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Willow

R ocket’s dressing room is quiet.

Poppy’s asleep on the couch in the corner.

Her headphones are on to help block out the noise, and under each arm is tucked both her bunny and new dragon.

The noise outside the door in the hallway is continuous.

Crew members rushing back and forth, cases being wheeled where they need to be, management doing their thing.

So I welcome this bout of peace before the chaos of the concert starts. And as with every night, I’ll let Poppy dictate if she wants to watch it, whether she wants to play backstage in the greenroom, or if she just wants to go back to the hotel and play there.

It’s her choice. It has been the entire trip.

I sink down into the chair on the far side of the room, phone pressed to my ear, waiting for her to pick up.

“Hi Momma. How are you? ”

“Willow. So good to hear your voice,” she says. “How’s the road treating you?”

I smile. “So far, so good. Tiring. Exhilarating. A once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

“So you’re having fun then? Are the crowds wild? Is Poppy doing okay?”

“Yeah. She’s adjusting better than I thought she would.” I tuck my knees beneath me. “She loves watching Rocket do sound check. I think she believes he’s a superhero.”

“Well, he does have that tall-dark-and-brooding thing going for him,” Mom says with a laugh. “Though I wouldn’t say that to his face.”

“I’m not sure he’d disagree.”

She’s quiet for a beat, then asks, “Areyoudoing okay?”

“I’m fine,” I answer quickly.

“Willow.”

I sigh. “I’m good, Mom. Really.”

“You’re awfully quiet, honey. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I close my eyes and rest my head against the wall. “Yeah,” I say softly. “I am.”

Another pause. Then, gentle as ever, “You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?”

The words hang there.

I don’t speak.

I don’t have to.

My mom knows me better than anybody so arguing the point would be moot. She already knows.

I can feel the truth thrum through my chest like a second heartbeat, but saying it out loud feels too big, too real, too soon. I swallow hard, eyes burning slightly. “I’m taking it day by day,” I lie to the both of us. “We’ll see what happens when we return to everyday life back in Los Angeles.”

Yes, I am.

“I’m happy for you. Proud of your maturity,” she says, no trace of judgment in her tone. Just love. “You deserve to have whatever it is that you want to happen, happen. To be happy. To let that heart of yours feel as much love as you give.”

I press my fingers to my lips, emotions swelling like an unexpected tide.

“Thanks, Mom,” I whisper.

“Anytime, baby. Just promise me one thing.”

“What? ”

“Don’t run from it just because it scares you. Sometimes the biggest risks lead to the best kind of love.”

I nod, even though she can’t see it.

“I won’t.”

And for the first time since this tour started, I believe it.