“Have you had a chance to talk to him? Really talk to him? Or is that connection not there anymore?”
“It’s there.” I shake my head as if I don’t want it to be there. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”
She twists her lips in the way that has me wanting to know what she’s thinking. “Then I guess that means there hasn’t been any time for you two to talk about . . . things.”
“Like how we left it that last time we saw each other? Me waking up and him being nowhere to be found? Me calling him over and over without a single response? Being railroaded by his manager and being put in my place so I knew I was just one in Vince’s long list of many? You mean that talk?” I snort. “I’m pretty sure we’re either both avoiding it, or it only really mattered on my end because of what resulted from it.”
“You slept together. I’d think that would matter to both of you.”
“Mom, he’s a rock star. I’m not na?ve enough to think that he doesn’t have women lined up outside his dressing room before and after every show.”
“And that doesn’t bug you?”
“I’m not with him, am I? It’s his business what he does. He’s a big boy.”
Her eyes hold mine, and her smile softens some as she sees what I’ve been trying to hide all along. Maybe even to myself.
“You never stopped loving him, did you?” she murmurs.
My throat burns with emotion. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Maybe I don’t have an answer to the question.”
“And maybe you’re being evasive like you are when you know the answer but fear it’s going to upset me.” She glances back to Jagger, her eyes steadfast on him when she speaks.
“Upset you? No. But, I mean . . . look at him and look at me.”
“Meaning?”
I tilt my head to the side and simply stare at her as I hold my hands out. “He’s ridiculously successful while I’m still in school and working toward getting accepted to law school and eventually passing the bar exam. He’s lusted after by millions, and this body of mine isn’t exactly in prime shape.”
“First, yes, you’re working toward the bar. Do you know how many people would have given up their dream? You haven’t, so I don’t want to hear a word about that. And second, do you really want to get me started on how you see yourself?”
“Noted. Never mind.” I laugh it off, but it doesn’t take away my insecurities.
“No. Not never mind. You asked it, so I’m going to say it. What’s wrong with your body? So your curves are more pronounced than they were in high school. That’s called being normal. That’s called maturing. That’s called having a baby. That’s called being a voluptuous woman.”
“It’s called having stretch marks.”
“And every damn one of them gave you that beautiful boy outside so I’m not going to hear it. Besides, I never remembered Vince being a shallow man. He did love you even when you had braces. Then that permed hair phase where you looked like a poodle.” She shivers. “Oh, and even the white, sparkly eyeshadow phase. I mean—”
“Yes. Okay. I get it.” I chuckle. “But that didn’t mean that seeing him again made me feel less than when he’s become so much more.”
“And he made you feel this way? He said oh, wow, you have Marilyn Monroe curves and a nice ass, and I don’t like that?”
“Seriously, Mom?”
“Did he?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Point made.” She gives me a resolute nod and then a smug smile. “Now that we’ve debunked that myth, I’m going to say this. Vince is the only man I’ve ever seen you upset over. Twice. That says a lot, which is why I asked if you ever stopped loving him.”
Her comment opens a door I’m afraid to step through. If I don’t give her an outright answer, then I don’t have to acknowledge it myself.
Who am I kidding, though?
I knew it from the moment I heard his voice that first night at the sound stage.
“I think a part of me will always love him,” I finally admit.
“Mmm,” she says in that way that makes me feel judged. No one ever wants to feel judged by their parents.
“I’m older now. I’m wiser,” I say, feeling the need to justify my comment. “I could love him all I want, but that isn’t going to make him stay. And I deserve that. Someone who will stay and make a life with me. Not someone who refuses to put down roots. He can say all he wants that it’s because of his lifestyle—touring and whatever—but I know it’s because of his parents. If you don’t put your feet down, you can’t get attached, and therefore you can’t get hurt. You can’t get left behind.”
“You’ve thought about this a lot.”
“It’s all I’ve been thinking about. Then and now. Besides, I’ve internally justified my decisions a lot over the years.”
“Unnecessarily, but I understand.” She takes a sip of her water. “So what now? If that connection is there, who says he isn’t going to ask you out while he’s here?”
“I know deep down that anything with Vince would be fleeting.” The almost kiss in the elevator fills my head. I haven’t stopped thinking about it or him, to be fair. “The problem is I’d get attached. He’ll move on to the next city, the next woman, the next whatever, and I’d be here hurting. I’ve already let the man hurt me more than enough.”
“No one ever said love always felt good.”
“Then why feel it at all?”
“Because it’s not a choice. It’s just something that happens even when you don’t want it to.”
“Why do you sound like you’re encouraging this?”
“The only thing I’m encouraging you in is whatever decisions you make.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bristol
“What do you mean you don’t know how the recording sessions are going? Aren’t you supposed to be keeping tabs on him? Making sure he has everything he needs? Is this job too much for you, Matthews? Do I need to put someone else on Jennings?”
Xavier’s words run on repeat through my mind. His barked words through the telephone that I luckily answered, even though I was in the middle of a spin class.
The one and only spin class I’ve been able to make in the last month and of course, my boss interrupts it, once again reinforcing how much of a life I don’t have. He thinks mine should be lived solely for him.
But I asked “how high” to his proverbial command to jump. Of course, I did because I’m standing at the door to Bellinger Studios where Vince is supposedly inside. I didn’t know the answers to Xavier’s questions because I’ve been avoiding Vince.
Not exactly an easy feat when I’m supposed to be tending to him, but a few doses of my own reality—Jagger falling off his bike and skinning his knees, a professor telling me that he expected more from me on the paper I turned in, my car acting up so much that I’m afraid of what the mechanic will say when I take it in—were all the reminder I needed. This is my life, and Vince’s is the polar opposite.
The question is, what do I intend to do before that day happens?
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter to myself and pull open the nondescript door to the building in front of me, hoping like hell I’m in the right place.
The walls are dark and the lighting dim, and there is no one manning the front desk. Nor does it look like anyone has manned it in some time by the large stacks of various things covering its surface.
Fearful of calling out and messing someone’s recording session up, I stand there for a few minutes debating what to do. I could always text Vince and let him know I’m here, but then that would give him my cell phone number and I’m not certain I want him to have that yet.
Ridiculous, I know.
Standing in indecision, I startle at the sound of a door opening, closing, followed by footsteps down the hall.
“Hey. Hi. Who are you here for and do they know you’re coming?”