mike and Gina cheer him on as he continues singing and it sounds like he’s actually enjoying it. Gina reaches her hand out as he strikes the chorus and pulls him up onto stage. He’s as stiff as a brick wall on stage, while Gina dances, but he sounds good.
He rocks his hips to the beat and does a weird little motion with his arm, and I can’t help but burst out laughing like this is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. He looks like he’s living in his own teenage dream.
“I’m sorry!” I yell out to him as he takes notice of what must seem like me heckling him. Dean pauses to give me a goofy, lopsided grin but quickly catches back up to the end of the song, not a single note off key. A small crowd has gathered at the foot of the stage, called here by Dean’s voice.
When he finishes, he hands the microphone off to a wildly dancing Gina who hands it off to someone else in the crowd and the next song begins. Dean hops off the stage, right to where I was standing, dead center.
“I sing that whole, embarrassing song to you, and all you can do is laugh?” Dean’s own laugh reverberates through my skull on repeat. “You owe me one, big time for that save.”
I mimic the thing he did with his hand—something like a NSYNC dance move. “What the hell was that? I didn’t know you could sing.” I shout.
“I’ve always been able to sing. I used to be a choir boy.” He leans back on the stage coolly, like we’re not packed like sardines by a million drunk people and like he didn’t just sing a rendition of a super hot, super sexy version of the most popular song from a decade ago.
The noise level from the crowd is growing louder and louder by the second as someone starts singing Uptown Funk. There are so many things I don’t know about Dean, and I find myself wanting to know more about him the more time I spend with him—not that I think he’ll ever tell me.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Dean shouts over the voices. I focus on his eyes in order to hear him better. His face is the only clear thing in the crowd.
“What about our dinner?” I ask.
“We’ll ask for a box?” He suggests, rolling his eyes. The crowd at the stage has grown considerably. “I’ll get it wrapped up. I’ll grab your coat and meet you by the door.”
He wades back into the crowd, and now that he’s gone, I’m hit with the vastness of the crowd and the lack of light.
That’s when I notice a man, maybe in his mid-fifties, approaching me from the middle of the crowd of people.
I don’t recognize him, so I can’t imagine what he could possibly want.
I turn my head and look around, maybe he’s not coming for me after all, but still, he walks faster and faster, pushing past people until he’s directly in front of me.
“Hi!” He yells excitedly. “I’m Ryan!”
“Um, okay? Hi?” I avert my eyes so as to not make eye contact, trying to signal I don’t want to talk to him.
“Can I get a picture with you?” He blurts it out so quickly, I’m almost not sure I heard him correctly. The music is booming, and the person on stage singing is certainly off-key.
“What?” I say defensively. “Why would you want a picture?”
“You’re Andy McKinney’s wife right? You’re Madeline. From the song earlier.” He smiles widely. “I love Andy’s music and I’d love a photo with you!”
“No, um, I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” I give him a sweet smile, and turn away from him.
“Please? What about a selfie?” Ryan begs tactlessly. Who even is this guy?
“No, thank you.” I take a step away, trying to remove myself from the situation, but the crowd is thick and comes in waves. I can’t find a clear path out of here, as people walk in and out of my field of vision.
“Come on! Let’s just take one, it’ll be really quick.” He aims his phone at me, the flash going off. It goes off again and again as I walk away. Is this guy fucking serious?
“Please stop!” I shout as he follows me through the crowd towards the exit. My heart is pounding as he follows me.
This hardly happened when Andy was alive, I can’t believe it’s happening now that he’s dead. I flash back to awards shows, cameras flashing, interview questions, red carpet walks. That’s not me anymore.
“Please!” I’m heaving, starting to hyperventilate but this man won’t stop following me with his camera flash on. Ryan makes a grab for my arm, and our hands brush as I yank my arm out of the way.
“I’m so going to post this online,” Ryan sniggers, reaching for me again.
“Leave her alone!” A voice booms over my head, and a hand grips my shoulder. Thank god, it’s Dean. I’m so grateful he’s back, and I wish he never left me in the first place.
We continue walking away, his hand is iron clad on my shoulder. “Fuck off, dude. Post anything online and you’ll hear from my lawyer.” Dean is stern, and a second later, I hear a phone clatter to the ground.
Tears are forming in my eyes, but I’m not crying so much as it’s just water falling from my face.
Swiftly, Dean pushes me forward, and I break into a speed-walk.
The walls are closing in on me and I can’t breathe.
My heart is racing, and my smartwatch is beeping at me.
I’m nervous and unsteady knowing my heart is going so fast, but all I can focus on is getting out of the crowd that seems to have tripled in size.
I can’t even worry about getting sick right now.
“My bag, do you have my bag?” I ask Dean, who is practically attached to my back. “I need my bag! It has my medicine.” The panic in my voice is rising at the thought of being without my bag. I can’t believe I went without it for this long.
“Yes, I have your bag,” Dean reassures me. He takes my hand and guides it to the straps of my bag. I hug it close to my chest like a security blanket or stuffed animal.
“Oh my god, thank you.” I feel so grateful to have my tote bag back, that I start crying for real.
We burst into the cold of the outdoors, and it immediately stings my cheeks.
It’s snowing and there’s at least six inches on the ground, and it’s still coming down.
The snow muffles the noisy bar in the background, and I’ve never been so grateful to be so cold.
I run a couple of paces on the barely shoveled pathway, out into the courtyard.