Wreck the Halls

They would grow back. Her heart probably wouldn’t. Or if it did grow back, it would be some awkwardly stitched-up Frankenstein version of it.

“Miss Gallard, the crowd is assembling quickly,” said a member of the security team. One of six who was flanking her on the way down the sidewalk after a trip to the bookstore to pick up her latest project. An old copy of The Giver that desperately needed to be restored to its former glory. “Do you mind walking a little faster?”

“Sure,” she said, looking down at her feet and ordering them to comply. They could barely manage a slow slog, let alone a brisk pace, but she did her best, everything hurting. Everything. The sockets of her eyeballs pounded, her ribs were sore, fingers stiff, skin cold. The world around her looked like fake plastic movie sets. What happened?

What happened?

Melody realized she’d stopped walking completely when Danielle left Joseph’s side and rested a palm in the center of her back. “Mel, are you okay?”

No. I can’t even feel the package in my hand.

Up ahead, a group of onlookers were taking pictures of her with their camera phones. On the way to the bookstore, she’d seen herself on television through the window of a pub under the headline, “What Caused the Split?” For the last three days, every time she ventured outside, people asked, “Where is Beat? Why did you break up?” It was constant. On the internet, theories were flying. They ranged from an unwanted pregnancy to another woman to a difference of opinion on pizza toppings.

“Mel,” Danielle prompted, softly. “Do you want me to call an Uber?”

Before Melody could answer, Danielle’s phone started to ring. Again. It had been ringing nonstop for the last three days, probably the network wondering why she wasn’t doing anything to bolster ratings. Apparently cutting her bangs didn’t count.

Danielle sighed and answered the phone. She shot Melody a glance and then turned away. “She’s surrounded by security,” Melody thought she overheard. Followed by, “Turn on the live stream and see for yourself . . . well, if you never turn it off, then why do you keep calling to check in? You can see everything that’s happening. You can see she’s safe . . .”

Security started ushering her forward then, obviously having given up on her actual feet. Come on, she could do this. Walk. Her apartment was only two more blocks, long though they were. Bracing her shoulders, Melody reached down deep for some strength and worked up a brisk pace, setting one foot in front of the other. Security moved with her, Joseph taking up the rear of their posse. People ran alongside them in the street or stopped their cars in the middle of the road to watch her pass, their curiosity about the breakup coming across loud and clear, even when they didn’t ask.

Join the club.

She had no idea what happened.

One minute, she’d been on cloud nine, in love with the most magical human ever to be created and lucky enough to have her affections returned. The next, the lights had gone out and she’d been surrounded by impenetrable darkness.

When they passed the community garden on her right, Melody knew they were only half a block away from her destination and she glanced up, hoping that seeing her door might give her the final impetus she needed to get inside, away from the cloying curiosity. But instead of seeing her door, she saw a person instead. A woman.

A manacle closed around her throat and locked tight when she realized it was Trina.

Trina stood outside of her door.

Her mother was here.

Her guitar case was propped up against the metal gate—and if that pungent scent in the air was any indication, Trina had recently partaken in a midafternoon joint.

“Mom?” Melody called, as they drew closer.

“Oh my God,” Danielle whispered behind her, apparently having finished her phone call.

The people who had been following Melody on her errand took a collective gasp—and all hell broke loose. Camera phones changed their target, flashes went off, voices rose in volume. Trina didn’t even bat an eyelash. Didn’t pay them the least bit of attention, really. Her focus was trained on her daughter.

“I know. You told me not to come. Either way, I’m not due a visit for another five or six weeks, but . . .” she started, jerking a thumb over her shoulder, “mind if I crash for a few nights anyway?”

Trina’s unexpected appearance was Melody’s tipping point.

For the last three days, she’d been too numb, in too much shock, to cry. Trina showing up on her doorstep in the middle of her anguish proved to be the kick she needed to burst the dam. Scalding tears pressed to the backs of her eyelids and overflowed, a sob bursting from her mouth. She cried like a toddler, right there in front of everyone in the middle of the sidewalk. Vaguely, Melody was aware of Danielle’s phone starting to ring again, but the sound faded behind her as she jogged through the gate to Trina and threw herself into her mother’s arms. Halfway there, it occurred to her Trina might not hug her back after the scene in New Hampshire, but her heart couldn’t be broken any worse than it already was, could it?

Might as well be reckless.

Thankfully, after a surprised jolt, Trina did wrap her arms around Melody.

Chaos was breaking loose in the street, more and more people arriving, probably having watched the rock star’s arrival on the live stream.

“We should get inside,” Melody muttered thickly, fumbling for her keys in the small cross-body pouch she was wearing.

“Sounds good.” Trina coughed, her own eyes holding a suspicious sheen as she surveyed the street, her attention drawn by the shouts of her name. “Damn. How long has it been like this?”

“Since the stream started, pretty much. It has died down in the last three days because I’ve done nothing but work and watch Bob Ross reruns.” Melody unlocked the door and stepped aside to allow Trina, Danielle, and Joseph to follow them in. “There was a spike in viewership when I cut my own bangs. I think we broke the record for most crying emojis sent at one time on the internet. So that’s nice.”

Trina brushed Melody’s bangs with her index finger. “Very punk rock.”

“A bad demo tape, maybe.” Melody unbuttoned her jacket and hung it on the peg, her mind automatically flashing back to Beat hanging up her coat on Monday night, his scent and size and safety making her apartment feel like a little bubble of heaven. “What are you doing here?”

Trina eyed the camera. “Is that thing going to keep rolling the whole time?”

“It’s here until Christmas Eve. Part of the contract I signed with the devil.” She winced. “No offense, Danielle.”

“None taken.” The producer was half hidden behind Joseph. “I’m not here.”