Hold On To Me

by Taylor Holloway

  Talking to Lucas was always good for a laugh. He was quick and clever, but not impossible to outwit.

  “We really ought to hang out more,” he said, reading my mind. I nodded.

  “Yeah. We do.”

  “You and Rosie should come over to dinner sometime soon.”

  I nodded. I could imagine Rae and Rosie getting along. They had compatible personalities. Actually, the combo might be slightly frightening. There was only one way to find out.

  “That’d be great.”

  We made tentative plans for the week after next. I couldn’t wait for Rosie to meet my friends. I knew they were going to love her, and a part of me really wanted to show her off. If we could just make it through this Friday, I believed that everything would be ok. Our future, once we made it past her father’s inevitable wrath, was bright and full of promise. All we had to do was weather the storm.

  46

  Rosie

  Late Thursday evening I stood in front of Victoria’s massive house in a trendy South Austin neighborhood, clutching my guitar case and feeling like a total imposter.

  Her house reminded me of something out of True Blood. It was the type of big, old southern house that looked like it would sit on a huge estate. I imagined women wearing hoop skirts sipping sweet tea on the wraparound porch and gazing out at the acres of cotton. But Austin was too dense for that these days. The long, lush lawns that would have once surrounded the house were long gone. Instead, little craftsman style bungalows sat on either side, clearly built much more recently than her house had been.

  I rang the doorbell and preemptively told myself that it was ok if she didn’t answer. Someone as famous as Victoria might have gotten busy, or just forgotten. If she didn’t answer, I’d just go home and forget this ever happened.

  Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long. Victoria threw the door open and ushered me inside.

  “Hi Rosie,” she said excitedly. “Come on in. I invited some of my girlfriends to listen, too. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She did what? How many? I hadn’t realized this would be a real performance. Hell, I hadn’t even changed my outfit. I was wearing the same beat-up secondhand jeans and black t-shirt that I’d had on that afternoon.

  “Oh, that’s cool,” I said, trying to be nonchalant. Inside, I was shaking.

  Victoria’s height meant she could walk a lot faster than I could. I struggled to keep up as she led us down a maze of hallways. We whipped to the left and into a large covered patio where a small stage was erected.

  There were at least two dozen people there. All women. All older than me. And from the looks of them, obviously much, much cooler than me, too.

  “Hi everybody,” Victoria told them, raising her voice to get their attention. They turned collectively to look at us. I felt riveted to the spot. “This is my new friend Rosie.” My cheeks started to burn. Then Victoria started introducing me. and I didn’t have any more time for embarrassment. “This is Laney Banks,” Victoria said, starting with the woman closest to me, an imposing brunette with a curvy figure and a prominent nose, “she’s the lead music correspondent for the Austin Chronicle.”

  Holy shit.

  “Hi Laney,” I managed, but before we did more than shake hands, Victoria was steering me to the left.

  “This is Gloria Garcia,” Victoria told me, introducing a petite Hispanic woman with green dreadlocks. “She’s one of the lead promoters for South by Southwest.”

  Sweet Jesus.

  Then it was Ada Wilkes, who ran a bunch of local clubs. Then Regina Laroche, who ran a local PR firm. Next was Kayla Moonves, who played mandolin with a very popular local folk group. In the course of five minutes, I met pretty much every prominent female member of the local music scene. My brain struggled to keep up, and the names and faces quickly blurred. But I got a bunch of business cards, and Victoria repeated my name over and over so maybe they’d remember me.

  Finally, when we reached the end of what felt like a wedding receiving line, I had a chance to catch my breath.

  “You might’ve warned me,” I said to Victoria with a hysterical laugh. “I would have put on some mascara if I knew I was meeting so many important people all at once. Any maybe an adult diaper, too.”

  She laughed, and it sounded like bells. I was starting to wonder if Victoria was secretly my fairy godmother.

  “You never would have come if I did that.”

  She wasn’t wrong. I’d have been too intimidated. “Still.”

  Her smile wasn’t budging from her pretty face. “I refuse to feel guilty.” She snagged herself a beer from a nearby cooler and pressed one into my hand too. “Now get up there and play. You’ll thank me later.” She winked.

