The Way Back Home

by Alecia Whitaker

  I smile, completely flattered. “To Toronto,” I say, holding my cup up for a toast.

  He meets it with a clink, and his eyes lock onto mine. “To us.”

  10

  “OKAY, DYLAN JUST texted that he’s with the band, but I don’t know how long Monty can keep him occupied,” Stella says as she power walks through our hotel lobby, Adam and me on her heels. “So chop-chop, people.”

  We play a couple of shows in Chicago this weekend and my parents are visiting to celebrate Dylan’s birthday, so I sprang for rooms at an adorable little boutique hotel. At Stella’s request, I sweet-talked the management into letting us use the kitchen before they open so we can make Dylan a from-scratch birthday cake, but I can’t manage to muster up the same enthusiasm about it all that has possessed my best friend. “Why didn’t we just send somebody out for boxed cake mix?”

  “Or buy one from a bakery?” Adam chimes in. “Or from the restaurant we are currently in?”

  “Yeah, why go through all this hassle?” I ask as we enter the kitchen. Stella uses her phone to pull up the recipe she wants to try.

  “Because,” she says, looking up from her phone with a sly grin, “Channing Tatum finally kissed me.”

  “Stella!” I shout, attacking her with a big hug. “When?”

  “This morning. We watched the sunrise together, and it was perfect.”

  “You met Channing Tatum?” Adam says, confused.

  “Code word for my brother during conversations rife with romantic details,” I explain.

  “Your brother?” Adam asks, shocked. “And Stella?”

  “Yes,” I say to him. Then I turn my attention back to her. “Spill.”

  She beams at me, and it all comes rushing out. “So remember last night when Channing was talking about his map and asked if anybody would want to see the sunrise over at the Adler Planetarium?”

  “‘TripAdvisor says it’s the perfect place to see the whole skyline!’” Adam says in his best Dylan impression. I giggle.

  “So while y’all were snoozing away,” Stella goes on, “I dragged my butt out of bed and hopped in a cab with Channing Tatum. Yes, I know, I’ve clearly got it bad. It was hella early, but he met me with a to-go cup of coffee and held my hand the whole way there, and it was just really fun and sweet.”

  For a second, I think back to my weekend in Chicago with Kai, how romantic it was, what a beautiful place this is to let your heart go. I feel a quiet sadness, a little loss just for a moment, but then I shake my head and focus on Stella. This is her story.

  “He laid out a sheet from the hotel so we could snuggle up and watch, but this city really is windy, and Channing saw me shivering so he gave me his jacket,” she goes on. I think it would be physically impossible for her smile to be any bigger than it is right at this very moment. It’s so cute that I actually forget she’s talking about my brother. “He helped me put it on and then pulled at the collar and just, like, kept his hands gripped there. And he didn’t move. And so then we were just sort of sitting there staring at each other as the sky started to get pink and pretty. And he was nervous, I could tell, and it was like something out of a movie and then finally, finally, he asked me if he could kiss me.” Her cheeks flame—and I rarely see Stella embarrassed. “And then he did!”

  I squeal and squeeze her arm. “Then what?”

  “Then we watched the sun come up, and honestly, it really is breathtaking.”

  “The view or Dylan’s kissing?” Adam pipes up.

  She giggles. “Both.”

  “Channing’s kissing,” I say with my hands over my ears. “Those are Channing Tatum’s lips.”

  “Anyway, then we met y’all for breakfast back here.” Stella stops and sighs. “And now we’re together.”

  “I cannot believe you made me sit through breakfast without telling me this,” I say, slapping the stainless-steel table beside me.

  “Bird, your parents were right there!”

  “Bathroom break?”

  “I tried that, but your mom came with us!”

  “Oh, that’s right,” I remember with a laugh. “Well, anyway, I’m really happy for you,” I tell her, and it feels good to mean it. It’s definitely going to be complicated, but anybody with two working eyeballs could see it coming. And they do seem to bring out the best in each other.

  “So did you DTR?” Adam asks her. I do a double take. I never thought girl talk would include Adam, and I certainly didn’t think he’d know the lingo.

