Lullaby of Tears

by Becs, Lindsay

  Every time I see Mitch and the band perform on TV or hear them on the radio, I get butterflies. He always finds a way to acknowledge me with something that no one but the two of us understands. Each time he does, I whisper, “Till the end” back at him.

  It still sucks not getting to see him. I would give anything to wrap my arms around him and hold tight. I miss looking into his blue eyes and the way he always cups my face or wipes my tears. I miss him kissing me on the head and breathing me in. In time, it’ll happen. I promised I’d be patient, and I will be.

  * * *

  I just got Easton down for the night, showered and finished some homework when I look at the clock and bite my bottom lip as the butterflies start in my stomach. I turn on the TV to wait for the show to start. Rock ‘Em Dead is performing on a late-night talk show tonight, but this is one of the few times they are being interviewed after their performance.

  When the show takes a commercial break, they announce that up next, chart-topping band, Rock ‘Em Dead, will be performing their new single. I grab my phone to text Mitch.

  Me: You cheeky fellow. You didn’t tell me you were doing a new song tonight. Rock ‘em, my hunky beef of a man!

  I put my phone down, not expecting a reply. I mean, he’s in New York getting ready to perform live on TV in literally three minutes, but then my phone buzzes.

  Mitch: Gotta keep you on your toes, little lady. Miss you.

  Me: Till the end.

  I hold my phone to my chest, smiling as the show comes back on. They introduce the band, and when the camera pans over to them and the music starts to play, I know exactly what song it is. It’s the first song Mitch ever wrote for me. I mouth the words along with him as I sit on my knees in front of my TV and watch him sing right into the camera. I know he’s singing to me and only me in this moment. I feel the tears fall down my face as I reach out and touch the screen. When the song ends, he mouths, ‘Till the end’ to the camera with a wink. I’m smiling so big my cheeks hurt when they break for another commercial, and I try to calm my thumping heart.

  I’m sitting back on the couch now with my elbows on my knees when the show comes back on and I see the guys sitting in chairs next to the host’s desk. I giggle as I hear them all banter back and forth, answering questions. When they’re asked if they write their own songs, they answer ‘yes.’ The host asks if they are about real girls or made-up ones.

  Mitch speaks up. “The ones I write are about one very real girl.”

  “Is your ‘one very real girl’ aware that she is now envied by every girl in the world?” the host asks with humor.

  Mitch chuckles to himself. “I don’t know about that. But she is aware of the hunky beef of a man she has in her grips,” he says with his signature cocked eyebrow, the one he uses when he’s claiming to be the best in the room. I laugh out loud watching him be completely himself on national television.

  “Ok, well ‘hunky beef man’ as you call yourself, how about we call her right now and see what she has to say about this, huh?”

  Mitch’s face lights up. “Yes! Do we use my phone or yours?” he asks, pulling his phone from his pocket.

  “You go over there, and we’ll get it going while we head to commercial break,” the host says. Then he looks up at the camera and adds, “When we come back, we’ll put a voice to this mystery girl all these songs are written about.”

  And then it cuts to a commercial.

  Wait. What? And then my phone is ringing. I look at it to see Mitch’s face lighting up my screen. I bite my lip as I nervously answer. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Lil.”

  “Oh, you are in trouble, mister!”

  He laughs into the phone. “I had a feeling. But I’ll never turn down a chance to hear your voice.”

  “You are crazy,” I laugh, shaking my head.

  “So, they are going to connect my phone to the show so everyone will hear you when we go back live, okay?”

  “Mitch! What the hell do I say?” I’m getting all nervous now, and I don’t want to wake Easton.

  “Just be yourself, have fun, okay?”

  I let out a laugh. “O-k.”

  “Talk to you in a minute.”

  Then the producer comes on the line and explains really fast what is going to happen. I’m so nervous and feel the sweat pooling in my armpits. I take a deep breath as I hear the music from the show come back on and know this is about to get real.

  “So, before the break, I called out Mitch’s mystery girl for being envied by every other woman across America. We have her on the line,” the host says. Then I hear a click sound. “Hello, mystery girl. How are you doing tonight?”

  “I’m doing alright. Thanks for asking,” I say, biting my lip again nervously.

  “So polite you are. And you hang around with this group of vagabonds?”

  I laugh. “I have for years.”

  “Oh, so you aren’t a new groupie then.”

  “Not even close.”

  The host turns to Mitch and says, “I like this girl.”

  Mitch points at him with a straight face and informs him, “She’s taken.”

  The host puts his hands up in surrender. “So, mystery girl, did you know these songs are written about you?”

  “I did. I got a private concert of the one they just played when Mitch first wrote it.” The audience does an “awwww….” and I can see Mitch look down and blush a little. The other guys start mocking him with their own awws and pouty faces.

  “Thanks a lot, babe, now my street cred has gone down. You’re making me look mushy,” Mitch says, pouting with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Do you want me to share my stories? Because I can…” I trail off.

  “Oh, please do,” the host encourages.

  Mitch stands up, waving his arms violently to stop me, yelling, “No!” I laugh again. Oh, how I miss him.

