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The woman who gave birth to me lives here, along with her daughter. Neither of whom needs any other classification, unless it’s something derogatory I can’t bring myself to say.
I don’t want to be here. What if they’re at the show? At the meet-and-greet? Then what? My sister isn’t here to protect me, not that I need her to, but I do need her expertise and professionalism if I have to confront those two people. I should’ve reminded Elle of this when I saw the city and state on the tour list.
Will Nola be with them? Was our relationship nothing but a joke to her? Was I nothing but a financial means to satisfy some sick, twisted agenda? She was friends with the daughter. I didn’t know this until I’d already fallen for Nola. I’ll never understand why I didn’t think this was a red flag and stay far away from her.
But I didn’t and now look at me. I’m wearing her engagement ring around my neck and carrying around this scrap of paper, unfolding it so often that the creases are starting to tear and the ink is fading. The words are etched in my mind but seeing her handwriting and her first name there—not the nickname she desperately wanted to be called when she came to Los Angeles—has an air of finality to it. I won’t believe it. Not when she told me to call her when I got totown.
No, I refuse to believe those thoughts. Nola loved me.
Loves.
Again, with the finality of everything. Why isn’t she home, in the house we picked together, dancing around in one of my T-shirts with her headphones on? The questions run through my head repeatedly, but I’ve yet to find any feasible answers.
Ajay stands in the narrow hall, hollering for me. I could ignore him, but then he’ll just continue. It’s a habit he’s picked up from his adorable son. Cute, but annoying.
“What?” I yell back.
“Come up to the lounge.”
I groan, not wanting to leave my comfy spot in the leather chair. It’s almost like it’s mine. Mostly because everyone else has seen me sitting in it, and no one wants to challenge me for it.
Upstairs is a different story. It’s a free-for-all.
“I’ll be back, Canson.”
He gives me a wave and turns the dial of his radio back up. Ajay waits for me at the end of the hall, with a shit-eating grin on his face. I’m surprised his wife and kids aren’t on the tour with us, but also happy they’re not because toddlers are out of control. My little brother is proof. Ollie is a walking, talking hurricane, leaving a path of destruction in his wake. Until he wants love, and then he's a cuddly little boy who has no idea how lucky he is that our mom was in the hospital, loving him when his own mother couldn’t.
After the first of the year, he’ll officially be ours. No more surprise visits from the state or my parents wondering if each time the phone rings or a letter appears, it’s Ollie’s biological parents wanting him back. The state likes to reunite foster kids with their parents, which I understand, but Oliver is ours and has been since he was weeks old.
I take my sweet time getting to the lounge. Ajay’s there, sitting on a stool and tapping out a beat on the leather armrest of the sofa. Dana, along with the gals from Plum and Keane, are also in here. Hendrix decided he wanted to ride on the other bus today, under the guise that he’s trying to get to know the members of Talking Til Dawn.
He's not wrong; we should probably all do that. Maybe when the tour's over, because they’re only doing the West Coast portion.
Keane’s on his laptop, headphones on, ignoring everything around him. Dana’s face is lit by the soft glow of her phone, her thumb swiping aggressively across the screen. She types something out and then goes back to swiping. Casually, I takemine out of my pocket and hit the screen, hoping to see a message from Nola.
No new messages.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve looked today. At least one hundred, if not more.
She said to call her when I’m in town.
But I’m not in town. I’m in fucking Arizona, two thousand miles away from her. The tour schedule takes us east, but not for a bit.
Ajay motions for me to sit down.
“What’s up?”
“Thought we could jam,” he says as he continues to tap his sticks against the armrest.
I should go back downstairs and take up residence in the chair, but Ajay’s my bandmate, and he hasn’t done anything to deserve my piss-poor attitude.
I sit on the edge of the couch, closest to the footrest. On it sits a pad of paper with a pen. Briefly, I flip through the pages and smile at the doodles on each page.
“I did that,” Justine from Plum says from the other side of the room.
“These are cute,” I tell her as I flip to a clean page. If I’m going to jam, I might as well work on some new music. Once I’m situated, I pluck at the strings of my guitar until a sound forms, and then I start humming. It doesn’t take long for Ajay to pick up on the beat. It’s not heavy, but softer.
I don’t know the lyrics, at least not yet. They’ll come eventually. Right now, all I can think about is Nola, the situationship we’re in, and how much I miss her. If I tell myself this is exactly how things would’ve been regardless because she never planned on coming with me, then I’ll survive this shit until I can see her.