by Grea Warner
“It’s been a while,” I admitted and then shot out an idea. “How about Lyric?”
“Much better than Rhapsody.”
“Geez ... yes. Is that what you came up with?”
“Well, I was playing the theme song at the same time, too.”
“Excuses, excuses,” I teased but thought about how it was just another example of what a great team we were.
He tsked but then agreed. “I like the name Lyric. Guess what my folks named their pigs?”
“Do I want to know?”
“There’s Bacon and Hambone and—”
“Oh, my stars! No!”
It was Ryan’s turn to laugh. “Oh, yes.”
I think it was because we were talking so carefree—as we used to before ex-wife drama monopolized our lives—that I completely flipped on him emotionally. Out of the blue, I blurted out one of the true emotional holds on my heart. “I’m so scared for Garrett, Ry. He can’t go through that again.”
His exhale was strong but so were his words. “I know you are. I’m sure everyone is.”
“But it’s hard to talk with them about it, especially because there’s nothing to go on yet.”
“Because you’re used to problem-solving, pleasing others, and doing things on your own.”
“I don’t know about all of that.”
“Yes. You are so independent and confident but in a kind way. It’s a good thing, but, when you need s—"
“I want to talk with you.”
Absolute truth. Not a doubt. Not having that—even if it was my own doing—severed me.
“You can.” He spoke with his own confidence.
“It’s just like it was before,” I went on. “My dad is stoic. He thinks God will take care of it. And my mom is going to have a nervous breakdown.” My news probably didn’t help that. “Ella is just Ella. And Garrett? Who knows? He’s a typical moody teen.”
“And you’re not going to change them or any results that come in. Don’t rock on that rocking chair. Talk with me in the middle of the night if it helps. It’s more than okay with me.”
I swiped at my nose and eyes a couple times. “I so needed to hear your voice ... to talk with you.”
“Bethany, I ...” He did a disgruntled clearing of his throat. “Dang it. I promised you I wouldn’t.”
I dabbed at my eyes again. He had stopped himself and, for the first time, I wondered if I wanted him to. I needed those three words right then but, at the same account, didn’t want to be an emotional wreck when he said them.
“Song? Song for right now?” he changed the subject.
“Oh, Ryan ...” I didn’t know if I was up for that game.
“Song.” He was attempting to get his voice and mode back to our beginning banter.
My answer didn’t help. “‘Hole in the Bucket.’”
“No, no, no ... no.”
“Yes. I feel like there is a big hole and nobody can fix it.”
“Oh, man. I think I would have preferred ‘Landslide.’”
“At least there is some humor with ‘Bucket.’ What? What’s yours?” I turned the tables on him.
He was prepared and hit me with an emotional, non-funny one. “‘Get here.’” And he loosely quoted some of the lyrics to confirm the meaning. “If I had my way, you would be closer ...”
“Thanks for not making this easy,” I said with only a smidge of sarcasm.
“I never promised you that.”
“When are your flights tomorrow? I mean, I guess, technically today.”
“Afternoon/evening. And you? Ella’s graduation and then the retreat on Sunday, right?”
I spit out a puff of air. “Yeah, the Sunday church retreat is a whole day event. No electronics. We place them in a basket and then they are put in a quote/unquote safe place.”
“You know, some artists use that tactic to freely, wholly create.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of the idea—let all things go.” I really could use it creatively and interpersonally.
“Geez ... so, with our schedules, I probably won’t talk with you for a couple days.”
“No,” I confirmed. “I’m glad we did now, though.”
“You and me both. I hope next time it’s in person.”
“Mmmm.” I couldn’t say much more, because I still didn’t know the answer to that. “I hope you found your balance.”
“Almost. I hope you find yours.”
***
It was true. We didn’t speak with one another after that late-night chat. Post-graduation and lunch out, I texted, asking him to let me know when they got back to California. I had a deep-seated need to know he and the kids had arrived safely. I guess there was a little bit of my mom in me. He complied by sending a photo of a sleeping Sallie and Joel in the back of a cab heading to the house. I had already been asleep myself but was glad to see it when I woke that next day—Sunday morning. I was able to get a smiley face and ZZZs off to him before turning in my phone for the entire day ... for the “greater good of all humanity.”
Of course, I knew Monday was going to be a crazy time for him. Every Monday was with the live shows. In addition, it was the first show since news of Kari’s own retreat and the Twitter Girl affair broke. So, it was bound to be even more stressful for him. I also wondered how the kids were going to adapt to being back in school after a few days off and who was watching them. Was it Cruella Irene again? I bet that irked Ryan to no end to have to rely on his ex-in-laws.
Because of my schedule, I wasn’t able to respond to his text earlier that day telling me things weren’t the same without me and to call him. And I actually didn’t even get to see the show until almost the very end. When I did, Portia, in a striking deep blue pantsuit, was on stage introducing one of the contestants—Tisha Chrisley. And irony of ironies, Miss Chrisley was going to sing one of Kari’s hits.
Dressed in slender black slacks and a lengthy top with zippers—which would make Willow proud—fresh-faced Tisha came onto the stage and addressed Ryan. “I hope I can do your wife justice.”
