Anna let out a long sigh as she threaded her fingers through my hair. It was wistful, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she missed having sex with me too. Rubbing her back, I murmured, “Maybe Mom and Dad can watch the kids tonight, and we can borrow the car? Take a drive somewhere nice and quiet…get freaky in the backseat?” I wriggled my eyebrows at her and she smirked.
“You want to borrow your parents’ car and make out at a lookout point.” Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “It’s like I’m fifteen again.”
Ignoring the humor in her tone, I said, “Just an idea. You seemed like you wanted to do me, that’s all.”
She made another wistful sigh. “No…that’s not what I was thinking about.” When I gave her a funny look, she smiled and amended her statement. “Yes, I do want to do you, and not just hidden away in the pantry, but…” She sighed again. “Kiera called this morning. She’s pregnant…”
By the way she said it, and the way she stared at Onnika beating the phone against the mattress, it was clear she wanted to be pregnant again too. “You want to try for another one, babe? ’Cause we can put Onnie down for a nap, find Gibson, and…” Peering over Anna’s shoulder, I listened for my eldest daughter. “Where is Gibson anyway?”
Anna shook her head and answered my first question. “We can’t afford another baby right now, Griffin. Not until the show starts.” By the way she said it, she was holding on to that possibility like it was a lifeline. Like she was hoping the album did well, but the show was her true salvation. A horrible feeling welled within me—it was corrosive, like battery acid, and for the millionth time, I thought I should just tell her the truth. I opened my mouth to do it right as Gibson ran into the room holding a foot-long snake.
“Look, Mommy! It’s squirmy!”
Gibson laughed. Anna screamed. And the truth never made it past my lips.
Thanks to loans and credit cards, I was able to pay all the people I owed money to and was able to finish my album. It took two more very long months to do it, but I eventually had a full, finished record. And even though the album was the best thing I’d ever heard while I’d been recording it, I was nervous to hear the final product, scared even. It was a strange feeling for me. I was never nervous. For anything. Maybe it was the stress of living with my parents. Maybe it was the fact that I owed a shitload of money that I wouldn’t be able to repay if this album wasn’t a hit. Maybe it was because I had a ton of pressure on me now, like never before. Or maybe it was just the fact that I was doing this alone, without Anna 100 percent beside me, because she didn’t know the whole story. I hated it. In many ways, life had been so much easier when I was with the D-Bags.
On the night the album went live for preordering, I brought a copy home for everyone to listen to. Mom invited the family over for dinner and made a batch of her world-famous lasagna. I almost wished she hadn’t, since I was kind of freaking out about this CD—literally everything I had was riding on this album—but I supposed it was only appropriate to have the people I cared about most there for the unveiling. It better be good. I couldn’t afford for it to be anything less than amazing.
While dinner cooked, I sat everyone down in the living room. My palms were sweating, I was so tense. Damn it, I hated clammy hands. This was my moment of glory. I should be flying high, so full of confidence it bordered on arrogance. And any other time I would have been, but this flimsy little disc was either going to make me or break me. Fuck.
Grabbing the plain CD case, I showed it to my family. “This is going to blow your mind.” I hoped they bought the assurance, since I didn’t really feel it.
Liam, leaning forward, asked, “Who is Figfrin Hancock?”
Wondering what the hell Liam was talking about, I looked at the CD case. Sure as shit, written in bold Sharpie across the CD were the words “Figfrin Hancock Demo.” What the fuck? “The idiot producer spelled it wrong, is all.”
Liam snorted. “Wow, if he can’t even get your name right, I can’t wait to hear this.”
Drilling holes into him with my eyes, I opened the case and popped out the CD. My stomach felt like I’d eaten a questionable taco from an even more questionable food truck. If I had antacids, I’d be downing them like candy. It made me wish I had a drink in my hand. Or several. Please let this be good.
The CD started to play, but oddly, what was coming out of the stereo wasn’t music. It was me complaining to the producer. “Is it going? I can’t hear the music. Should I be able to hear the music? Or am I supposed to fucking guess where we’re at in the song. Oh, wait…here we go. I hear it now. Let’s do this shit!” Then a hard-driving beat started. Weird that he’d kept that in, but oh well, I guess it worked. What didn’t work was the fact that I came in late. Even I could hear that I was a beat behind the rhythm. Chelsey and Mom had their eyebrows bunched, like they knew something was off. What the hell? I thought maybe it would correct when it got to the rapping section, but it didn’t. If anything, it was even more off.