Hold On To Me

by Taylor Holloway

  Rosie Ross [9:20 a.m.]: I don’t know. I sort-of don’t think I’m up to it.

  Trina Schmidt [9:20 a.m.]: We ought to do something to celebrate. <3 Just think about it. We don’t have to do anything huge. But we have to do something.

  Rosie Ross [9:21 a.m.]: Thanks Trina. I’ll think about it.

  Ryan’s guest shower was bigger and nicer than mine—not that either of those things was a huge achievement. My shower absolutely sucked. Just having adequate water pressure felt incredibly indulgent. When coupled with the virtually unlimited hot water, I was in sensory heaven.

  I used my fifteen minutes of lathering, rinsing, and repeating to consider whether or not I wanted to take Trina up on her offer and try salvaging my birthday. After the disaster that was yesterday, it was hard to envision that my second attempt could be worse than the first. I had nowhere to go but up. Besides, as crappy as yesterday had been, some good did come out of it—I met Ryan.

  Plus, you only turn nineteen once. Cancelling my birthday party last night had been a knee-jerk reaction to my fish dying and my mom hanging up on me. If I wasn’t careful, I’d knee-jerk myself right into never enjoying anything. I’d already gotten grumpy at Ryan this morning for reacting before I thought about things. He was probably just honestly curious about how weird my relationship with my dad was. It was objectively very weird, I could acknowledge that. I stood under the sprays, felt guilty, and resolved to enjoy my birthday, even if it killed me. I also resolved to apologize to Ryan.

  When I got out of the shower, I felt stronger. Reinvigorated. I was a brand new, less grouchy, cleaner version of Rosie. I reached for my phone with newfound resolve.

  Rosie Ross [9:45 a.m.]: Ok, let’s do something tonight.

  Trina Schmidt [9:56 a.m.]: That’s my secret party animal. What do you want to do? You’re the birthday girl.

  My hands, which had been towel drying my curls, paused. Oh, right. The girl in the mirror stared back at me blankly. I had no idea what I wanted to do. The only thing I did know was that I wanted Ryan to be there. I’d been nothing but crappy to him and he’d been nothing but nice to me. Maybe if I invited him to my party would convince him that I wasn’t a total bitch.

  Rosie Ross [9:46 a.m.]: Let me get right back to you on that. I need to talk to Ryan first.

  11

  Ryan

  I heard the shower turn on and then off again a few minutes later and retreated back to my bedroom to give Rosie her privacy. I was expecting her to avoid me. I was half-expecting her to hate me for continuously prying into her private business. Therefore, I was very much not expecting the soft knock on my bedroom door.

  I opened the door and found myself face-to-face with perfection. Rosie was fresh out of the shower and wrapped in one of my fluffy white towels. In just one of my fluffy white towels.

  Rosie’s damp hair tumbled around her narrow shoulders, and little beads of water clung to the tips of the damp ringlets. The droplets dripped down occasionally and ran down her smooth, pale skin like my fingers wanted to do. Her cheeks were flushed dark pink.

  I didn’t even try not to stare at her. There was absolutely no point. I couldn’t not stare at Rosie any more than I could wish that her grip on the towel would slip. It was impossible.

  “Rosie?” It was my turn to stutter.

  “I’m really sorry that I snapped at you,” she told me. Her eyes were huge in her face again. Like her father, Rosie was quick to react in anger. Unlike him, however, she was also apparently quick to apologize when she felt she’d overreacted or judged someone unfairly. I found myself enjoying her fiery spirit. I liked that she was a bit feisty. I liked it even more that she was sensitive, too.

  “You don’t owe me any apologies,” I answered her, still feeling like this situation was entirely unreal. “I’m the only one who should apologize. I’m sorry for asking questions about your personal life.”

  “No. I do owe you an apology,” she insisted. Her bare feet shuffled on the hardwood. Her little toes were just on the edge of the threshold. I felt like our conversation was also on the threshold of something—I mean she could have put on clothes before coming to apologize—but I wasn’t exactly sure what.

  I wasn’t sure I should hope that Rosie had come to seduce me, but I was definitely hoping for that. Long and hard.

