And then she just called over and over and over.
She can keep calling. I have class at eight. And I’m not talking to her in the middle of a neighborhood.
Checking the Uber app, I update my location and see that my ride will be here in a few minutes. I stop, a shiver running through me. This one only partly from the cold. Of course she doesn’t give me any idea what she’s calling about. That would be too easy.
My thoughts churn the whole way back to my house. My phone vibrating in my hand for what feels like the thousandth time as I walk through my front door decides me on whether or not to deal with this before class. I don’t have another break until ten. So unless I want to turn my phone off and talk to my mom on campus when she shows up, I need to take care of this now.
Having her show up here is out of the question.
I swipe my thumb across the screen to finally take her call, the action far too tame to express my pent up anxiety and anger. “What is wrong with you?”
One thing I’ve learned from my mom is that when you find yourself in a position of weakness, always go on the attack. You might be able to wrong-foot the person in the dominant position and gain control of the situation. Or at least buy yourself time to extricate yourself gracefully or mitigate whatever damage is imminent.
Right now I’m going for gaining control, but I’ll take damage mitigation.
“You finally deign to answer your phone, and you greet me like that?” Her voice is icy, the polar opposite of the hot rage scalding my veins.
“Yes. You’re the one who’s been calling nonstop for almost an hour. Who does that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps a mother who hasn’t heard from her daughter in months?”
“Oh, well, perhaps if said mother weren’t trying to coerce her daughter into doing things she didn’t want every time she called, she’d get a call back. All of your messages have been about upcoming performance opportunities that I do. Not. Want. I made that clear before I left. I’m taking time off. That means no recording, no tours, no performances. None.”
“Charlotte, you need to be reasonable.”
A laugh splutters out of me. “I’m the one being unreasonable?”
“You are single handedly destroying everything we’ve worked for over the last decade. And for what? So you can play piano at some no name school in flyover country? How long are you going to keep up this preposterous charade?”
I glance around the room, my mouth hanging open. “Preposterous charade? Me wanting to go to college is a preposterous charade? I just want to know what it’s like to be normal for a change. To decide what I want to do with my life—you know, like most twenty-one year olds do—and it’s a preposterous charade.”
“Charlotte—” Mom cuts in, but I don’t let her keep going.
“You know what’s funny, Mom? I’m the only person I know who’s had to fight with their parents about going to college. I know a few people who’d have liked to take a year off before starting their degree. But me? My big rebellion is—get this—getting an education.”
She sighs. The sound so heavy and full of disappointment, I can feel it like a physical thing. “You’ll never know what it’s like to be normal. Not really. You haven’t had a normal life. Even now, your life isn’t normal compared to your classmates. Because none of them have the choices and opportunities you have. And what are you going to do? Stay there for four years? Lose everything we’ve worked for? Disappoint your legion of fans? Really? And what are you going to do with a music degree in piano performance? You’re already a performer. You won’t learn anything there you don’t already know.”
“You’re wrong, Mom.” Tears flood my eyes, and I blink hard to dispel them, hating the fact that I cry when I get really angry. “I’ve learned a lot already. And I’ll keep learning as long as I’m here.”
She scoffs, and I close my eyes tightly. A tear leaks out of my right eye.
“Charlotte. You need to listen to me. I didn’t call to get into an argument with you.”
“Then why did you call?” I’m proud of the fact that my voice is steady, if a little snarly. No hint of the tears in my eyes choking my vocal chords. All that vocal training has paid off in more ways than one.
Her frustrated sigh settles on me, another layer of parental disappointment. “If you’ll quit interrupting me, I’ll tell you.” The icy edge is back, her words sharp and shiny like icicles.
She waits, but this time I maintain my silence. Arguing with her is as useless as it always was. Starting out on the attack didn’t allow me to gain control of the conversation. I should’ve known better.
When she’s decided I’m not going to interrupt again, she speaks, her voice more controlled and businesslike. Still brusque, but not sharpened daggers made of ice. “I’m sure you’ve seen the speculation about your sudden disappearance from everywhere. You need to make an appearance. I have the contract for your performance at New Year’s Rockin’ Eve. It’s just one song. We’ll do a pared down version of one of your singles from the last album with a few backup dancers. Show everyone that you’re still on your game and not in rehab. I’ve also lined up a few interviews. Jimmy Kimmel had a cancellation for the week after next, so I booked the slot for you.”
My mouth drops open at the mention of the New Year’s Rockin’ Eve performance. And the ball of rage in the pit of my stomach only grows larger when she starts talking about the interviews. “Mom.”
She continues as though I haven’t spoken. “You’ll need to fly to their studio, but we’ll send the plane for you, so that should be no problem. The other is with a magazine, complete with a photo spread.”
“Mom,” I say again louder.
“I don’t know what your diet has been like there, but since you’re going for the whole ‘real college girl’ experience, I’m guessing not great. I’ll email you a diet plan to help you drop at least five pounds in a hurry.”
“Mother.” My voice is a growl.