All eyes, including mine, of course, were then on Ryan. I’m sure everyone else was watching the tight grin on his face and wondering even more so about all the rumors. But I ... I was noticing everything else around his lips. He was clean-shaven! What happened to his beard? What happened to the rule that he had to keep it until after the finale? When had he done that? And ... why?
That thought swished around in my heart and brain before more elements on the stage connected. Tisha was smiling broadly at Ryan, and I suddenly became freakishly possessive. He was mine. Don’t you dare look at him that way, Tisha Chrisley. But then my emotions flipped again. He wasn’t mine. I wouldn’t even let him tell me how he felt. And the world still thought, just as Tisha had said, that Kari was his wife.
Then Tisha belted out an absolutely beautiful rendition of Kari’s “Outta Here.” It was perhaps, dare I say, even better than the original artist herself. I wondered if Ryan felt the same. Of course, the other judges—Jorja and Calvin—deferred to him to give the critique.
“First of all, Tisha, you more than did it justice. Your tone is impeccable.” He agreed with my assessment, and I swear Tisha looked as if she was going to faint because Ryan didn’t give out compliments easily on the show. Mr. Mean was still a part he played. “Second,” he continued after a slight pause, “Kari is not my wife. We’ve been divorced for six months and apart for over a year now.”
The gasps and wide-eyes from the crowd were almost cartoonish. The same could be said about the Spotlight personnel. It was all a complete surprise to the world who thought they already knew all the gossip out there.
Ryan was continuing to talk, and if he hadn’t had my attention before, he had it completely one hundred percent then. “I like how you mixed the song up a bit, too. It was creative and reminds me of one of the contestants we had in the early stages of the competition. She is a spectacular songwriter. This show didn’t change her life, but she sure did
mine.” It was only on that last part of the sentence that I realized he was talking about ... “Bethany Lenay, since you won’t let me tell you in person, I’m gonna tell the whole world. I love you. Please make your next lyrics be our song.”
My stomach dropped. My mouth went dry. My heart flipped and flopped and turned inside out. The strongest, largest of clamps wouldn’t have been able to shut my gaped mouth. He had put it all out there—the divorce, his love for me ...
The gasps from the audience had become downright murmurs. It was hard for Portia to get the normally perfectly timed show back in some kind of semblance. But when she did, I somehow got all my body parts to work correctly, including my hands. I found my Twitter page, changed my settings, and typed a message for Ryan. It was the first time we communicated that way since our initial online correspondence. And despite my instant nerves, I managed to find exactly the right words.
@RyanThompsonMusic for real?
As they were cutting to commercial break, I saw Jorja, who was sitting next to Ryan, nudge him and then show him her phone. I then looked at my phone again. And there it was—a tweet back from him.
@Bethany_Lenay For real. He kept up with our original banter, which was quite impressive since I was sure if I was feeling the pressure of his big on-air revelation, he was feeling it double. Let’s meet up.
I backed up against the wall, trying to focus. People were talking to me, but I was thinking. I had been thinking all weekend. And what was happening changed nothing.
What happened to your face? I privately texted that time.
He switched formats also and reacted instantly. U like?
You know I do.
I will never reject U.
I closed my eyes. He had done it for me. His connection and thoughtfulness were almost unnatural. Even when I had all but pushed him away, he was committed to us.
And then another text came in. Song U R feeling right now?
You first...
Whether it was the time constraints he was under or the fact that he already had his, he didn’t argue with me as he usually did. Instead, he offered, “Truly.” I was humming it in my head while looking at his follow-up text. Yours? And then a moment or so later, Come on...U know I hate when U don’t answer.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. For one thing, I was too emotional. The last two minutes or so were only then catching up with me. Wow, all of that just happened. For another, there were too many people talking to me. And the texting was going to have to stop soon, anyway—the show was returning from commercial break.
“We have one last performer.” I was listening closely to Portia since I was so very invested for all kinds of reasons.
Ryan, obviously still waiting for me to respond, looked up from his phone. “What? Who?” His eyebrows furloughed slightly. “Everyone sang. I thought we were just doing wrap up and previews.”
“New twist for today’s episode,” the hostess continued. “We’re bringing someone back.”
The studio audience sure were getting their fill of surprises that night. I watched as they looked from one another once again with wide eyes and mouths. The judges looked equally as shocked. None more than Ryan, who was trying to nonchalantly glance at his phone. My dad would have given him a good glare.
But I couldn’t think of that. I was too busy trying not to shake ... trying to focus ... trying to walk. And then saying, “Hi, my name is Bethany. This is an original song, and it’s how I am feeling right now.”
The multiple lights above my head felt so warm. The stage so immense. The crowd so darn loud. I hadn’t come to do any of that. Yet, there I was.