  I shook my head to deny that she owed me anything, but Rosie was already forging ahead. “I shouldn’t have assumed you had bad motives,” she told me, pouting her full, red lips. “You haven’t been anything but kind to me. He’s really manipulative, so I guess I assumed you wanted something from me, too. But you aren’t him. You deserve the benefit of the doubt.”

  The idea was laughable. I deserved noting of the sort. My motives were entirely impure, especially at the moment. But even aside from my desire for Rosie, my motives were fundamentally not what she thought. I stopped myself from telling her everything, but something that was possibly even worse slipped out instead:

  “Are you always this way?”

  She blinked. “What way?

  I shook my head at her. “So generous.” I spent time around self-centered rock stars and soul-sucking lawyers. I hadn’t met the sweet and wholesome type in a very long time.

  A little smile appeared on her pretty face. “You think that? Well, thank you. Considering how mean I’ve been to you, that’s really something. Maybe you need some new friends.”

  I felt the corners of my own mouth drawing upwards. I thought about my brother, Jason Kane, Victoria Priestly and the other troublesome rock stars I dealt with regularly. Some of my clients were basically just walking migraines. Rosie wasn’t anything compared to the client that would call at two a.m. because someone had violated their rider and given them blue M&M’s. “Maybe you’re right.”

  Rosie took a deep breath and looked me square in the eye. “Perhaps I can help you with that. Do you want to come to my birthday party tonight?”

  My lips parted in surprise. Was Rosie asking me out? I suddenly didn’t know how to reply. My brain struggled to compute what was happening.

  It’s one thing to fantasize about someone. It’s one thing to flirt with them. It’s one thing to want them. It’s another thing entirely to do something about it.

  My first thought was that Rosie was lot braver than I’d given her credit for. She was a lot braver than me. My second was that I should let her down gently, as I had no business being anywhere near her.

  I took a deep, slow breath. “Rosie, I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Her face fell. “Oh.” She traced the threshold of my room with her big toe and clutched the towel a bit more tightly around herself. “I thought you liked me. I’m sorry if I misread you.”

  The look she was wearing made me want to jump off a cliff. “I do like you, Rosie, it’s just… your dad is my boss… I’m a lot older than you…” I fumbled for an explanation that would make her stop looking so sad. My words did the opposite of what I’d hoped.

  “Never mind,” she said, moving to retreat, “you don’t have to explain. Just forget I said anything.” Her expression cleared. She’d swallowed her disappointment and was putting on a brave face.

  My brother’s words from the night before echoed in my brain: She’s a grown woman, man. If you like her then you should respect her enough to let her make her own decisions about what she wants.

  She’d clearly decided. It was my turn now.

  Fuck it.

  I reached forward, grabbed Rosie by the shoulders, and kissed her.

  She gasped a little in surprise when I drew her forward, but she didn’t jerk away. Instead, she closed her eyes and leaned forward up against my chest. Rosie let me kiss her, parting her lips in an instant and yielding to my invasion of her space. My mouth sought hers eagerly, insistently, and entirely inappropriately.

  I found that I didn’t care. I’m not usually an impulsive person, but I couldn’t regret kissing Rosie. Even if she was nineteen. Even if she was my boss’ daugh
ter. Even if she was dressed in just a towel and knocking on my door to apologize. I felt zero guilt for giving her exactly what she’d been looking for since that first blush.

  Her kisses were sweet, eager, and innocent. I barely spared a thought to wonder if she’d been kissed this way before. If she hadn’t, she was a very quick study. Her tongue danced along mine, stealing my breath when I was trying to steal hers. My hands dropped from her shoulders to her waist and squeezed her there, marveling at how well our bodies fit together. Holding her felt entirely natural, and perfectly right.

  When we finally drew apart, she was breathless, flushed, and shocked. I considered pulling her all the way over the threshold and into my room. I wondered if she’d let me. But at the same time, I didn’t want to rush her. If I was going to do this with Rosie (whatever it was ‘this’ was), I was going to do it right.

  “Does that mean you’ll come to my birthday party?” she asked after a moment. She was staring at me like she couldn’t quite believe that I’d just done that. I knew the feeling.

