Chapter 23 #2
My mom and I barely eked by in Virginia, with no college degrees in our family tree. Despite the culture clash, Liv and I dated all four years—until we graduated and Liv’s freewheeling personality wheeled her away from me.
But that was the past. Now, it’s simply nice to see an old friend.
She tugs on my arm as the audience hushes. “Look, it’s time for the interview.”
Behind his mahogany desk, with the glittering Los Angeles skyline behind him, Jimmy Kimmel—fifties, salt-and-pepper beard, amiable smile—stands up and announces the Saints.
My heart drums as Hannah, Ripper, and Kenny walk single file onstage, then shake Jimmy’s hand. I’m sweating by the time they settle in their seats and the applause dies down. I close my eyes for a brief moment. Please, no swearing on live TV.
“Thanks for being here,” Jimmy says to the band, smoothing his tie.
“It’s good to see you all in one piece. Judging by your recent viral videos, is it safe to say concert stages are slipperier than us nonmusicians might imagine?
” He delivers the question with his signature sly smile.
The audience chuckles. Great. Starting out with a reference to Hannah falling. Thanks, Jimmy.
Ripper kicks a leg over one knee and leans back. “I think it’s safer to say you shouldn’t get fucked-up and try to walk a straight line onstage.” He grins, pleased with himself.
Oh, no. I place a hand over my mouth. I forgot to tell Ripper not to be himself.
The audience titters good-naturedly. Beside me, Liv turns and widens her eyes. I know what she’s saying: Your people better get their act together.
“Oh boy,” says Jimmy, unbuttoning the top button of his suit. “It’s going to be one of those interviews.” The audience laughs again. “Let’s get down to business: first of all, congratulations on your success. Your music is resonating with a lot of people.”
“People with fine-ass taste,” Kenny agrees.
Jimmy chuckles and darts a glance offstage, presumably at his director. He tugs at his neckline, pretending to sweat. “Giving our censors quite a workout, aren’t we?”
More laughter. “But really, Hannah, you’re the songwriter of the group. You guys made your name with a lighter genre of music. Why the change in direction?”
Hannah, at least, is taking this seriously.
She folds her hands on her knees. “The way I’ve always worked is that I write what I’m feeling.
I’m not trying to stay in a lane or write what’s going to sell, as much as I realize the three of us need to sell records to pay rent.
I’m putting pieces of myself into these songs, and I guess my old self was a feel-good kind of person.
My new self . . . well, I’ll let you be the judge. ”
“She’s a lady dirtbag,” Ripper quips, to some laughs.
Liv leans over. “Is Hannah okay?” she whispers. “Like, in general?”
I cross my arms and press my lips in a tight line. “That’s not my place to talk about.”
“Right. Of course.” She gives me a strange look.
Jimmy leans in closer. “The thing about your new music that resonates the most with me is the way it captures the fury and helplessness of grief. As the audience might know, you lost your sister almost a year ago. I’m very sorry for your loss, first of all.
Are these new songs your way of processing?
Do you think it’s possible to heal yourself through art? ”
My heart leaps into my throat. He can’t ask her that. It’s too personal.
Hannah looks down at her combat boots. When she finally speaks, she does it slowly.
“Yes, our new music is about my sister. But I’m not trying to process her loss.
That implies I’m trying to move on from it, and I’m not.
I know people assume the songs are meant to be cathartic, but I’m not trying to work through the pain.
I’m trying to live inside it. Keep these feelings alive so she never fades.
” She presses a hand to her heart. “Honestly, if I thought the songs were helping me get over her, I’d stop making them. ”
“Do you think that’s healthy?” Jimmy asks gently. He’s looking at her like he’s forgotten all of us are watching.
“With all due respect, being healthy isn’t at the top of my priority list. Wouldn’t you do anything to keep the people you love, Jimmy?”
Kenny, Ripper, the show’s crew, the audience—everyone goes silent.
Jimmy leans forward and blinks for a moment.
“Yes,” he says honestly. “I suppose I would’ve done anything to keep close to the people I’ve lost. I just didn’t have your way with words.
Or your singing voice.” There’s the lightest chuckle from the audience.
“Thank you for wearing your heart on your sleeve for the rest of us.” As the audience claps, he turns to the cameras, his face uncharacteristically somber.
“This is Jimmy Kimmel Live!, and we’ll be right back with Jacob Elordi and Garrett Billings.
” The lights on the cameras go out and the crew jumps onstage.
“See?” Liv says, hands on her hips. “Hannah’s answer was great, nothing to worry about. They’re definitely going to run that clip in the promos.” She glances at me.
I’m trying to get my breathing under control. Trying to take deep inhales like Kenny taught me. But I can’t stop pulling at my shirt. I need it to be looser, need the hot lump in my throat to go away. It worked out. They’re okay. She got through it.
Liv’s eyes soften. When she speaks, her voice is knowing. “Oh. Now I get it. That’s dangerous, Theo. Very dangerous.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, but I turn so she can’t see my face.