Wreck the Halls

Melody hummed. “Do you want something to drink, Mom?”

“Something stiff, if you please.” Trina skirted around the couch and sat down, in the way only a rock star could. She sprawled, her limbs taking up as much space as possible. “Why am I here, you asked. Well. I guess I’m still piecing that together.” Trina gave one final, wary look at the camera and sighed. “I hated the way we left things, Melody Anne. A phone call didn’t seem like it was going to be enough.”

Melody processed that while pouring a glass of whiskey for her mother, carrying it into the living room and finding what little couch room was left for herself. “You didn’t come here because you changed your mind about the Steel Birds reunion?”

“I’d still rather die.”

“Womp womp,” Melody said, looking straight into the camera lens.

A corner of Trina’s lips jumped, but her amusement ebbed just as quickly. “You don’t usually cry when you see me. Is there something wrong?”

“You really make zero use of the internet, huh?”

“Hell no. It’s a man-made plague.” Trina shifted her position, crossing her arms over her middle in a way that was almost . . . self-conscious? “But if I did hate my sanity enough to look at the internet, I would find out what’s wrong with you on there?”

“You would find a lot of theories.”

“What’s the truth?”

Melody’s throat ached harder and harder until she sucked in a breath. “Figures that the first time we ever have a heart-to-heart conversation, millions of people are watching.”

Trina scoffed. “We’ve had heart-to-heart conversations before.” Her confidence in that statement faded almost immediately. “Haven’t we?”

Melody attempted a smile, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate today.

“It’s that man, isn’t it?” Trina said quietly. “I warned you about him. He comes from spiteful stock.”

Those words struck Melody like stones. Even now, her heart denied them. Beat wasn’t spiteful. He was wonderful. She was missing something. She wasn’t seeing the full picture. That’s all. Or was she pathetic to be thinking like that? “Mom, I should warn you that Octavia Dawkins apparently watches this live stream.”

“Does she?” Trina turned slowly to face the camera, smiled, and lifted a middle finger. “Sit and spin on it, you pretentious hag.”

“That’s nice,” Melody murmured.

“Uh-oh,” Danielle said from the other side of the room. “Hold that thought. The server crashed. The viewer count started shooting up when Trina arrived and it just kept going . . .”

“Looks like I’ve still got it,” Trina said, openly preening.

“Yes,” Danielle confirmed. “Well, I’ve got to work on this. Don’t say anything important until we get the feed up and running again.”

The producer and the cameraman left through the front door, a cacophony of excited shouts filling the apartment, before they were once again muffled. Some of the tension released from Melody’s shoulders at the reality of being off camera, even temporarily. God, she wanted it to be over. It was bearable before because she’d had a teammate, but the weight of expectations and pressure was too hard to carry alone.

For good measure, she reached back and turned off her microphone.

After a full ten seconds of heavy silence, Trina cleared her throat. “Melody Anne . . .” She put down her drink. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Begin with what?”

Her mother laughed without humor. “Everything.” She paused. “First of all, you made the devil dance with your performance of ‘Rattle the Cage.’ Did me proud, even though I was pissed as hell.” She frowned. “When did you learn how to play the guitar?”

Being given a compliment by her mother made speaking difficult. “Years ago. In my early twenties.”

“That long?” Trina blinked. “You didn’t think I’d care to know? I’m a musician.”

“You just answered your own question. I wouldn’t have been . . .” She shrugged jerkily. “It’s just that you’ve had this grand success and it’s hard not to measure myself, and everything I do, against that. It’s hard not to assume you’re measuring everything against it.”

“Oh. Damn.” Trina seemed to take that in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Melody nodded. “Well, I’m sorry I called you out in front of your friends.”

Her mother’s eyebrow rose. “Are you? Seemed to me, you were enjoying it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it. I just said I was sorry.”

Trina laughed, good and long. “That’s fair enough. I suppose I had it coming.” After a moment, she grew serious. “It’s a little ironic that you didn’t tell me about learning to play the guitar because you didn’t think you’d measure up. Because . . . I don’t talk to my housemates about you because I know I haven’t been a very good mother. They’d probably ask me questions about you and I wouldn’t know the answers.”

“You could.” Melody sat very still, afraid to rupture the moment. “You could ask me.”

“I’m going to start, if that’s okay.” Trina coughed to cover her voice cracking. “Every time I leave my comfort zone and come down to New York, I feel like I’m reliving the past and I’m just so exposed and regretful, I can’t think of anything else. I should have been focusing on you. I should have been doing that for a long time.”

Acknowledgment. Apparently that was all it took to want to forgive someone. Just to have them acknowledge that you were hurt, out loud. “We can start now, Mom.”

“Thank you.” Trina slapped some moisture from under her eyes, visibly trying to regroup. “Seems like a good chance to tell me what happened,” Trina said, trying to sound casual despite the emotion still threading her tone. “With the enemy spawn, that is.”

A chuckle snuck out of Melody, but it transformed into a shaky sigh. “That’s the thing, I don’t really know what happened. We spent the night together, things were . . . I thought they were great. Me and Beat, Mom . . . when we’re together, I feel like I’ve known him my whole life. I can almost read his thoughts. And I swore it was the same for him. No . . .” She shook her head adamantly. “I know it’s the same for him. That’s why I’m so confused. He would never hurt me . . . but he has. I don’t get it.”

“What did he say?”

“We went on the Today show and I sort of confirmed we were together. But we hadn’t officially decided to be together. It just seemed like a given.”

Trina leaned back against the couch cushion, considering that with pursed lips. “You’re right. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Being validated by her mother was like taking a deep breath for the first time in days. “Really?”