  I took the beer with me and climbed up the two steps to the little stage. Feeling silly and probably the same color as Victoria’s hair, I tuned up my guitar and got comfortable on the single stool. There was no amplification in the sunroom, but I didn’t need it. I could be loud.

  I knew if I waited any longer, I’d lose my nerve. Messing up in front of all these people would kill me. I took a deep breath, opened the beer and took a deep sip for courage, and started playing.

  47

  Rosie

  I was supposed to meet Ryan for a late dinner after dropping by Victoria’s to practice my set, but before I knew it, the clock was striking midnight. I was vibrating with excitement as I texted him.

  Rosie Ross [12:01 a.m.]: I’m so sorry Ryan. I didn’t realize how late it was.

  Ryan Conroe [12:02 a.m.]: It’s ok. I guess it went well at Victoria’s?

  Rosie Ross [12:04 a.m.]: SO WELL. She invited a whole bunch of people to listen. Women from the local music scene. It was amazing, but now I don’t feel all that good. I’m taking an Uber home to sleep it off.

  Ryan Conroe [12:05 a.m.]: Are you ok?

  Rosie Ross [12:05 a.m.]: Yeah. I just drank too much.

  Ryan’s next response didn’t arrive for almost ten minutes.

  Ryan Conroe [12:14 a.m.]: I didn’t know you drank.

  My head was spinning. I knew the Uber driver would charge me a ridiculous amount of money if I messed up his ride, but I knew I was going to throw up soon. I just needed to make sure it was in the privacy of my own apartment. I stared down at my feet and tried to think clearly. Slowly, as I took deep breath after deep breath, the nausea subsided. It wasn’t gone, just delayed. Still, I could think more clearly.

  In the temporary clarity, I frowned. I’d just had the most incredible networking evening of my life and beating my bowling alley birthday party was no easy trick. I’d played an amazing set, too. I really felt like I’d nailed it, and by the looks on their faces, I definitely had. With a live audience, I had instant feedback. Playing live was exhilarating in a way that YouTube just wasn’t.

  Rosie Ross [12:14 a.m.]: I don’t drink a lot.

  Rosie Ross [12:15 a.m.]: Wait. Is that a problem?

  I felt like Ryan was judging me for having a drink at a party. Like normal people do. Like everyone else had been doing at Victoria’s.

  Rosie Ross [12:08 a.m.]: I didn’t drink THAT much.

  Rosie Ross [12:09 a.m.]: I definitely wasn’t the drunkest person at the party.

  Rosie Ross [12:10 a.m.]: That was probably Victoria. LOL.

  Ryan Conroe [12:11 a.m.]: You should go sleep it off. We can talk tomorrow.

  I shifted back and forth in the back seat of the car, suddenly feeling frustrated and wound up. I hated being judged or controlled by anyone. If I wanted that, I could just call my dad up and ask him what he thought of my evening.

  Ryan knew how much my music career meant to me. He could at least pretend to be excited for me. Actually, as my maybe-agent, he should be excited for me. Anger was rising hard and fast. Harder and faster than usual, thanks to alcohol soaking my brain.

  Rosie Ross [12:11 a.m.]: Just tell me one thing. Does it bother you that I had a couple of drinks at a party?

  I stared at my phone for what felt like age
s. In reality, it took just over two minutes for him to reply. Two minutes of agony.

  Ryan Conroe [12:13 a.m.]: Honestly? It bothers me that Victoria gave you alcohol when you’re underage. It’s unsafe.

  My breath hissed in, and the Uber driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror before instantly skirting away. One look at my irate expression and she was pretending I wasn’t in the back seat. Wise woman. My hands had balled up into angry fists. I had to unfurl them to text Ryan back, and it was a real struggle.

  Rosie Ross [12:14 a.m.]: You think I can’t handle having a couple of drinks at a party?

  Ryan Conroe [12:15 a.m.]: I didn’t say that. Can we talk about this tomorrow, Rosie?

  Rosie Ross [12:16 a.m.]: Why? This is important.

  Ryan Conroe [12:17 a.m.]: Because it’s late and you’re drunk. If you really want to talk, let’s have a real conversation. Can I at least call you?

  It wasn’t that late. I wasn’t that drunk.

