by Avon Gale
“Baby,” her mom said, voice so kind it made Sawyer tear up again, “you aren’t a failure. You did something incredibly difficult and it didn’t work out, but sweetheart, you can’t stay there and be miserable. Especially if it’s making you sick. And it breaks my heart a little that you thought you had no other choice.”
Sawyer did cry then. Because it was the reaction she should have expected all along, wasn’t it? Her parents had never pressured her. They weren’t the kind that demanded perfection, who held her to impossible standards. No, she’d done that all on her own. It wasn’t her parents she was running away from at all. It was herself.
“. . . and you can transfer. When you get back, we’ll sit down and look at schools . . .”
“Mom,” she interrupted, as the panic surged anew. “I’m not sure I want to go back to college.”
That brought the disapproval back to her mom’s voice. “That’s not an option, Sawyer. You need an education, and your father and I will understand if Juilliard isn’t the place for you, but . . . sweetheart, be reasonable. You’re a senior. You’re so close to graduating, what are you going to do instead?”
Sawyer stood up, leaving the shelter of the van and catching sight of a tow truck headed their way. This is what I want. Playing music, being with Vix and the band. She couldn’t say that, though. She didn’t know if they’d want her around for more than this tour. “I’m—I’m thinking about all my options.”
Her mom made a noise that suggested the conversation was far from over, but she was obviously willing to let it drop for the moment. “I looked at the tour schedule. It looks like your last show is in Memphis. So you’ll be home soon, won’t you?”
Sawyer wasn’t dreading the end of the tour quite like she’d been before, but the thought of things coming to an end still made her feel anxious. Despite the unending, stifling heat of the late afternoon, her hands felt clammy. “Yeah. A few weeks.”
“We’ll talk about this when you’re done.” Her mom gave a little laugh. “I never would have suspected my daughter was the type to run away from home with a rock band.”
Sawyer smiled at that. “Me, neither. Mom, the tow truck is here and I have to go. I’m sorry I lied to you and Dad. I really, really hope you believe me. I hated doing it, and I know it wasn’t right.”
“It’s all right, honey. I’m glad you’re safe, and I’m still a bit confused how you turned into an Americana fiddle player, and I’m still concerned you’re in a situation involving Texas and a tow truck, but we’ll get this all figured out.” Her mother’s voice was soothing. “Do you need any money?”
God, why had she done this to her parents? The guilt made her eyes burn again. “We’re good, I think.”
“Will you please stay in touch the rest of the tour?”
She nodded. “And . . . if you want, come to the show in Memphis. The last one. I’ll put you on the guest list.”
“Of course I want to, Sawyer. Your father and I, we’ve always loved watching you play.”
“Thanks,” Sawyer choked out, and ended the call as the van was hooked up behind the tow truck, dust stinging her eyes along with the tears.
Luckily, all the van needed was a coolant flush and to replace a leaky hose, and that was a quick fix, meaning they weren’t going to put any of their upcoming shows in jeopardy. It meant adding a night in Dallas, but Vix couldn’t say she was sorry about that, since it gave her some time alone with Sawyer.
They both promptly took showers after arriving in the room, but this time they weren’t hot ones. Vix cranked the air up, and they flopped down on the bed, both in their underwear and tank tops, letting the coolness soak into their skin. Waiting for that tow truck in the summer sun had been brutal. Seriously, fuck Texas.
Sawyer had been quiet since talking to her mom, and Vix knew that she’d speak when she was ready. Vix glanced over at the violin case, lying on the spare bed, and wondered if she should encourage Sawyer to play something.
“I think I knew they’d understand,” said Sawyer, before Vix could suggest a private concert. “I think that’s why I didn’t tell them.” She turned toward Vix. “Isn’t that fucked up?”
“Nah.” Vix shrugged. It had never seemed like Sawyer’s parents were the overinvested stage parents you saw on television. The person who was hardest on Sawyer was Sawyer herself. “I’m a little creeped out by your high school orchestra teacher Googling you, though.”
Sawyer smiled briefly. “Ratted out by the authorities. And I was so close to getting away with it too, see?” She said the last in a mock-twenties gangster accent.
