DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?
They say it takes twenty-one days to build a habit, but I’ve been in Tinsel Hills for less than a week and already every day is starting to look like a repeat.
The first thing I do after getting my 7 a.m. wakeup call is grab the schedule Plum’s mom slides under my door, which usually goes something like this:
8 a.m. Breakfast in the limo.
9 a.m. Meet Tinsley at the recording studio.
1 p.m.–1:15 p.m. Lunch break at the studio.
5 p.m. Return home to shoot the Twelve Days of Dashaway Christmas Countdown.
6 p.m. Dinner (squeeze in between hair, wardrobe, and makeup or during filming).
12 a.m. Fall exhausted (and somewhat frustrated) into bed.
Okay, maybe I added that last part. And it’s not like I’m complaining or anything, since I had a pretty strict routine back in Greentree too, only it wasn’t nearly as exciting. Still, all that time spent recording and filming doesn’t allow for much else. I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to nitpick, but with the trolley ticket expiring tomorrow night at one minute past midnight, I need to commit to either staying here in my dream life or heading back home.
I thought I’d made my decision my second day here. I was sure I’d stay put and never look back. But there’s one small thing that’s been nagging at me—keeping my dream life from being as perfect as I want it to be (aside from my still not kissing Tinsley), and today’s the day I do something about that.
I guess having dinner with Ezer last night made me realize how much I miss hanging with my family. Don’t get me wrong—I like how they stay out of my way and never try to exert their authority by imposing stupid curfews and random rules, like most parents do (though Ezer has that covered). But since they’re pretty much the family I always dreamed of having, I can’t help but think it might be nice to spend a little more time with them.
Which is why today, instead of pretending to drink one of Lisa’s totally disgusting but supposedly healthy smoothies for breakfast, only to make Sparks go through the Starbucks drive-thru on the way to the recording studio so I can get something decent, I’m going to have breakfast with my family. And we’re going to hang out and enjoy the kind of real, spontaneous, unscripted conversations I used to have with my Greentree family. Only better.
I can hear them all talking in the entryway below, so I pause at the top of the stairs, hoping to go unnoticed long enough to hear what they talk about when I’m not around. But the voices all overlap in a way that doesn’t make sense, until I realize they’re ignoring one another in favor of their cell phones.
Holly: “No, I have no idea what time we’ll be done. That’s really up to Nick, isn’t it? All I can do is hope it doesn’t take too long and try to get through it.”
My mom: “Well, can he squeeze me in at eleven? Eleven-fifteen? Eleven-forty-five? No, I have another appointment at one. There has to be a way he can see me. I booked this over a month ago, and I need to look good for tonight!”
My dad: “No.” Sigh. “Not today.” Grunt. “I have no idea how long this will take, which is why I can’t commit to anything firm.”
When I reach the landing, they all turn to stare, with their cell phones raised before their ears. Looking anxious, uncertain. Like me, they have their own schedules to keep.
Unlike me, they don’t seem to resent theirs as much as I’ve begun to resent mine.
My dad’s the first to speak. Wearing a tight smile that seems glued to his face, he slides his phone into the front pocket of his khakis and says, “Nick—what’s this about?”
I shift my gaze to my mom. Her expression is an exact match for my dad’s. And when I look over at Holly, well, she looks a lot like Sir Dasher Dashaway when he pokes his head out of her purse: widened eyes, tilted head.
All of them caught in a state of suspended animation, waiting for me to explain why I pulled them away from their busy lives just to eat pancakes with me.
“Sorry.” I try to wave it away as though it was all a big misunderstanding, feeling embarrassed, deflated, to realize I was so wrong about them. Clearly they don’t miss spending time with me. If anything, they’d prefer to avoid me. “I’m not sure what I was thinking. Or, more likely, wasn’t thinking…”
I peek through a clump of hair that’s fallen into my eyes. Wishing they’d stop me from apologizing, tell me I’ve got it all wrong—that they’re happy to be here. My mom would give me a hug, my dad would give me a hearty slap on the back, Holly would jokingly call me a dork, then we’d all head into the kitchen and enjoy a leisurely family breakfast together.