  “Yes, that means I’ll come to your birthday party,” I told her. My body was insisting that I pull her inside my bedroom and out of that towel immediately. I ignored it.

  “Ok good,” she said, taking a step back out of my reach. “Well, I’m going to go get dressed now so we can go check out the apartment.”

  She traipsed away with a skip in her step, leaving me to wonder if I was a complete idiot who’d just fallen into Rosie’s trap, the luckiest guy on earth, destined to lose my job, or all three. It was probably all three.

  12

  Rosie

  He kissed me. Ryan actually kissed me! I took a chance on a handsome stranger and it totally paid off. I’d been very right to give Ryan the benefit of the doubt. My birthday re-do was off to a very good start.

  Trina had packed my bag the night before, and she’d included a number of articles of clothing that were not in my regular rotation. For today, apparently, she intended me to wear a tight, blue, flowered dress, opaque maroon tights, and ankle boots. My usual outfits consisted of jeans, t-shirts, and flip flops. This was yet another of Trina’s underhanded attempts to get me to ‘dress better’. And this time I had no choice but to wear her pick.

  Rosie Ross [10:00 a.m.]: Two things. One, Ryan kissed me. Two, I hate the outfit you packed for me.

  Trina Schmidt [10:01 a.m.]: OMG.

  Rosie Ross [10:02 a.m.]: I don’t even own tights. These are your tights.

  Trina Schmidt [10:02 a.m.]: He kissed you! I knew it! I knew I was right! LOL. And those are your tights. I gave them to you last Christmas. You just never wear them.

  Rosie Ross [10:02 a.m.]: These ankle boots are definitely yours.

  Trina Schmidt [10:03 a.m.]: Oh please. You can handle wearing some decent shoes. Just think of it this way, he probably kissed you because of the outfit I picked out. You should really be thanking me.

  Rosie Ross [10:03 a.m.]: I wasn’t wearing this outfit when he kissed me.

  Trina Schmidt [10:03 a.m.]: Then you were wearing the cute flamingo pajamas with the booty shorts I picked out for you. Either way, I win. This is proof you should listen to me more.

  Rosie Ross [10:04 a.m.]: I wasn’t wearing those either.

  Trina Schmidt [10:05 a.m.]: I’m confused. What were you wearing then? I only packed two sets of clothes for you.

  Rosie Ross [10:06 a.m.]: A towel.

  Trina Schmidt [10:07 a.m.]: …OMG! Rosie, you sexy little minx! I knew you had it in you. That was an epic power move. Was it a good kiss?

  Rosie Ross [10:08 a.m.]: Yes. Very good. The best.

  Trina Schmidt [10:09 a.m.]: You can’t see me, but I’m slow-clapping for you right now. WELL. DONE. ROSIE. Starting nineteen with a bang. At least, you might be starting it with a bang if you play your cards right ;)

  I rolled my eyes, but she was right. Maybe I would finally trade in my v-card. Maybe, just maybe, Ryan was the one.

  I felt lighter than air, despite the constricting tights. I’d been kissed plenty before, but not like that. Never like that. Most guys my age had all the slobber and finesse of my mom’s aging basset hound. Ryan was nine years older than me, and he’d apparently used them to get extremely good at kissing. I hated thinking about him kissing other women, but if I just thought of them as, well, practice, it didn’t bother me nearly as much. Practice makes perfect. And now Ryan was perfect. For me.

  I flopped on my stomach on the bed, seriously wondering if I would hover with joy if I didn’t make an effort to keep myself down. The butterflies in my stomach were having some sort of fiesta and it seemed to have the potential to lift me up clean off the ground. The next text that popped up on my phone brought me crashing back to reality.

  Calvin Ross [10:09 a.m.]: Hi Rosie! Happy first day of being nineteen. Did your plumbing problem get resolved?

  Great. My dad had figured out texting. I’d known it was inevitable, but I’d really hoped that I’d be in my thirties first.