“You would have, if it weren’t for that meddling teacher.” Vix pushed up on her elbows. “So they’re cool, and they’re coming to the show in Memphis.”
Sawyer nodded. Her eyes looked far away, an unhappy tension still playing over her features. “Yeah.”
“You aren’t happy? You are happy? What are you feeling right now, exactly, because it seems like maybe you should be less stressed?” Vix raised her eyebrows. “Although, you know, I get the whole thing about wanting to be rebellious and having no one react as strongly as you want them to.”
Sawyer stared at her. Her smile was genuine. “You don’t have the chops or the life experience to be that smart, Victoria.”
Vix stuck her tongue out, happy to see Sawyer smile. “Stop trying to sound like a Pitchfork writer. Did you want them to be mad? Tell you that you’re wasting your life by not going back to Juilliard?”
She was absolutely not going to consider what that might mean for the two of them. No.
“No. They said when I got back, they’d help me find someplace I could transfer.”
“Okay,” said Vix, slowly.
Sawyer rested her hands on her stomach. She was staring straight ahead. “I don’t want to go to college, though. Anywhere. I want to do what I’m doing, and play music that I like.”
Vix blinked. “Are you saying— Wait, what?”
“If you guys want me to stick around, that is. I want to be a part of the band.”
Vix wondered why she wasn’t squealing gleefully and pouncing on Sawyer, happy at the thought of having her girlfriend on tour with her all the time.
Because what if this ends up like you and Jeff? What if you end up hating each other, and you lose your band and your music?
“Don’t sound excited,” Sawyer deadpanned. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “If you don’t think it’s a good idea, say so.”
“I— It’s not that I don’t love the idea of playing music with you.” Vix wasn’t sure they should be having this conversation right now, but when else would they have the opportunity and the privacy? “It has nothing to do with that. This is a hard life, Sawyer. And it’s gonna be like this for a long time, maybe always. There’s no guarantee we’ll ever make it any bigger than we already are. Hell, I’d be thrilled if we made it to Racer’s level.”
“It doesn’t bother you,” Sawyer said. “The idea of things being this way, with the touring and the van and all the rest of it. Does it?”
“Well, I mean, a little. Like, it’d be sweet to have a tour bus, you know? But no, I pretty much knew what I was signing up for when I decided this was what I wanted.” Vix chewed on her bottom lip. “I’m going to say something, and I don’t think you’re going to like hearing it.”
Sawyer glanced up at her. “Good, that’s totally what I want right now.” She settled her hands behind her head.
“We don’t have to talk.” Vix reached out and traced her fingers over Sawyer’s skin. “I can cheer you up with sex and we can save the conversation for later.”
Sawyer shook her head. “Nice idea, but now that you said that, I have to hear what you were going to say. Protip, Victoria—saying ‘I’m gonna say something you don’t want to hear’ and following it up with, ‘or we could have sex’ is, like, the worst buzzkill.”
Vix rolled her eyes and rubbed Sawyer’s stomach. “Okay, but I want it out there that I gave you the option.�
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“Just say it.” Sawyer turned her head away. “I know what it is, anyway.”
“Then I don’t have to say it,” Vix countered.
Sawyer was quiet, and she didn’t look back at Vix. But she reached out and curled her fingers around Vix’s. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Fine. You thought you wanted Juilliard too. And then you were miserable for, what, three years? And hung in there because you thought you had to?” Vix took a deep breath. “Hey. Look at me.”
Sawyer turned, and she looked young—wide eyes glittering with tears, lips pressed tight together and trembling.
“I don’t want to ever be the reason you’re miserable, Sawyer.”
Sawyer disentangled her hand from Vix’s and wiped at the tears spilling over her lashes and onto her cheeks. “I know.”
Vix wasn’t sure she did, but she didn’t press. One thing at a time, here. “Being with the band full-time means you don’t have a life, pretty much. You have us, the van, and shows. In between tours, you do your laundry and get ready for the next one. About the only time we’ll ever be in one place is when I’m writing new stuff, and then you have to find a place to live and a way to keep yourself fed. There’s no health insurance. There’s no insurance for anything, really.”