  Rosie Ross [12:18 a.m.]: I’m fine. But I’m in an Uber right now. It would be weird to have a phone conversation.

  Ryan Conroe [12:19 a.m.]: Ok, then let’s talk tomorrow. Or when you get home.

  I wasn’t patient enough for that. I’d gone from zero to furious. The alcohol had fueled my crisis, but even a sober Rosie would be pissed off.

  Rosie Ross [12:20 a.m.]: You don’t trust me to have a couple of drinks.

  Ryan Conroe [12:21 a.m.]: It’s not you that I don’t trust. It’s the Austin Police Department. Call me crazy, but I don’t like the idea of you doing something illegal.

  Rosie Ross [12:22 a.m.]: You were fine taking those pot plants from my apartment. That was illegal.

  Ryan Conroe [12:23 a.m.]: That was different.

  Was it? It didn’t seem different to me. Both acts were illegal.

  Rosie Ross [12:24 a.m.]: Right. Because you were doing it and not me.

  Ryan Conroe [12:25 a.m.]: No. Because I knew the risk I was taking. You didn’t know all the people at that party.

  Ryan Conroe [12:26 a.m.]: There were too many unknowns.

  Rosie Ross [12:26 a.m.]: You think Victoria’s friends were going to get me in trouble? They were all women, by the way. Did I mention that?

  Ryan Conroe [12:27 a.m.]: I don’t know. That’s the point. Can we please have a conversation about this on the phone? And maybe when you aren’t drunk?

  I ground my teeth. I was very, very angry. If I was old enough to buy a gun, or vote, or smoke, or fly to some horrible desert wasteland and die so some fat guy in a mansion could get more oil money, I ought to be able to drink.

  Rosie Ross [12:27 a.m.]: So, I’m old enough for you to fuck, but not old enough for to have a drink?

  Ryan Conroe [12:27 p.m.]: According to the law? Yes.

  Rosie Ross [12:27 a.m.]: You know the drinking age in Mexico is eighteen. Canada too. It’s even younger in Europe.

  Ryan Conroe [12:28 a.m.]: I know it’s twenty-one here.

  Rosie Ross [12:29 a.m.]: You’re awfully high and mighty and lawful for someone that did the same when you were nineteen.

  Ryan Conroe [12:30 a.m.]: And look what happened to me.

  Rosie Ross [12:31 a.m.]: You became a well-adjusted, normal person?

  Ryan Conroe [12:35 a.m.]: No. I nearly died. My girlfriend did die. My brother tried to die for a decade.

  I had no response to that. Guilt fought with the anger I was already feeling. Anger won. He’d had a solid decade to get over his hang-ups about alcohol. I wasn’t his ex-girlfriend. I wasn’t off driving drunk. I didn’t even have a car. All I did was have a few too many drinks at a party. I was getting home safely. There were so many forces in my life trying to fit me into molds that chaffed and pinched at my soul. The last thing I needed was another person in my life telling me who to be.

  Rosie Ross [12:36 a.m.]: So, I just shouldn’t ever drink? I don’t get to be a normal nineteen-year-old and do normal nineteen-year-old things because something bad once happened to you? I’m not you.

  Ryan Conroe [12:36 a.m.]: Can we talk tomorrow.

  Rosie Ross [12:37 a.m.]: I don’t need anyone else in my life telling me what to do.

  Ryan Conroe [12:37 a.m.]: I’m not telling you what to do.

  Rosie Ross [12:38 a.m.]: You’re judging me for not behaving the way you want.

  Rosie Ross [12:39 a.m.]: I’m not your dead girlfriend. I know what I’m doing.

  Ryan tried to call me, and I rejected the call. I didn’t think I was capable of having a rational conversation. Or one where I wasn’t slurring my words. Tears started to burn in the corners of my eyes. I was frustrated, angry, and increasingly confused. The world around me was fuzzy and unreal. Somehow, I was continuing to text.

  Rosie Ross [12:38 a.m.]: I’m really upset right now. I don’t feel good. I don’t want to talk.

  Ryan Conroe [12:40 a.m.]: Call me tomorrow morning ok?

  Rosie Ross [12:45 a.m.]: I don’t know.

