CHAPTER EIGHT #3
Sure, I’d sent a few sporadic texts in our family group chat—some blurry venue shots, a couple of crowd selfies, but I knew that wasn’t enough. They have my location shared so they can keep tabs on where I am, but I want to actually talk to them, to hear their voices.
So, sitting cross-legged on the small bed in the back room of the bus, I tap on my mom’s contact and hit the video call button.
As the phone rings, I catch a quick glimpse of myself in the mini preview window—hair slightly tousled, eyeliner a little smudged from the day, but still presentable enough. I smooth down my shirt, waiting for the chime of the call being answered.
A few rings in, the screen lights up with my mom’s face, already smiling before she even says a word. Her blue eyes sparkle, the way they always do when she sees me, even if just through a screen.
“Hi, sweetie! Oh, it’s so good to see your face. Let me get your father.”
I hear her calling out, footsteps echoing as my dad shuffles in from wherever he’d been, probably working in his garage or tinkering with something at his desk.
A few seconds later, his grin appears in the frame, followed by a big, enthusiastic wave.
“There’s my Mona girl!” he greets, settling next to my mom at the kitchen table, their phone propped up so I can see both of them.
I smile.
“Hey, Dad. Hey, Mom. It’s good to see you guys.”
As much fun as I am having, I realize just how much I miss them—their easy conversation, their unwavering support, the way they make me feel like no matter where I am in the world, I always have a home.
“How’s everything going, sweetheart?” my dad asks, eyes pinching with curiosity.
I exhale, my grin widening. “Honestly? It’s been incredible. I feel like… this is what I’m meant to do.”
And I mean it.
The rush of live music, the energy of the crowds, the pure creative freedom—this world feels like it fits me in a way that nothing else ever has.
My mom lets out a delighted sigh.
“That’s so wonderful to hear.”
“Yeah,” I add, emotion lacing my voice, “thank you guys for being supportive.”
I had been so worried about them not understanding, but they’d proven that while they had their reservations, they ultimately are in my corner.
I spend the next several minutes catching them up—telling them about the Lexington and Baltimore shows, how exhausting but exhilarating it all is. I explain my merch routine, how I am handling social media for the band, and how much I love capturing everything through my lens.
I watch their expressions light up as I talk, knowing that they are just as excited as I am.
“The band members sound great,” my dad says. “Do we get to meet them?”
I grin. “Of course. Hold on.”
Pushing myself off the bed, I step out into the main part of the bus—where Grady and Cody are engaged in an intense debate, complete with animated hand gestures.
“I’m telling you, a gorilla would win.”
“Absolutely not, bears are built for combat!”
I choke back a laugh. Gorilla vs. Bear. This is apparently a very serious discussion.
“Hey guys, sorry to interrupt,” I say, biting back amusement. “Want to meet my parents?”
Before I can even turn the phone in their direction, Cody snatches it from my hands, dramatically waving at the screen like a long-lost friend.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Hendrix! I’m Cody, this is Grady, and we LOVE your daughter. She’s singlehandedly changed our lives on this tour.”
My cheeks warm at the sentiment. As chaotic as he is, I know he means it, and that makes my heart squeeze in the best way. Grady leans into the frame, flashing a charming smile.
“Nice to meet you both! And yes, your daughter is an angel.”
From the front seat, Jasper emerges, apparently tugged by the commotion. He gives a small wave, introduces himself, and mutters something about Cody talking too much, earning a dramatic gasp and a playful shove from Grady.
I plop down next to them so I can be in frame, watching as Cody hijacks the conversation, filling my parents in on every detail of tour life, his favorite snacks, and his extensive conspiracy theories about Bigfoot.
“Oh god,” Grady mutters, rubbing his temples. “I’m so sorry.”
My dad, to my surprise, is fully engaged, nodding along as if Cody’s ramblings are the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard.
“Where are you all headed tonight?” my dad asks, his voice warm and curious.
“Philly!” I say, practically bouncing in my seat. I’ve never been there before, and just the thought of another new city makes my heart jump in anticipation.
“Oh, Philly is wonderful!” my mom chimes in, her tone light and nostalgic.
“If you have time,” my dad adds, “you have to stop at Pat’s and Geno’s for a cheesesteak and compare the two. It’s a rite of passage.”
“Oh, great idea, Mr. Hendrix! We’re definitely doing that,” Cody says, already running with it. Without missing a beat, he spins around, whips open the partition curtain, and shouts toward the front of the bus, “Hey, Elias! We’re getting Philly cheesesteaks before the show—thanks, buddy!”
I glance up just in time to catch his reaction.
He throws a sharp glare over his shoulder, the sunlight slanting through the bus windows and catching in the deep brown strands of his hair, making them glint like burnished copper.
His jaw tightens for half a second before he shifts his focus back to the road, the picture of reluctant tolerance.
Cody, completely unbothered, slings an arm around my shoulders and lets out a laugh that’s all mischief, like he’s already picturing the feast.
“Is that another band member?” my mom asks.
“Oh yeah! That’s our frontman!” Cody says brightly. “The star of the show. Say hi to Ramona’s parents, Elias!”
Without even turning fully around, Elias lifts a languid hand in a casual, wordless wave, the picture of someone who’s used to being roped into chaos without consent.
His attention stays locked on the road ahead, but there’s something about the slight tilt of his lips—barely there—that makes me wonder if he’s more amused than he’s letting on.
“Nice to meet you all,” my dad calls. “Maybe we can come visit for a show sometime.”
I beam. “I would love that.”
“Hell yeah! We’ll give you guys the full parental VIP treatment. Backstage passes, free t-shirts… oh! maybe a song dedication!” Cody declares.
My parents chuckle in unison at his enthusiasm, but my dad responds, “Looking forward to it.”
After a while, I excuse myself back to the quiet of my room, chatting for a few more minutes before saying my goodbyes.
The second I hang up, Cody yells across the bus— “Bye Mr. and Mrs. Hendrix! Love you already!”
I groan, shaking my head, but can’t stop the grin that tugs at my lips.
God, I love these idiots.