“Now, I know you don’t like juice fasts, but these magazines always want skin, so you’ll just have to suck it up. It’s only a few days. And the rest is just until the magazine shoot, at which point you can go back to eating Cheetos and drinking beer or whatever your preferred form of empty calories is now.”
“Mom!” I bark. “If you don’t shut up right now, I’m hanging up and blocking your number. Then it won’t matter how many times you call, you won’t get through. And if you show up here to try to badger me in person, I’ll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”
She gasps. “Why you—”
“Ungrateful little brat,” we say in unison.
“Yes, I know. You’ve called me that every time I’ve tried to take a break. Every time I’ve taken any time off. I’m ungrateful and don’t know a thing about the industry and where would I be without you looking out for me and pushing me.”
I look down at my body, taking advantage of her stunned silence. “You know where I’d be? About a size eight.”
Another gasp of horror greets that. I was a size four when I was on tour, thanks to a near starvation diet, engineered by my mother, grueling workouts, and performances three nights a week, minimum.
“You have to start this diet immediately. If you’re a size six for the photos, that might be okay.”
“Actually, it doesn’t even matter. For one thing, even as a size four they photoshop the shit out of it and make me look thinner. You know this as well as I do. But the real reason it doesn’t matter is because I’m not doing it. I’m not doing New Year’s Rockin’ Eve. I’m not doing the interviews. I’m not doing any of it. If you call and badger me about anything like this again, I will block your number.”
“But, Charlotte.” She’s pleading with me now. I think this is a first. Brow beating, bullying, and steamrolling are her usual MO. But that’s not working on me this time. Interesting that pleading is the next step.
“Charlotte, the speculation. Haven’t you seen what the
y’re saying about you?”
I swallow hard. “No. I haven’t. I’ve deliberately avoided all entertainment news outlets because I don’t want to know.” Lauren and I made a deal when we agreed to move in together that if she followed any of that stuff, she’d do it when I’m not around. And not tell me about any of it.
Mom sputters incoherently, and it’s my turn to heave a sigh. “Look, Mom. I know you think you’re looking out for me, but I need this time away. If you want to call and catch up and see how I’m doing, that’s fine. But if you’re going to call and tell me I have to do a performance or an interview or anything else related to my career, then I’m hanging up on you. Because it’s my career.” I stab my finger into my own chest in emphasis, even though she can’t see me. “Mine. If I want to torpedo it beyond all chance of recovery, that’s my business. This is your last chance.”
I wait a beat, but she still hasn’t come up with anything to say.
“I’m hanging up now. I have class in twenty minutes, and I need to go. Goodbye.”
With that I pull the phone away from my face and push the red end button. Relief swamps me, and my tears start falling in earnest. I sit down on the floor, still barely beyond the square of parquet flooring that makes up our entry. Shudders rack my body as I cry into my hands.
Arms wrapping around my shoulders makes my head jerk up. Lauren gives me a squeeze and rubs my back. “Everything okay?”
I nod, wiping my nose on the back of my hand then scrubbing at my cheeks. “Yeah. Yeah. I think it’s actually better than it’s been in a long time.”
“I heard you telling off your mom.”
“Oh, God. I’m sorry, Lauren. You were probably sleeping. I’m a shitty roommate. I should’ve gone into my room at least.”
She smiles. “It’s fine. But you’re okay? Wanna talk about it?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean yes, I’m fine. No, I don’t really want to talk about it. You’ve already overheard my half of the conversation, I’m sure you can probably piece together the rest. It’s nothing you don’t already know anyway.”
Her smile is sympathetic as she nods again. “Yeah. Good for you for standing up for yourself though.”
“Thanks.” My smile is still watery, but getting steadier.
She looks me over and then glances at the clock on the wall. “Are you sure you’re up for theory this morning? You’re still wearing your clothes from yesterday, you just got home, told your mom off, and your class starts in fifteen minutes. Even if you left right now, you’d barely make it on time.”
“And I still have to pee!”
Lauren jumps up and pulls me to my feet. “Go. Use the bathroom. Take a shower. We’ll go out for breakfast and you can fill me in on where you’ve been all night.” She grins at me and bounces her eyebrows up and down as she pushes me toward my room.
But I stop and give her a quick hug. “Thanks, Lauren. You’re the best.”
“I know.” She blows on her bent fingers and polishes them on her chest. “Not everyone can be as awesome as me. You all have to keep trying, though. What’s life without goals?”
Laughing, I head for my room. A good laugh with Lauren is exactly what I need after all this drama. Skipping class in favor of breakfast out—the opposite of my mom’s suggested juice fast starting immediately—sounds like exactly what I need.
Chapter Fifteen
Restez: stay in position; a direction to string players not to shift up or down the fingerboard
Damian
I wake with the scent of Charlie in my nostrils, but the place where she should be lying is cold.
Blinking, I sit up and rub my eyes, looking around for some sign of where she might be. But there’s nothing of hers left in my room. Her clothes, her shoes, her purse, all gone.