  Feeling like I was about to spontaneously combust, I crawled out of the Uber, threw up in the toilet, and went to sleep.

  48

  Ryan

  Rosie didn’t call in the morning. I arrived into the office on Friday morning already aching, foul-tempered, and tired. Alexandra had brought in baked goods again—bagels this time—and I snagged one, grunted my thanks and immediately headed to my office to fume. She laughed at my scowl.

  “Good morning to you too,” came Alexandra’s sarcastic voice as I retreated.

  “Cancel my meetings this morning,” I replied. Alexandra didn’t care if I snapped at her, but that didn’t give me any right to do so. She’d certainly done nothing to deserve my shitty mood. “Please,” I added.

  “Sure,” she replied around a mouthful of bagel. “Even the one that starts in five minutes?”

  “Especially that one.”

  I was in absolutely no mood to talk to anyone but Rosie. Until we made up, I was going to be a mess. I hadn’t slept a wink the night before.

  I knew that Rosie wasn’t my dead girlfriend. She was my live one. Was it really so horrible that I wanted to keep it that way? Frustration welled up inside me again.

  I gobbled down my bagel without tasting it and then felt additional frustration that I hadn’t tasted or enjoyed it. I didn’t even know what flavor it was. It could have been cinnamon or onion for all I knew. The second bagel I grabbed met the same dark fate as the first. I couldn’t seem to win for losing today.

  “Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?” Alexandra chirped when I emerged for my third bagel. I frowned at her.

  “I didn’t sleep well,” I told her. It was true, but I just didn’t want to talk and she could tell. “I’m in no mood to chat.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at me and let it drop. She wasn’t intimidated, she just didn’t care. Alexandra had seen me in bad moods before. She knew better than to try and engage me in meaningful conversation. It would just be painful for us both.

  “I cancelled your meetings,” she said instead. “You’re probably going to get some very nasty emails from some very nasty people.”

  “Ugh. Thank you.” I sighed. “I’ll deal with the emails.”

  I tried to get out of the room as quickly as I could, but Alexandra rolled her chair in my path. She was determined to work. All I wanted to do was waste time alone in my office until Rosie called.

  “Rebecca called and said that she’d be flying in tonight,” Alexandra told me. “She wants to meet you for dinner.”

  “Ok.”

  “She wants a call back ASAP.”

  “I’ll email her.”

  “She wants a call.”

  “Well, we don’t always get what we want. She’s getting an email.” Ordinarily I’d call Rebecca, she was an old friend and a mentor. But today? Today all I could do was fume and worry.

  “Calvin Ross called, too.”

  “Good for him.”

  “He said something about coming into town and seeing you and Rosie.”

  Alexandra
’s tone was neutral, but I could see the questions in her eyes. Even if I wanted to, I didn’t have the answers at the moment. I nodded and tried not to give anything personal away. I’m not sure it worked. Alexandra shook her head and looked back down to her computer.

  “Ok. I’ll call him,” I replied. I went back to my desk and didn’t call him. I assiduously ignored his texts and didn’t open his emails. There was only room for one Ross in my life today.

  Every ten minutes I checked my phone to make sure I hadn’t missed a call or a text from Rosie. I was worse than a lovesick teenager. After an hour or so of that, I almost called her but managed to summon the will to resist. I wouldn’t be the one to break this silence. Not only was I too stubborn, but it wouldn’t be right.

  Maybe she was asleep. Maybe she was hungover and didn’t want to talk. Maybe she just didn’t want to talk to me, at all. Ever.

  I read and re-read over our text conversation and winced over every word. I should have cut the conversation off and not continued to engage in a pointless fight with a drunk woman. I should have known better. It was childish and stupid. Although I thought the blame was shared among us, I’d been the sober one in the conversation.

  I paced around my office, more distracted than I could recall being in a long, long time. Had I acted stupidly? Yes. Definitely. But so had she.

  As I paced, I considered her points. She might have been drunk, but it was true what she said. There were few countries that took as puritanical an approach to the drinking age as the United States. Just like I’d once argued about pot, it was a political decision and not a public health decision that prevented legal adults from acting like legal adults in bars. Shaming her was never going to fix the situation last night.