  “We did,” Stella replies.

  “Wow!” he goes on. “You’re already official? I had a roommate in Texas that went on and on about how guys always take too long to ‘define the relationship’ and how it drove her crazy.”

  “I can see her point,” Stella says thoughtfully. “But I’ve known Channing for so long. It’s like our friendship laid the foundation first, so now dating just feels natural.”

  I glance up at Adam at the same time that he looks over at me. We both look back at Stella quickly. While she goes on, I start to wonder about Adam’s old “roommate” in Texas.

  “So, anyway, that’s the first kiss story,” Stella says with a happy sigh. “The most romantic moment of my life.”

  “Who knew my brother had it in him?” I say with wonder. It may be weird that my brother is dating my best friend, but it’s a whole lot better than him dating someone I don’t like… and much more fun.

  “And that is why Channing Tatum deserves a cake made from scratch,” she continues, “so that’s what we’re doing. Grab an apron.”

  “Yes, chef,” I say, taking a starched white apron from a hook on the wall nearby.

  The plan is to hurry, but baking a cake takes a while. The restaurant opens at eleven thirty so every second counts, both to get it done before the staff shows up to prep for their day and to keep Dylan from growing suspicious. Monty called an “emergency meeting” to buy us some time and then my folks will have “computer problems.” If all goes as planned, we’ll rendezvous back at my room by ten for Dylan’s mini-party. Then I’ve got a full day of promos and interviews before the show. Life on the road means making the time when you don’t really have it.

  Stella directs us around the kitchen now with all the confidence of Rachael Ray, but finding the ingredients we need is like an impossible Easter egg hunt.

  “Baking soda or baking powder?” Adam calls from across the room.

  Stella checks the recipe. “Powder!”

  “How many eggs?” I call from the fridge.

  “Two,” she commands.

  Stella finds a big mixing bowl and adds the ingredients as we bring them over, stepping around one another as we search. “I need a giant spoon,” she mumbles to herself. Unfortunately she bends over to check a drawer at the exact moment that I’m walking by with a big bag of flour.

  It’s like a scene from a movie that I’m watching in slow motion. I fall forward, holding my arms straight so that I don’t spill the flour, but the open paper bag is already out of my control and headed right for Adam, who sees it all happening in time to close his eyes but not in time to get out of the way.

  The bag hits him square in the chest and thuds as it hits the floor. We all stand as still as statues, Adam looking like a ghost as he blinks hard once, twice, three times. I wait for him to laugh, but he doesn’t.

  “Bird,” he says quietly. “Am I covered in flour?”

  I try not to laugh. “Yes, Adam.”

  “And Stella, is this all your fault?”

  She pauses. “Define ‘all.’”

  “Well, ladies,” he says, opening another fridge. “You leave me no choice.”

  Before we can react, Adam turns from the fridge with a can of whipped cream, and we run from him, screaming like banshees. I feel the whipped cream in my hair and then Adam’s arms around me. “Let me go!” I wail.

  He sprays me at close range, the whipped cream cold on my neck and chin. “Adam!” I scream, laughing like a maniac. Stella squirts my
arm with chocolate syrup, and I lunge for a nearby refrigerator. I know I saw ketchup in there somewhere…

  “What in the world is going on in here?” Dylan shouts.

  “No!” Stella cries. “You’re early! You’ll ruin the surprise!”

  But Dylan’s distraction gives Adam the perfect opportunity to cover Stella’s hair with whipped cream. “What the hell, man?” Dylan says, and without a moment’s hesitation, he picks an egg off the counter and launches it at him.

  “Dude!” Adam cries, holding his biceps where Dylan hit him. “That hurt!” He aims the can of whipped cream at Dylan—a direct hit to the cheek.

  “Attack!” I holler, coming at everybody with the ketchup.

  It is a sugary war zone. Suddenly the lines are drawn, and it’s Adam and me against Dylan and Stella. The cake is completely forgotten once the food fight is under way. By the time someone finally calls a truce, we’re all tired and so weak from laughing that we can barely stand. We crash on the floor of the kitchen to catch our breath.

