will be the first girl I’ve brought home since … Maybe I didn’t think this through.
I lean against the wall.
She sees my face and turns around. “Why don’t I just wait in the lobby? You’ll be quick, right?”
Pushing the gnawing in my stomach aside, I take her hand and guide her to the elevator. “You’re not waiting downstairs, and for the record, it’s not a big deal. We work together. We’re having dinner. I have to change clothes. End of story.”
She knows I’m full of crap. We more than work together and everyone knows it—including my mother. If I say it out loud, will that make it more real? Will it nullify the past?
I drop her hand and unclasp the pen from my notebook, writing a few words down before we reach Mom’s floor.
“Always working,” Bria says, still in good humor.
“Chris!” Mom brings me in for a hug as soon as she opens the door.
“Mom, you remember Bria Cash?”
She hugs Bria. “Of course I do. You’re a wonderful singer, sweetie.”
“Thank you,” Bria says, taking everything in. “You have a lovely home.”
“That's Gary’s doing,” she says. “He’s my sugar daddy, and I’m his trophy wife.”
“I heard that,” Gary says, joining us from the kitchen. He kisses Mom’s head. “Not that it’s not true.”
I introduce Bria and Gary and glance briefly at the photos on the wall, hoping Bria doesn’t look at them too closely. “Sorry to barge in on you like this, but we just played a gig, and I’m all sweaty. Abby wanted to go out to dinner, so I popped in for a shower and change of clothes.”
Everyone is looking at me funny.
“What?”
“You called me Abby,” Bria says.
I run a hand through my hair. Fuck.
Mom looks at me sympathetically. “Bria, why don’t I show you around while Chris cleans up? We have a spectacular balcony.” Mom drags her away.
“You okay?” Gary asks.
I shake my head.
“It took me twenty years to get over my first wife. Who has three kids, turns thirty-five, and decides they don’t want to be married?”
“She divorced you. Big difference.”
“It’s the only frame of reference I have. The therapist I used to see told me divorce is a lot like death. Apparently you go through a lot of the same stages of grief.”
“No way could it be the same.”
“Probably not.” He sighs. “Has your mom told you I’ve called her Helen before? More than once, and usually when I’m snapping at her.”
I motion to the photo of Abby and me. “I looked at the picture. I didn’t mean to call her that.”
“Is she the kind of girl you think you might open up to?”
I shrug. “I don’t know anything right now.”
“Seems to me she’s something special. Maybe you should start thinking about it, before it’s too late.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Bria
Both of us are quiet on the way to my place. I glance at his notebook. Is Abby the one who lives in those pages?
Crew looks at me like he knows what I’m thinking. He shifts the notebook to his other hand, as if protecting it from me.
At my apartment, I go straight for a bottle of wine. “Here.” I hand him a glass. “Make yourself comfortable. I need a shower too.”
I notice my notebook on the coffee table where I left it. I decide to leave it where it is. Will he look through it? If he does, will my songs about him scare him away? Would I look through his if I had the chance? I know it would be tempting to do it, but at the same time, so wrong. Then again, he’d never leave it out for anyone to see. I didn’t miss the fact that he took it with him to the bathroom at his mom’s. His mom’s. That should be a safe place. Which makes me wonder if the only person he’s hiding it from is me.
I turn the radio on for Crew then go to the bathroom. I look in the mirror, wondering what Abby looks like. Does he still talk to her? I swallow. Does he still love her?
I’m almost finished when Crew screams my name from the other side of the door. “What? I’m in the shower.”
He opens the door and shoves my robe through the shower curtain. “We’re on the radio!”
I pull back the curtain. “You’re messing with me.”
“Am I?”
I don’t bother drying off. I throw on the robe and trot to the living room, water dripping down my legs and trailing across the floor.
I hear myself singing, and