“Do you think I could join the band?” Noah picks up his guitar and strums quickly and very out of tune while making a Gene Simmons face.
I set my hand over his to stop my ears from bleeding and try to fight back the laughter to no avail. My son is damn cute and funny, and he makes me believe in myself.
“You can be anything you want to be, Noah. I’m not going to stand in your way. I’ll be standing next to you, guiding and offering you all the support that you’ll need. When you succeed, I’ll be the first one to congratulate you unless your mom beats me to it... and if you fail, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”
Dads aren’t supposed to be sentimental, but I am. He’s far too important for me to hold back and not tell him how I feel. My father did that. I won’t. I won’t have a troubled relationship with my son, or be that parent he can’t come to whether it’s good or bad.
I lightly punch his shoulder and get a grin in return. “Okay, enough heavy stuff. When are you going to play the song for your mom?”
Noah returns to playing, focusing on the song this time. He hums a few lines and makes it really obvious he really doesn’t know the words.
“Can I help?” I ask, not wanting to step on his toes or get in his way.
“Sure.”
“What if you play and I sing?”
A thousand watt smile beams on his face as he fist pumps the air. “Mom is going to freaking love this.”
I quickly pull up the lyrics on my phone and read them over.
“Hey Dad,” he says, interrupting my studying.
“What’s up?”
“Do you think we could go to the studio and pretend like we’re actually laying down a track?”
Sometimes I just want to reach out, grab him and hold on, never letting go. This would be one of those moments. I’ve learned over the years, though, that too much affection is frowned upon when you’re a teenage boy.
“I think that’s a great idea. This way, once we perform, your mom can listen to it over and over again and we won’t have to treat her like a crazy fan girl.”
“Oh, she’s a fan girl all right.”
I stop dead in my tracks and bust out laughing. There have been times when I’d serenade Josie, only for her to go completely crazy and chase me around the house. It’s all in good fun. Noah doesn’t have a clue about how crazy the fans can get though, and that is something I’m trying to shield him from. The last thing I want is my son to witness women throwing their panties on stage, or cat fighting with security so they can get back stage. My favorite one is the one where they pretend they’re sick and get to use the bathroom nearest the green room. It never fails that they sneak past security and end up waiting for us.
I’ll take Josie’s type of fan girl over that any day.
Jimmy tweeted.
That is the only viable explanation as to why Whimsicality has a line outside the door. I shouldn’t complain, I’m grateful for the business. I’m just not prepared. Tonight was supposed to be about Liam and me. I was going to close the café before dinner and go home to my husband. With the band leaving tonight I need to spend every possible second with him. The last couple of days - actually more like hours - have been crazy. The fight we had, followed by my revelation, has left us both hurting in ways we can’t fix right now. Memories of the night he left still haunt me, and for me to throw it in his face was uncalled for. He’s told me why he left, why things ended for us, and I need to accept it and move on. If I can’t, I’m not in our marriage for the right reasons.
When Dana, one of my waitresses, called begging for help I knew something was up. While my business is successful, we’re not over the top busy unless it’s an open mic night or the guys are playing. Neither of which were supposed to happen tonight until Jimmy sent out his tweet: 4225 West impromptu gig at Whims before we head to LA! It only took a swipe of my thumb to see what her panic was about.