  “We are going to be in so much trouble,” I finally say as I survey the room from my spot on the floor.

  And as if on cue, my parents walk in.

  “What in the—” my mother begins, but Stella hops up and cuts her off.

  “Good!” she says. “You’re just in time.”

  She scoops a bunch of the mess into her hands and lays it in a lump on a baking sheet. She carries it over to a relatively clean spot on the counter near the door, where my mother looks pretty disappointed and my father actually seems amused. Then she pulls a candle out of her jeans pocket and shoves it into the middle, where it leans like the Tower of Pisa. She grabs a book of hotel restaurant matches and lights the pathetic little candle, motioning for us to stand up next to her. We walk over, a motley crew, our hair white from baking powder and flour, our clothes covered in ketchup and chocolate syrup. We are disgusting, cold, and soggy, but we are also happy and here to celebrate Dylan’s birthday.

  “Happy birthday to you,” we start singing.

  “The candle’s sinking,” Stella says, waving her hand in a circle. “Speed it up.”

  “Happy birthday to you,” we speed sing. “Happy birthday, dear Dylan, happy birthday to you.”

  “Make a wish,” Stella says, turning to Dylan with bright eyes.

  “Mine has already come true,” he says, putting his arm around her shoulders. I would gag, but it’s pretty sweet.

  Even my mom softens, sparing us the lecture and simply saying, “Y’all make sure you clean this up good,” before turning to go.

  “That took forever,” I say, wringing out my wet hair as I join the others in the sitting room of my hotel suite. It took over an hour to clean up the mess we’d made in the kitchen, and I had to swear one early staffer to secrecy by giving him free tickets to tonight’s show, but it was nice to have a little fun on tour.

  “Okay, everybody,” Stella says, sitting close to Dylan on the love seat. “Now presents!”

  Adam, who rejoined us after showering in his own room, pulls an envelope out of his back pocket and throws it onto the small pile of gifts on the coffee table.

  “I went all out, man,” he says.

  Dylan grins and leans forward, picking that gift up first. “It’s not what’s on the inside,” he says mock emotionally as he taps the envelope, “it’s what’s on the inside,” he finishes, pounding his heart.

  Adam fakes wiping away a tear, and I laugh. “Dorks.”

  “Yes!” Dylan says when he opens it. “An iTunes gift card. I can always use that. Thanks, bro.”

  Adam nods. “Happy birthday.”

  Dylan opens the exact same gift from Jacob, something I’m sure my mom picked up for him. Then he moves on to the big boxes from my parents. “Jeans,” he says, Captain Obvious as he pulls out a pair of new blue jeans.

  “Since you’re touring so much now, I thought you could use some nice clothes,” my mom says. She points to the other wrapped gift and says, “And those are shirts.”

  Dylan looks up at her as if she’d spilled the beans on something really major. “Mom!” he says, clawing his way into the box. “Don’t ruin the surprise!”

  “Oops!” she says, chuckling.

  “These are great,” he says when he removes the lid. “Thanks, guys.”

  “You’re welcome, son,” my dad says, “but I didn’t have anything to do with what’s underneath those T-shirts.”

  Dylan lifts the shirts up and grins. “Thanks, Mom,” he says, leaning over for a hug. Then in a loud whisper he says, “But I’ll buy my own underwear from here on out, okay?”

  I lean forward and pass my brother a small gift bag from the table, knowing he’s going to completely flip out. “Here, Dylan, open mine next,” I say eagerly.

  He pulls the tissue paper out and frowns. “It’s empty,” he says, turning the bag upside down.

  “No, it must’ve fallen out,” I say, looking on the floor for the page I printed in the hotel’s business center earlier, a photo of the amp he’s been eyeing the whole tour. “Here it is. Happy birthday.”

  He takes the piece of paper, and his face lights up. “Bird!” he says, gawking at the picture. “This is mine?”

  “Yep,” I say, beaming. “All yours.”

  I knew he’d love it.

  “I can’t believe you did this.”

  “I had it sent to the Nashville house, so it’ll be waiting for you once we’re off tour.”

