41. Chapter 41
My normal was different. I liked it. Shay and Jordan moved back in together and out of my studio. I was happy to have my bed back to myself because Shay kicked in her sleep.
Every Tuesday afternoon, I had therapy. Dad did, too.
Same time, different therapists, our weird way of keeping each other accountable.
After our appointments, we’d meet for dinner at a family-owned ramen place between my place and his.
Over decadent steaming bowls of noodles, we talked about how we were doing.
Dad and I promised to be honest with each other.
We couldn’t help each other without communicating.
That was a skill the world was hell-bent on me learning.
To my surprise, we were both putting in the work.
I was proud of him, and I was proud of myself.
I even started writing again. Getting words on the page was an ordeal, but eventually, I learned to enjoy the process.
I scrapped the time travel romance and started something different.
An enemies-to-lovers romance about a girl who owned a coffee shop and her nerdy new neighbor who bought the neighboring space to open a comic book store.
An incredibly fun and quick book to write.
Several rounds of edits later, I was hopeful it wasn’t total garbage.
My life required so much work. A fact that ran contrary to my innate laziness.
Every day wasn’t great. The seesaw of mental health was never consistent.
I still had bad days; I always would. Days where just the thought of getting out of bed filled me with dread.
Days where sleep was the only comfort I could give myself.
But days like that didn’t hold me down like they used to.
There was lightness in my life. I could see through the depressive curtain.
On a Thursday like any other, I woke up a little before Jordan was due to stop by.
Despite the angry tickling of my bladder, I stayed under my comforter.
Something kept me still. The light streaking through my window felt off.
The reason for that odd feeling revealed itself later that afternoon as I walked to a bookstore.
When I went to change the song on my playlist, a news notification greeted me.
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and blinked.
My throat closed as the words on my screen registered in my head.
Finding Summoner: The reclusive icon on music, life, and mortality.
After leaving the spotlight behind, rumors of his death circulated.
Without a statement or confirmation, those rumors snowballed into outrageous conspiracy theories online.
Music fans speculated about another Richey Edwards situation where the machine of the music industry chewed Summoner up and spit him out.
Little did they know how right they were.
The quietly complicated musician sat down for a conversation with The Hollywood Reporter at his Spanish farm about his legacy, his enduring influence, his music, and his life (he’s not dead yet).
A wave of pins and needles reached up my legs.
I stumbled forward as some caring asshole pushed past me.
Heat rushed to my head and my thoughts distorted into loud scribbles.
I couldn’t bring myself to read the article.
That was a level of torture I couldn’t fucking endure.
Steeling myself, I stomped across my apartment and grabbed my Summoner tour poster with shaking hands.
“I loved you,” I whispered.
The words were so jagged. The things he made me feel. Emotions I had boxed away spilled to the forefront of my mind. Like a warm, comforting gust of wind.
His touch.
His kiss.
His smile.
His heart.
Carefully, I took the poster down, turned the frame around, and placed it against the wall. I then crossed the room and did the same with the other poster. That part of my life was done.
***
“Are you sure you’re doing okay?” Dad asked on the other end of the phone.
“I’m surviving,” I admitted.
“That’s all any of us can do…” he trailed off.
I cried because of course I did. But when I stopped, I didn’t wallow. I wanted to but the outfit of sadness fit wrong. Face still crusted with dried tears, I walked to the store and bought stuff to make chicken noodle soup.
Currently, the pot simmered on my stove, filling my apartment with a wonderful aroma. Cooking was a pleasant distraction. Jordan and Shay were coming over later to eat and watch a movie. I had support. I wasn’t alone. I could get through this. I repeated those words in my head.
“… Dad?” I asked softly.
“Yeah?”
“Did…Did you, did you read it?” I winced at my own question.
“I did.”
“Is he…Is he okay?”
That was what I needed to know.
“I think so.”
Good.
I sighed. Summoner doing better and allowing himself into the world meant maybe something good came out of our time together.
“Did he, uh, did he mention anything?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.”
“Poppy, I can’t say I ever understood it, but I know you loved him, and he made you happy.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
He did.
“…Yeah, but nobody understands everything. Thanks for checking on me, Dad, but I’ve gotta check on my soup.”
“Love you, baby girl!”
“Love you too.”
I placed my phone face-down on the counter. For all the scenarios I had dreamed of, Summoner returning to the public eye wasn’t one I’d accounted for. I was confused.
Did I not fit into Summoner’s rockstar plan?
The inconvenient Poppy struck again. My hands pressed against the counter as negativity assaulted me.
My old friend ,Negative Self-Talk, placed an arm around my shoulders.
I sighed and recalled the coping techniques my therapist had been working with me on.
I needed to combat my thoughts. My feelings were visceral reactions, not facts.
I had no idea why Summoner broke up with me.
It was something I would most likely never know. But it did happen, that was a fact.
Sighing, I opened the fridge and grabbed a chocolate bar I bought for snack emergencies. I leaned against the cool fridge door and devoured the whole thing.
That evening, Shay stomped into my apartment in a swirl of leggings, boots, and muted colors. She grabbed me by my shoulders, her manicured nails digging through my shirt.
“Are you okay?!” she shouted.
“I’m alright, I think.”
“You think?!” Her eyes were wide.
“Yeah…Why wouldn’t I be?”
“She knows,” Jordan coughed in the background.
Shit.
“I’m so fucking hurt you guys didn’t tell me! You’ve always loved Summoner!”
I shrugged. “Times change.”
“Poppy!” she whined.
“I can’t do anything about things I can’t control. My therapist tells me that all the time. I loved him, yes, but he thought we were heading down different paths. Nothing could be done.”
My heart ached as I parroted his flimsy excuse to my friends. Their faces melted into reflections of sadness.
“I’m so sorry,” Jordan stepped forward.
I waved his sympathies away. “Thanks, but we have more important things to think about and food to eat.”
The three of us sat on the futon, ate soup, and watched Lilo and Stitch.
“Sooo, we should go to Hawaii,” Shay said in the middle of the movie.
“Why?” I asked.
“Looks fun!” she smiled.
“Sweetheart, Hawaii is struggling with resources for the native people. They are being priced out of their land. People shouldn’t go there if they don’t have to,” Jordan softly corrected.
“Oh, sorry.” Shay deflated.
“We could go somewhere else, though. Somewhere cheaper, but just as fun.” Jordan gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze.
Shay perked up again. I smirked at his character growth.
“Where would we go?” I asked.
“Oooo! Vegas!” Shay exclaimed.
Jordan’s face twisted like he tasted a lemon. “Really? Vegas? Why?”
I looked up at the TV and instantly made the connection.
“Elvis equals Vegas,” I noted.
Shay nodded and waved her hands in front of her. “Bright lights, food, gambling, shows, clubs, excitement!”
“I love a good distraction. Let’s do it!” I smiled.