Fumbling for my glasses, I slide them on, then find my discarded jeans from last night and fish out my phone. Thankfully the battery isn’t too low since I didn’t bother charging it last night. I plug it in now and check the time. Eight fifteen and a text from Charlie.
Last night was amazing. I didn’t want to wake you, so I called an Uber to get home before my first class. Call you later.
I let out a soft sigh. I wish she would’ve woken me. I would’ve happily taken her home. I didn’t even think about classes last night when I told her to stay the night.
I’m a little surprised she woke up in time on her own. Maybe she’s one of those weirdos who can wake up without an alarm all the time. I get a little glow of happiness when I realize that I’ll probably find that out in the near future.
Sending back a quick text—Have a good class. Talk later—I leave my phone on the charger, pull on my jeans, and head for the shower. When I leave my room, I bump into Zeke. He makes a show of looking me up and down, taking in my shirtless torso and messy hair. Then he leans to the side to look behind me. “No walk of shame this morning?”
I shake my head. “Sorry to disappoint. She has eight o’clocks, so you missed her.”
He makes a sound of faux disappointment. “Too bad. I was hoping to see her again.” His gaze grows abstract, and he rubs his face. “I forget that she’s just a freshman, you know? Since she’s the same age as we are. How’s she doing with classes and everything? I never see her since she’s not in band or orchestra. She seems like a cool chick.”
My eyebrows climb my forehead. It’s not like Zeke to want to gossip, but I guess his curiosity makes a certain amount of sense. “She’s good. Enjoying classes. Having an easier time than most freshmen, but I think that’s true of piano players in general. They usually understand chord structure better than the rest of us, even if they don’t know all the proper names, y’know?”
He nods. “Yeah. True. I noticed that with Chris in our class. He always sailed through the theory stuff better than the rest of us. It always made me feel better that he sucked at sight singing though.”
He grins, and I let out a laugh. “Yeah. He was a cocky bastard about the theory stuff until you showed him up in sight singing. No one expected the trombone player to sing that well.”
His grin turns crooked. “I was in choir in high school. I was in a couple of the school plays, too. I’m a triple threat.”
With another laugh, I move past him. “I’m going to take a shower, maybe head in early and try to catch Charlie for a few minutes before Music History.”
He nods, letting me pass. “Cool. Catch you later. I’m going to get some practicing in before class today.”
When I get back to my room, I see I have a missed call from Charlie. Brows furrowed, I call her back right away.
She answers on the third ring. “Hey!” she chirps. “I got your text and tried calling right back, but you didn’t answer.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I went to take a shower. Is everything alright?”
A singsong voice calls, “Hi, Damian,” in the background.
“Who’s that? Where are you?”
She chuckles. “I’m having breakfast with Lauren. My mom called when I got home, and dealing with her took all my time. By the time I finished our phone call, I was going to be late for theory. And I woke up Lauren yelling at my mom, so she came out and suggested breakfast so we could dish.”
“Dish?”
“About you. You have sisters. Surely you’re familiar with the concept.”
My ears get hot, and I cover it by dropping my towel and digging underwear out of my dresser drawer. “Yes. I’m familiar with the concept,” I say more stiffly than I intended.
She giggles in response. “Anyway, I’m skipping my morning classes. And since you’re awake and not in class yet, I wanted to call and say hi.”
“Hi,” I reply softly, a smile pulling at my mouth. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Another laugh comes out of her, this one a little odd sounding. “About what, exactly?”
“Us?” It comes out a question, but it’s the most pressing thing on my mind right now.
“Great.” Her voice is s
uddenly low and husky. “I was hoping we could get together tonight, and …”
The and hangs between us, sending blood rushing south with all of its implications, making it more difficult than it ought to be to pull my underwear on. I clear my throat. “I’d like that.”
“Me too.” I can hear the sultry smile in her voice.
“Are there other things you’re feeling less great about? You said your mom called, and you yelled at her. Is everything okay?”
A heavy sigh comes over the phone. “That, well … it could be worse. She was making demands about the way she thinks things ought to be. I told her no. She wasn’t happy, but I think I might’ve finally gotten through to her. Time will tell.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. Not over the phone. And Lauren and I have kind of talked it to death right now.”
“Okay.” I swallow against a wave of disappointment. But I get it. I wouldn’t want to talk about my family problems over the phone in the middle of a restaurant either. It still stings that she’ll talk to Lauren about it and not me, though.
“Hey.” Her voice is soft, cajoling. “I told you enough about my mom last night that I’m sure you can piece a few things together. You know she doesn’t want me here. She’s still pressuring me to come back with them, and …” She trails off, swallowing audibly over the phone. “Anyway, I told her in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t be doing that, and that she needs to stop trying to bully me into doing what she wants. And that if she wants to call and talk to me about my life and see how I’m doing, that’s fine, but if she’s just going to browbeat me some more, I’m going to block her.”
I blink, my head jerking back in shock. She’s said that she’s tempted to do that before. But I didn’t realize she was serious. “Wow,” I say at last. “What’d she say to that?”
Broken Chords (Songs and Sonatas Book 4) Page 11