  “I cannot believe you did this,” he repeats, standing for a hug. “Thank you. You shouldn’t have spent that much.”

  “Eh, I’ll just take it out of your next paycheck,” I tease.

  “Let me see that,” Adam says, and Dylan passes him the picture. Adam lets out a low whistle. “Sick.”

  “Now mine,” Stella says, patting the love seat so that Dylan will sit back down. He opens the last gift, the one that looks like it was wrapped in a fancy boutique but was clearly just wrapped by Stella being Stella. She is looking at Dylan’s face with so much anticipation that you’d think it was her birthday.

  “No way,” he says simply, after he lifts the lid. Grinning, he pulls out a vintage red leather guitar strap, flips it over, and then looks down at her face. She smiles up at him and they share a moment, just the two of them, while we all look on. When he looks back down at the gift box in his lap, Stella steals a quick kiss on his cheek. My brother, obviously conscious of all of us in the room, glances up at my mom, whose eyes have gone wide. She looks over at me, astonished, and I nod back like, Yep. Can you believe it?

  “I love it,” he says, looking at Stella again. “Thank you.”

  “Happy birthday,” she replies.

  “Looks like a nice strap, son,” my dad says. “Something special?”

  “Sorry, it’s just—I saw this in a vintage shop in Vegas on our first date.” He blushes. “Or I don’t know, our first hang out or whatever.”

  “Or whatever,” Stella repeats, laughing.

  “And it’s, well, it just means a lot to me.”

  Stella can’t help but gush as she takes the guitar strap out of his hands and shows us all the back. “He was totally going to buy it, but then he realized the previous owner had written, ‘You were right here all along,’ on the inside, and he got all cute and embarrassed and changed his mind. I decided to just go for it, and if he never made a move, I’d sell it on eBay.”

  Dylan laughs. “Oh, really?”

  “May I see it?” I ask, eager to eye the guitar strap that upstaged my amp. We all pass it around, everybody heaping praise on Stella for her thoughtfulness, but I realize that once again, I feel like I’m missing out. And it’s crazy. Do I not want my brother to be with a great girl who’s super thoughtful and makes him happy? Do I not want my best friend to be with a guy who cares about her so much that he’s taken things slow? Or do I just not want to be around people who have what I sometimes think is impossible for me?

  11

  “I CAN’T DO t
his, go through this, pretend it didn’t hurt,” I sing. We are on our way to Wichita, and I’m writing a song in my room, or trying to, but it’s hard because Dylan and Stella are right outside and could probably guess whom it’s about. I’ve tried to play it cool around Adam, even keeping my distance a little, but this week has wreaked havoc on me. The feelings I’ve always had for him have taken root in my heart again, and it’s not professional. I can’t date my opener. These nightly Coke meet ups, fangirling in the wings, the nonstop texting, it’s all too much. “When you said good-bye, maybe you didn’t cry, but—”

  “Bird?” Stella calls, knocking on my door frame.

  “Come in!”

  “Hey, we’re stopping for gas,” she says. I look out the window and see we’ve exited the interstate and are pulling into a truck stop. “You want to stretch your legs?”

  “Nah, I think I’ll just chill here,” I say.

  “Cool. Oh, and Dylan invited Adam to come over and play Black Ops. That’s okay, right?”

  I sigh. Now I definitely won’t be able to work on this song. “Sure.”

  She winks at me. “I finally did some recon: He’s single.”

  I lay my guitar on the bed and fall back against my pillows. “That just makes it harder!”

  “Why? ’Cause of the ‘boundaries’ and all that?”

  “It’s unprofessional, yeah, but”—I pause and look out the window, then quietly finish—“honestly, I think I’m more worried about my heart.”

  “I know,” she says. “But I swear to you: Things are different this time.”

  “Stella! You coming?” Dylan calls from the front of the bus.

  “Yeah!” she hollers back. As she backs down the little hallway she points at me and says, “Don’t. Worry,” and then heads outside. I sit up and watch her through the window, catching up to Dylan and tripping him from behind. He turns around and chases her into the convenience store, and I feel that stab of envy again.

  Some people don’t know how good they’ve got it.