  Rosie Ross [10:10 a.m.]: Yes, thank you. Ryan Conroe is helping with the plumbing issue. The apartment isn’t in great shape, but I know it will work out. I really appreciate you sending help when I needed it. Ryan was a lifesaver last night.

  There. That ought to buy me a little bit of time. I prayed he wouldn’t reply, but I knew his help never came for free. He was going to ask me if I registered for the LSAT course next. I watched the screen, waiting.

  Calvin Ross [10:15 a.m.]: Good. I’m glad you called me. If Conroe doesn’t fix everything, just let me know and I’ll make sure he does. Speaking of lawyers, did you register for the LSAT prep course like we talked about?

  My heart sank. I knew it! I sighed deeply before typing out my reply.

  Rosie Ross [10:16 a.m.]: Yes. The classes start two weeks from now.

  Calvin Ross [10:17 a.m.]: Great! If you need any prep materials for the course, just charge them. I know you’ll ace the test though.

  Rosie Ross [10:17 a.m.]: I’m really not sure I want to be a lawyer.

  Calvin Ross [10:18 a.m.]: Of course not. You’re only nineteen. But this prep course is a good investment. I think you’ll find you enjoy it. You’re just like me. You might ask Conroe about being a lawyer. He’s in entertainment law and works with a lot of musicians. You could do something like that, too. I know how much you like music.

  My dad thought my love of music was endearing, but ridiculous. To him it was like wanting to be a ballerina, or an astronaut. He was totally convinced I’d ‘grow out of it’. I’d given up on trying to convince him otherwise.

  Rosie Ross [10:18 a.m.]: I’m not sure being in entertainment law is quite the same as being a professional musician.

  Calving Ross [10:19 a.m.]: You’re right. It’s much better. By the way, I had a new VISA overnighted and you should use it for all your expenses. It should arrive today. I’m excited you’ve decided to let me into your life again. I want to help you.

  Of course, he sent me a new credit card (I’d clipped the old one in two and mailed it to him several months back when things went really south between us). It was how he expressed love. I wanted to give my dad the benefit of the doubt, and I knew he cared about me, but this was exactly how things started with him when I was eighteen.

  He provided all the help and support that money could buy—he offered to send me to any college I wanted and support me completely throughout—but the moment I deviated from his plan, the guilt started. He didn’t even want to listen to my point of view. If I somehow made him listen I but didn’t come around to his way of thinking, the card started getting declined. Suddenly, the gift of his financial support became a curse. I found myself choosing between registering for the classes he wanted me to take and eating. My mom preferred emotional blackmail. My dad preferred a more direct approach.

  Still, I couldn’t deny that my dad was there for me when I needed him. My mom had brushed me off yesterday, but he’d answered. He’d dropped everything to make sure I got what I needed. It may not be a p
erfect relationship, and he might not be a perfect person, but my dad loved me. That was a lot more than a lot of people had. I was grateful, even if things were complicated between us.

  Calvin Ross [10:19 a.m.]: I’m really glad we’re talking again Rosie. I missed you so much. Please let me know if you need anything. I love you.

  Rosie Ross [10:18 a.m.]: Thanks dad. I love you too.

  My dad had sent me Ryan. I wouldn’t have ever met him otherwise. It was hard to be morose when I thought about that.

  13

  Rosie

  My phone was blowing up. Although I felt like my dad was doing everything that he possibly could to sway me away from chasing my dream, the video I’d posted the night before was instantly among my most successful. I read through the comments, feeling vaguely surreal.

  Brilliant…unbelievably talented…incredible…destined for stardom… Not every single comment was positive, but the overwhelming response was. It felt good.

  I shook my head. It was nice that strangers on the internet thought I had talent, but sometimes it felt like it would never translate into anything real. One day, I would need to get some real gigs, find some real fans, and sell some real records.

  But in the meantime, I had another song to upload. It was a song that I’d been debating posting for a while, but because I felt like I was walking on air at the moment, I also had the confidence to post it. It was called ‘Child Support’. It was actually one of my favorite songs that I’d written, but it was so autobiographical that it was an act of vulnerability to share it with the world. As a result, the video was just a closeup of the guitar strings, rather than my face. I watched the video one last time before putting it up.