31. June
JUNE
A Way Back to Then - [title of show]
No amount of melatonin gummies put me to sleep last night.
There was the usual audition anxiety, of course, but more than that, I couldn’t settle without Nick’s presence.
The soft sounds of his breathing, the little hum he makes in the back of his throat when he reaches for me—in a few short weeks, I’ve forgotten how to sleep alone.
And I can’t chalk up my current stomachache to the melatonin gummies. Or the pastel walls of Ripley Grier that feel more appropriate for a grippy sock vacation than an audition studio. This is too much pink, even for Elle Woods.
But that’s show biz, baby.
All the auditions, callbacks, tours, yes, that’s my job, but it never felt like my job.
Until recently.
I used to perform for the love of it, because it fed my soul. I’d moved to the city after college graduation, so full, so ready. But somewhere along the way, this job started taking more than it gave.
And now it’s taken Nick.
He said that it won’t, and I want to believe him. I do believe him. But love isn’t always enough to survive a world that takes, and takes, and takes. I gave up a lot to follow this dream. I happily gave up a lot.
But the nerves I feel now, as I sit on this sad little bench in this sad little hallway, they’re not the excited nerves of possibility. They’re dread. Cold sweat breaks out at my temples.
I’m dreading this audition.
My head thunks back against the wall behind me. Well, shit.
This is not how my life was supposed to go. But, isn’t sticking to my plan, even when it’s not what’s best for me, the same as Nick not pursuing his dream?
We’re both playing it safe, afraid of failing.
I … don’t want to tour anymore.
I want to stay in one place. With one man.
Of course, this epiphany hits after I tell him failure’s an open door. No one else gets to decide which one I walk through.
And I’m ready to open a new door.
June
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, holding my phone in a death grip and speedwalking down the sidewalk. The next bus to Sadlersburg doesn’t leave for four hours.
That’s a million years in grand gesture time.
Nick deserves a grander gesture than me showing up at the gala, but that’s what I’m working with. Except I won’t make it there on time if I take a bus.
Unless …
I call my sister.
“Hey, Junie,” Wils’ voice is loud over the commotion in the background.
“Where are you?”
“Ambrosia. Breakfast with Mom,” she answers.
I didn’t anticipate the double whammy of sister and mom, but it’ll have to do. “Listen, I need the hugest favor from you. Ever. Like, ever ever.”
“I’m in. Where do you need me to hide the body?” Wils replies with a laugh.
“Aww, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said.” I couch my sentiment in sarcasm for Wils, like giving a dog a pill wrapped in cheese … I’ll keep that analogy to myself.
“Because I love you, bitch.”
“So you love me enough to drive to my apartment in the city and pick me up? And drive me back to Sadlersburg?”
“Oh, fuck no.”
“But you said you’d hide a body for me,” I whine as I cross the street.
“That’s way easier than braving midtown Manhattan traffic.”
“Damn, you have a point.”
“Did you forget your serums or night creams or some shit?”
“No, I—no.” I suck in a deep breath for courage. “I didn’t go to my audition. I need to find Nick and tell him. Tell him that I’m not touring anymore.”
“You’re what ?” There’s a muffled sound, and Wils whispers in the background, like she’s got her hand over the receiver. “Okay, we’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“We?” I gulp down air.
“Like Mom would miss this?”
“Yeah, okay. Thank you, I mean it.” I hang up as I head down the subway stairs for the train to Queens. I’ve got enough time to change into a gala-worthy dress, and it’ll give me something to do that isn’t worrying about Nick.
Except, I speed through my getting-ready routine, despite checking my phone every two minutes. And I’ve thought of nothing but Nick for the last two hours.
At the back of my closet sits a hunter green satin dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves. I didn’t pack it for Conservatory because I worried it was doing too much. That was scared me talking, though. Grand gesture me slips it on, ready to get her man.
I slide on my strappy sandals, tripping when my phone vibrates with a text from Willow. They’re outside. Grabbing my re-packed overnight bag, and my tiny purse that matches my dress, I’m out the door.
I shimmy into the backseat, and Mom unbuckles and gets in the back with me.
“Great, now I’m just the chauffeur?” Wils huffs from the driver’s side.
I make a snooty gesture with my hand, saying, “As you were, Jeffries.”
She groans but pulls into traffic.
“So.” Mom angles her whole body in my direction. “Fill us in, what’s going on.”
“I—” My throat closes. Now that I’ve got to say it out loud, to my mother no less, my command of the English language escapes me. “Uh, I skipped the audition. I’m kind of tired of touring. I—I want to stay in one place. For a while.”
Mom’s eyebrows kick up. “In Sadlersburg?”
“No,” I answer, but a little too aggressively, because she blinks fast. “I know you want me to move back home?—”
“When did I ever say that?” she cuts me off.
“This whole summer? When you kept bugging me about quitting acting and moving back?” I scoff.
“ Quitting ? Juniper Marie Danielowicz, what gave you the impression I want you to quit?”
“So we’re pretending you didn’t say being on Broadway shouldn’t be my dream anymore? And that I should lock Nick down or he’s going to dump me for someone who doesn’t move around?”