There’s no insurance we’ll stay together, either.
Sawyer swallowed hard, but didn’t speak.
Vix reached up and wiped tears off Sawyer’s cheekbones with her thumb. “I love having you on tour with us. I love talking about stupid shit with you, and I seriously love your sense of humor and how it’s, like, seven thousand times more sophisticated than fart jokes.”
Sawyer gave a tiny hiccup of a laugh at that.
“And yeah, I mean, the sex is great too. You’re hot as hell and getting to be a menace with that strap-on.” She smiled, then went hell-bent for leather because why the hell not? “And Sawyer? I love you.”
And that was why Vix didn’t think it was a good idea for Sawyer to join the band. But how could she say that? You couldn’t tell someone you loved them and then follow it up with, I love you, but I don’t want to be with you all the time.
Sawyer dashed at her tears again. “I can’t believe you said you loved me while I was crying.”
Vix gave a little shrug and tried a smile. “I’m a horrible girlfriend, what can I say?”
“You’re not. Then again, you’re the only one I’ve ever had, so.” Sawyer sat up, looking pretty and miserable. “I love you too. Obviously. I mean, I’m sure you knew that.”
“This is why I write the music,” Vix murmured, leaning in to kiss her. Sawyer tasted salty like her tears and minty like toothpaste. “I’m glad you’re not mad at me.”
“I’m not mad.” They repositioned themselves so they were lying down again, moving easily into each other’s space, limbs tangling together. Now that the heat of the Texas day had been sufficiently chilled away, it was starting to get unpleasantly cold in the room.
“It would be different if I did all that for someone else, you know?” Sawyer asked, head on Vix’s shoulder. “If I auditioned for Juilliard because I was trying to live up to my parents’ expectations or whatever. It’s worse because I wanted it. I wanted it, I got it, and I hated it. It was like . . . a betrayal, I guess. I kept waiting for it to be better, because it was supposed to be better, damn it. And it never did. I kept hating it, and being mad at myself for hating it, and I wasted three years of my life because I couldn’t walk away.”
She looked at Vix. “And I know what you’re saying. That I’ll want this, and then I won’t want to walk away if I need to. Because my track record with that is shit.”
Vix didn’t know what to say. “Promise me that you’ll think about this, okay?” Vix took a deep breath. “Don’t let this thing with us be the reason you give up school and sign on for tour vans and truck stop showers. You and me . . . we can make it work. Even if you’re in school.”
She could tell Sawyer was surprised by that. “I didn’t think you’d want that.”
“I mean, it’ll suck. And if you say something about me needing to hook up with men to sate my rampant bisexual desires, we’re gonna watch some YouTube videos that explain why that’s bullshit.” Vix snuggled closer, wanting to get up and turn off the air but too cold to consider moving away from Sawyer’s body warmth.
“Sexy ones?” At Vix’s snort, Sawyer laughed softly and kissed her. “Not to sate your rampant sexual desires, no. But hey, it’d suck not to get laid regularly, and if that’s my rampant lesbian desires talking, well, there you go. I wouldn’t feel right about you denying that part of yourself—the sexual part, not the bi part. As in, it seems restrictive. And you’re kind of a horndog.”
“Shut up,” Vix scoffed, then bit her gently on the shoulder. “Look who’s talking. But I know what you mean.” She did, too. Sawyer was discovering her sexuality for the first time, and it seemed awful to ask her to repress it all for the rare times they’d see each other if Sawyer was in school somewhere. She groaned. “This is stupid. Why’d we have to fall in love?”
“We’re awesome together?” Sawyer snuggled closer. “I don’t know what the right thing is to do, here.”
“Well, we have a little while left to figure it out,” said Vix.
“Like a week,” Sawyer reminded her.
“That’s an eternity in tour-time,” said Vix. “That’s, like, a million miles of highway, a thousand pee breaks—”
“Look, I can’t help it I drink water so I’m not chronically dehydrated like you, Miss Coke Zero addict.”