  “Well, lucky for you, our time is up. But, mystery girl?”

  “Yes?”

  “How about next time these guys are here, you come too? I’d like to meet the girl who puts up with the likes of them. Deal?”

  “You have a deal.” I smile, despite them not being able to see me.

  “Alright, that’s it for tonight. Thanks to all my guests, and have a good one, everybody.”

  The credits start to roll, but as the camera pans out, I see Mitch blow a kiss to me and wink. I reach my hand up and pretend to catch it and put it on my heart as I put my phone down. Then it rings again.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey. Thanks for doing that.”

  “You’re welcome,” I giggle.

  “I have to go, but I wanted to say thanks real quick. I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe even Skype?”

  “It’s a date.”

  * * *

  The next day, still flying high on the fact that I had talked to the guy who stole my heart and told the whole world that he was taken, by me, live on TV, I can’t stop grinning from ear to ear. Trying to concentrate on homework while Easton naps, I jump when my phone beeps that I have a message. Excited and hoping it’s Mitch, I grab it to look, but it’s not Mitch at all.

  It’s Case.

  Case: I know I don’t deserve it. But can I see a picture of our baby?

  My face drops and my mouth goes dry as I read it over and over.

  After I left Case at the coffee shop that day, I never heard from him. I didn’t try to reach him either. I figured I—no, we—were better without him. Then, when Easton was born and I figured out that it wasn’t his baby, I really didn’t give it any thought to contact him. Maybe that was wrong, but he was pretty adamant about not wanting any part of our lives, which left me to think it was for the best.

  Now, I’m sitting here regretting that I let six months go by without letting him know that we didn’t have a child together after all. What the hell do I say now? ‘Oops! Sorry, my bad?’

  I lift my phone to reply when it starts to ring in my hands. Case. I let it ring until th
e last possible second before answering.

  “Hey, Case.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I should have called in the first place instead of texting. That was rude after all this time,” he says in a rush.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Lily, I’m sorry. I was such an insensitive, selfish ass.”

  “Yeah, you are,” I agree, adding the present tense.

  There was a long pause over the phone before he spoke again. “Can I see what the baby looks like? Fuck… I don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl.” I could hear the deflation in his voice.

  “He’s a boy. But, Case, I have to tell you something first.”

  “I have a son,” he says with a heightened voice.

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean, no?”

  “I have a son.” I pause, taking a breath, “He’s not your son, Case.”

  “I know I gave up that right, but please…”

  “No, Case, he’s not yours. As in, you aren’t his biological father,” I interrupt him with my confession. The line stays silent for so long I’m not even sure if he’s still there. “Case?”

  “I asked you. You got mad when I asked. Made me feel like an ass for asking, in fact,” he grits out angrily.

  “I know. I thought he was yours. You were the only one I didn’t use protection with. I didn’t know until he was born.”

  “Fuck…” he says in a breathy whisper.

  “I’m sorry, Case.”

  “Yeah. Me too. I’m sorry that I trusted you. All this time, I’ve felt gut-wrenchingly guilty. Guilty that I walked out on you and a child I never met. But jokes on me for feeling like the dick when it was you who was the whore,” he spits at me through the phone. His voice getting louder with each word. “Does the poor sap even know? Or did you spread your legs so much you don’t even know who the dad is?”

  With each word he throws at me, a little more of me shatters. The past mistakes I’d tried so hard to move on from all come rushing back. The tears pour down my face as fast as the pieces of me that had been mended, broken all over again. I sit, not saying a word because I know, deep down, everything he said is right.

  “But nice going on the loaded boyfriend. I heard you on TV last night. Nice job playing the innocent little girl. But I know the real you. I know exactly who you are. You aren’t fooling me. God help that poor kid of yours having a mother like you. Have a great life, Lily.” And with that, he ends the call before I can even try to say anything back.

  I sit on the floor, completely broken. I try calling Lola, but she’s in class and doesn’t answer. I try to call Mitch, but he doesn’t answer either. I remember then that he was doing press all day.

  I’m alone.

  Then I’m reminded that I’m not alone. Easton starts to cry, waking up from his nap. I scrub my hands down my face and take a deep breath before walking into the room to get my son. Reaching into his crib to pick him up, I begin to cry harder. Holding him close to me, I sit on my bed in the room that we share and rock him back and forth, trying to soothe both of our tears at the same time.

  “I’m so sorry, buddy. I’m sorry you got stuck with me as a mom,” I whisper to Easton as I hug him close. I spend the rest of the afternoon apologizing to my son for the crappy person I am.

  * * *

  Later in the afternoon, after I put Easton down for a nap, I walk into my kitchen and dig out the bottle of wine that Mitch had left here that last night before he left. Opening it, I take a big swig straight from the bottle, closing my eyes and savoring the flavor and the memories of that night.

  I put on Rock ‘Em Dead’s album and sit on my couch, drinking until the bottle is empty. Staggering to throw the bottle away and then falling back onto my couch, I close my eyes as the room starts to spin around me.