Mom sighs.
I catch Wils’ eyes in the rearview mirror, and she nods her support, but remains silent. Her presence bolsters me, though, and I continue. “I’m not like you. I’m not going to get married and have kids and give up on my music, like you did.”
“Music isn’t something you can give up.” The palm of her hand rubs over her sternum. “It lives inside you. I could no more give it up than I could give up being a mom. Even with grown children. Who do not listen to a word that comes out of my mouth.” She grumbles that last bit.
I grip the strap of my seatbelt to steady myself as I lob the biggest bomb yet. “I don’t want kids. Ever.”
Silence rings out in the car. Even the traffic outside is muted. I stare at Mom, who nods and says, “Okay.”
I wait for the rest of whatever she’s going to say, but nothing follows. “That’s it? Okay?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s your decision, not mine.” She reaches out, her hand brushing over my forearm. “So, you’ve decided.”
“You’re not going to feed me some line about how I’ll change my mind?
” I’ve heard it a million different times in a million different ways.
And for a while, I thought it might happen.
So I waited for my mind to change, for that tug, or pull, or need—whatever I was supposed to feel in order to want kids.
But it hasn’t come yet, and I’ve lived long enough to know it likely never will.
“I’d like to think I know my own daughter, Junie. Once you set your sights on something, that’s it. You don’t waver, you don’t stray. If you say you don’t want kids, then you don’t. I love your determination and drive.”
Mom’s so good at making a compliment sound like a slight. She said I’m ambitious and driven, knowing full well I’m broke and out of work, especially after skipping this audition. “I had to be driven, though. You sacrificed so much for me, for my dreams. I couldn’t let you down.”
“It’s never once felt like a sacrifice to me.”
My blood pounds, racing fast in my veins, until my muscles tense, needing to move, to act. Maybe it wasn’t a sacrifice to her, but she made it feel like a sacrifice to me. “Yeah, well, it felt like you put me on a pedestal when I was younger.”
Wils’ eyes flash again, a smile playing across her mouth.
“A pedestal? Where is this coming from?”
“Say the thing about your butt,” Wils so helpfully adds.
“Willow Grace, I can’t believe I have to say this after twenty-two years, but no bum talk,” Mom admonishes.
A laugh bursts out of me, loosening the knotted-up feelings clogging my throat.
I needed that levity, and Wils knew it. I smile at her in the rearview mirror.
“I love that you and Dad encouraged me to dream big, made me feel like anything was possible. But it also felt like I had to accomplish those things. And since I haven’t, I disappointed you. ”
“Junie, look at me when I say this to you.” She reaches for my hands, holding them in her own and waiting until our eyes lock. “I never, ever wanted you to dream big for me. I only wanted to see you happy, and these last few years, touring, you haven’t been.”
I inhale deeply, letting my shoulders drop as I exhale. She’s right. Sitting in that Ripley Grier hallway, I finally admitted I was forcing that lifestyle to fit.
“Do you know the difference between a dream and a goal?” Mom asks, but it’s one of her favorite rhetorical questions, so I wait for her answer.
“A dream is something you have. A goal is something you achieve. Throwing yourself into tour after tour hasn’t helped you reach your dream.
You need to set goals for yourself, achievable ones, and work from there.
Not to mention, your dreams and goals are allowed to change.
You’re allowed to want different things at thirty than you did at seventeen. ”
It makes sense, what she says. It’s so damn logical that it aggravates me. “But I’m not changing my dream to start a family.”
“I didn’t say that.” I hate how calm her voice is. “And a family looks different to everyone.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because when I think of a family for you, I think of Nick. It’s obvious how much he loves you, how much he’d support you.
Of course he’ll encourage you if you want to tour, that’s the kind of man he is.
But is that what you want? A long-distance relationship while you go from hotel to hotel? ”
“I don’t know what to do, Mom. This isn’t some Hallmark movie where the city girl moves back to her hometown and falls for the grumpy baker or the Christmas tree guy.” Although, Nick in flannel with little snowflakes dusting his dark hair does things to my insides.
“I love those movies,” Wils sighs from up front.
“Me too.” Mom laughs. “I wish there was a right answer to give you. But the truth is, you have to decide what you want, and what you’re willing to do to make it happen.
All I’m saying is, I know my wonderfully stubborn daughter.
Don’t cling to something because that’s what you wanted in the past, or you think it’s what you should want.
” She pauses, thoughtful. “Or because you think I want it. I’m sorry if I put you on a pedestal.
I love you, I’m proud of you, but you’re allowed to make mistakes.
To discover what makes you happy, what makes you whole. ”
“Being with Nick,” I whisper, my throat strangled shut. “Performing with him, loving him.”
Wils pipes up, “Have you told him this?”
I delicately tap below my lash line, trying not to ruin my makeup as I wipe away my tears. “Not yet. That’s why I need to go back to the gala. I need to tell him.”
“We’ll get you there.” Mom grabs my hand in hers, squeezing. “Right, Wils?”
She gives a two-fingered salute. “Jeffries is on duty.”