I had just wanted to talk with him ... to see him again. When my plane had landed in LA, I knew I didn’t want to wait until that night when he got home. I had made up my mind, and I wanted it to be then. I had the cab driver take me straight to the studio, hoping the laminate pass I had tucked in my wallet for months was still eligible for a free entrance into the show. At first the guards had not given me access, saying the seats were taken and I should have called ahead. But then I pulled out my second “card.” I used the name Ryan had told me was his studio code word, in case I was ever watching the kids and there was an emergency. It wasn’t an emergency, but my heart was hurting. And I was even more grateful the show’s producers honored the request and kept me backstage. The plan had been to watch the final part of the show there and then see him once the cameras had stopped rolling and he was alone. It was a bit risky, knowing the Singer Spotlight crew made the connection and even more speculation could get out. But Ryan had said they were under strict policies, and I was trusting he felt the same way about seeing me.
And then when he made that announcement to the whole world, the producers had rushed to my side, coming up with the mad-crazy idea of getting me onto the stage. There hadn’t been much time to make a decision and, had I been given more, I most likely would have chickened out. But Ryan had put everything out there, and I wanted to, too. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated not only those words but what being with him meant to me.
Even though the crowd was stirring with mumbles and motion, I focused solely on him. His deep blue eyes ... his clean-shaven face ... his look at me. While first it was of pure shock, it melted rather quickly to peaceful adoration.
“Four-String Love” soared through the raised ceiling of the vast auditorium, and the active crowd became practically mute. I was lucky I knew the words. But then again, I had been writing, singing, and repeating them nearly nonstop for two days. The retreat had, in fact, been very good for me in all kinds of ways. There was no direct identification of Ryan or me in the lyrics, but there was also no question that it was all about the two of us. While Ryan, undoubtedly, could identify the meaning for every single word choice, the viewers would probably be able to fill in some of the subtle blanks.
It wasn’t my best performance. I hadn’t warmed up. My voice quivered at times with emotion. I would have never made it to the first round, again. But I didn’t regret it.
On the last note, the crowd erupted and my legs jittered. I saw Portia out of the corner of my eye start to reemerge from the side of the stage. But Ryan was there first. He was in front of me ... beaming ... nodding ... staring into me.
“You’re here,” he said, and the crowd hushed.
“In person,” I voiced what he had wanted from me from the beginning. As I started to speak again, he removed the mic he had connected to his body, which was allowing the audience an insider’s glimpse into our conversation. “You know I was backstage when you made your big proclamation?”
“No, obviously, I didn’t.” He handed his mic to Portia, who smiled and took my guitar and mic stand also off stage, guaranteeing us at least audio privacy. “I didn’t even know if you were in the city or state. It didn’t matter. I hadn’t planned it, but it felt so right.”
“Ry, you didn’t need to say all of that. I knew. I was just scared to hear it because of ... of everything else. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have trusted you and knew that it was going to work out.”
He took my hands in his, providing not only my body more balance but my heart, too. “I shouldn’t have let other people tell me what to do for so long. Kari is exactly where she should be and has who she needs with her. You weren’t. You were hurting. You were being hurt because of something completely out of your control. I couldn’t let that—”
“You and I were both hurting.” I caressed his hands. “And I’m here now.”
“For good, right?”
“Yes.” I felt the smile erupt onto my face. It made me so happy ... happy enough to even tease. “Tails won.”
“What?” The slight squint of his eyes showed his concern. “No.”
I couldn’t let him think for the slightest of moments, though, that I would ever have our love be the result of a flip of a coin. “No,” I reassured. “You ... you and your pangs won.” And my little bit of guilt for leaving Carolina had been erased when
I retrieved Garrett’s message in the cab, saying he got a clean bill of health and our mom needs to chill with the hypochondria stuff.
“I ... love ... you.”
As he kissed me, the stage lights faded and there were announcements for how the audience should exit the building. The show was over for the night. The official winner would be crowned the following day, but I knew I had already won something much greater than a title, fame, or money.
“I love you, too.” I smiled. “For real.”
“For real.”
SneAK PEEK AT Tails California
August 2021
Nearly every woman enthusiastically added a point to their shower scorecard. Aside from how Ryan and I met, how he proposed was the easiest question. After all, it had been shared in numerous media outlets. There had been four roses—three had thorns, but the final one did not. Instead, it hosted a spectacular, sparkling ring with the words “for real” inscribed inside. The proposal definitely personified all we were to each other and all that our future held.
“But tell them what he said right before that.” My younger sister, Ella, was far from being a romantic, but she did love my engagement story from three months prior.
My internal smile was probably even greater than my external one. I couldn’t help it. When it came to Ryan and our life together, I couldn’t be happier. “We were playing a game we sometimes play with one another—naming a song about what we are feeling at that moment. He went first, which is never the case.”
During my retell, the church’s wooden basement door opened and the man himself appeared. But no one else noticed, since their attention was solely on me. I brought my hand up to my face and smiled the teensiest but happiest of bits.
“He said his song was Train’s ‘Marry Me.’ And, at first, I didn’t get it. But then I made the connection to the video’s coffee shop girl, and the lyrics, and the title. And I ... it was ...” I met his eyes. “He is ... everything.”
A collective “awww” hummed from the group of women as my mother, looking every bit the part of a matron in her black skirt and red floral top, pronounced, “Speaking of ...”