Vix continued without stopping. “—and a thousand fart jokes that Kit, Connor, and Jeff will think are hilarious.”
Sawyer made a noise. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.” She yawned, fingers tracing over Vix’s skin. “You have goose bumps.”
“I think I set that thermostat the coldest it will go.” Vix shivered dramatically. “You should turn off the air, though.”
“You turned it on! And set it on polar bear!”
“You’re taller,” said Vix. “It will take you less time to get across the room.”
Sawyer snorted a laugh and disentangled herself from Vix. She gave a purely girlish shriek and dashed across the room to deal with the air. Vix turned the covers back and crawled underneath them.
“I know we had a lot of really intense conversations,” said Sawyer, as she climbed in next to Vix. “But don’t you think it’d be a shame to let this hotel room to go waste?”
Vix did, indeed, think that.
Sawyer drew her bow across the strings, holding out the note and segueing into the next as Vix sang. They were practicing the song—their song—the one with Vix’s lyrics and Sawyer’s music, because Vix wanted to sing it in Memphis. Except they were both perfectionists, and the song changed every time they messed around with it—the lyrics morphed into new ones, the notes ever changing along with them.
For fun, they started messing around with a few of the other snippets that Vix had been working on for the next album. Sawyer had never heard music so clearly in her head that was hers, before, and she had a notebook of her own to keep notes so that she didn’t forget them.
The thought of leaving the band, of never recording those notes and playing them while Vix tipped her head back and sang with her eyes closed beneath the lights, made Sawyer want to cry. She knew what she wanted—which was to stay—but she had the same reservations that Vix did.
“You thought you wanted Juilliard too.”
Would she be strong enough, this time, to walk away if she made the wrong decision? Was it enough that, unlike last time, she had to face the truth that maybe it wouldn’t work out like she wanted? She’d never let herself consider that about Juilliard. Was it fatalistic to think that now about the band?
“Earth to Ms. Bell. We’re still working.” Vix leaned over and thwapped her on the back of the head. Then she started playing with Sawyer’s hair. “I mean unless you want to stop working and screw
around. That we can do.”
Sawyer raised her eyebrows. She didn’t believe that for a second.
“. . . once we’re done, here,” Vix added, like she couldn’t help herself. She stuck her tongue out at Sawyer’s grin. “Stop it. You don’t know me.”
“I know you’re mad there’s a Pepsi machine in this hotel and that means you can’t have a Coke Zero,” Sawyer pointed out. “You should really drink some water.” When Vix repeated the words back to her, she bopped Vix on her faded-purple head with her violin bow.
“You should feel bad for me,” Vix said. “I have to drink a Diet Pepsi. The world is a cold, dark place.”
In response, Sawyer played a few notes of a dirge on her violin.
Vix grinned. “Not the world’s smallest violin, but the world’s hottest violin player. It’ll do.”
Sawyer smiled affectionately and nodded at the notebook on the bed between them. “Let’s see if we can finish this verse, yeah? Then let’s do other things.”
“I like the way you think.” Vix leaned in and kissed Sawyer, a soft press of her mouth, tasting like—well, cola—and a bit like cigarette smoke.
Sawyer concentrated as Vix walked the length of the small hotel room, dressed in boy-short panties and a tank top, faded hair a mess as always. She was singing words about rebelling against yourself, finding a place you fit in when you didn’t know who you were. The song was about Vix, ostensibly, but the lyrics resonated with Sawyer more than she could express. She’d made the musical accompaniment start soft and slow, a little mournful and discordant to represent confusion. Then it slowly grew louder and louder, faster and bolder to imply confidence. The song ended on a positive note, in which the narrator felt brave and secure and no longer fighting, but another upswing in the music seemed a bit too forced. Sawyer slowed the music down again, but instead of the discordant confusion from the beginning refrain, it sounded . . . grounded. Stable. She smiled, feeling the notes as her fingers flew over the strings, the bow dancing.
Vix grinned delightedly when they were finished. “Oh my God. Whatever you did, there, on the last verse? That was it. That was perfect!”