  I’m woken up by my phone ringing. Drunkenly, I grab it and answer without looking to see who it is.

  “Yeah?” I answer with a hiccup.

  “Hey, babe,” Mitch said with a chuckle. “You okay?”

  “Just peachy.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m a terrible person, Mitch. Why are you wasting your time with me?”

  I hear him let out a frustrated breath. “Lily, we aren’t doing this again.”

  “Why not? We haven’t even had sex yet. I have a baby with a random guy I don’t even know. And I lied to another guy that it was his kid. I’m a slut and not even your slut,” I laugh into the phone.

  “What the fuck, Lily? Why would you say that?”

  “Because it’s true.” I hiccup again.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Yep,” I pop.

  “Damn it, Lily, what’s going on? What happened?”

  “Case called me. He wanted to see his kid. Had to break it to him that he didn’t have one.”

  “What did that dick say to you?”

  “Just the truth,” I slur.

  “Whatever shit he said to you isn’t true.”

  “Yes, it is!” I yell. “It was all true, that’s the thing. You can tell me it isn’t, but it is.”

  “You have come so far; don’t do this to yourself.” I can hear the pleading in his voice. “Don’t do this to us.”

  “I think we should just cut our losses here. Go have fun. Find a good girl. Have some sex, for fuck’s sake. I’ll see you around.”

  “Stop! Don’t do this!” he yells as I end the call, throwing my phone across the room. The screen shatters along with the final piece of my heart, broken into a million pieces.

  Hearing the special ringtone I have set for Mitch rings out over and over, but I never answer. Turning my phone off after the tenth voicemail was left, I curl up on the couch and cry myself to sleep.

  18

  Mitch

  “Fuck!” I yell and throw my phone after the hundredth time of her not answering hers. I stand and start to pace back and forth in my hotel room. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

  Sitting back on the bed, I run my hands through my hair, letting out a breath to try to calm myself down.

  We were in a good place. Even with the distance between us, things were good. Why would she let that asshole get to her like this? Why would she listen to him?

  “Motherfucker!” I yell, turning and smacking a lamp to the ground.

  I’m back to my pacing when I hear someone knocking on my door. “What?” I snap, opening it to find Nate on the other side.

  “I heard you yelling. Everything okay?” he asks, pushing inside. His eyes scan the room, where he sees my shattered phone and broken lamp.

  “She won’t fucking answer,” I say.

  “Who? Lily?”

  “Yes. She was drunk and told me to go get laid and that we were done and I could do better,” I ramble, sitting on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands.

  “The fuck?”

  “Case called her wanting to know about Easton, and then, like only he can do, he made her feel like shit.” I stand up again and look at him. “I need to get to her.” I start to make my way to the door, but he stops me.

  “Sit your fucking ass down and cool it. You aren’t going anywhere. We have press and shows nonstop right now. You can’t leave.”

  “Get out of my fucking way, Nate. She is hurting, and I have to get to her. I have to make sure she’s alright. Let her see that we’re good.” My hands are shaking and I’m trembling in fear, in anger, in all kinds of mixed emotions.

  “We can’t play without you, and you aren’t pissing everything away because she can’t sift through shit from her ex.”

  “Fuck you! If it was Lola, you’d already be gone.” I try to shove past him again, but he pushes me back, making me stumble.

  Nate grits his jaw and looks at me with murder in his eyes because he knows I’m right. “Mitch, you can’t. You just can’t leave. We need you here.”

  I pick up my guitar, and he seems to relax some until he sees me walk to the balcony. “I’m done!” I smash my guitar on the railing. “
She is more important than this.” I throw the rest of the broken instrument over the balcony and onto the street. “Get out of my fucking way.”

  “No.”

  I swing and punch him across the face. The shock on his face is evident at first, but he recovers quickly. “That’s your one since you’re hurting. But, Mitch, you have to listen to me, man. You can’t do this. You can’t walk out on us. I’ll call Lola. She’ll take care of her; you know she will.”

  I fall to my ass on the floor with my head bent and my hands in my hair. “I just want to love her. Why won’t she let me?” I sniff.

  “She’s just had some tough shit to deal with this past year. It’s not you; you have to know that. You’re the best guy I know.”

  “Yeah? Then why doesn’t she see that?”

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” he says, and I give him a look that tells him exactly where he can go. “Hear me out. She has a kid. She can’t travel with us, you can’t be there, she doesn’t want to hold you back from your dream. Is that so bad?”

  I take a deep breath, letting my head fall back against the wall with a thud. “I love her.”

  “I know,” he says, sitting down next to me. “And I know she loves you. But now’s just not the time for you two. When it’s right, it’ll happen.”

  “Hell must have frozen over if I’m the one getting sound advice from you,” I snort.

  “Let me call Lo.” He squeezes my shoulder. “It’ll be alright.”

  I nod because as much as I hate it, I know he’s right.

  * * *

  The months drag by. I should be happy and living it up with our rise in success, but I can’t. Every piece of success and happiness I get makes me feel like something is missing, and that something is Lily.