my stomach. Nothing about the nights we’d spent with the two of us at the piano, or daydreaming about the future of the club, or the countless kisses, from sweet to the scorching. “He still wants to keep his distance publicly. I may be his thing in private, but even he says that most of his public relationships are for publicity. I don’t fit his image.”
She pulled me down into her lap and stroked my hair like she used to when I’d gotten sick as a kid. “He’s not worth it, honey.” That was all she said about it. She pet my hair until I fell asleep and woke me with a gentle shake when my dad got home.
“I told him,” she said. “You don’t have to re-explain.”
He pulled me into a big hug, sat next to me, and turned on Animal Planet. It was a dog training show, and he sat with me in silence, his arm around my shoulders, while my mom made dinner.
She popped out at one point to say, “Dylan called. Said Chloe called him, worried about you. Better let her know you’re okay.”
I didn’t want to turn on my phone. I didn’t know what I wanted more: to find a dozen texts from Miles waiting for me, or none at all. “Can you tell Dylan to let her know I’m fine and I’ll call her tomorrow?” With Chloe and Dylan both knowing how to get hold of me, I could just email Donna to handle any clients who called the office and keep my cell phone off and buried.
My mom nodded and disappeared into the kitchen again.
An hour later, we had smothered chicken, and I was reminded again of who Dylan had gotten his talent from. It tasted like everything I needed: familiarity, comfort, love, all stirred right into the sauce.
“Can I stay here for a few days?” I asked. “I’ll run home and get some clothes tomorrow, but I need some space.”
“You never even have to ask,” my dad said.
This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to date Miles, even when I’d wanted him so desperately, I thought I would die from the wanting: there would be no escape. I’d always be watching for his car in his spot, trying to figure out when my apartment was wholly mine and when he was invading the space beneath me.
So stupid.
But I didn’t want to cry anymore about it tonight. Instead, after dinner, I changed into an extra pair of my mom’s pajamas and sat down at the piano. The one good thing that had come out of my time with Miles was the practice I’d put in.
“That was lovely,” my mom said, when I finished the last notes of “Moonlight Sonata,” a piece I hadn’t played since high school. “It does my heart good to hear you playing again.” A yawn escaped her, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, honey. That’s not a comment on your performance. Want to sing me to sleep?”
I smiled. It had been a joke between us since I’d first learned to accompany myself. She loved for me to sing her a song before we all went up to bed. “Of course, Mama. What do you want?”
“Do ‘Brave’ by Sara Bareilles.”
She’d always loved bragging to her friends about her Baby Bareilles, even though most of them had no idea who Sara Bareilles was. As the lyrics came back to me, I found myself singing them with conviction instead of humoring her. Say what you want to say, and let the words fall out. I’d be singing it to myself as I fell asleep tonight.
She padded over to the piano bench to drop a kiss on my forehead. She’d sent my dad up to bed an hour earlier when he’d dozed off in front of the TV. “Stay as long as you need to. And as far as I’m concerned, Channel Five doesn’t exist in this house anymore.”
I meant to sneak over to my place early before I knew Miles would be at the club. I needed clothes and my laptop. But when I woke up Wednesday morning, my eyes were sore and puffy-feeling, and sinus pressure I only got from pollen or crying pushed against my cheekbones. I didn’t feel like crying anymore, but I didn’t want to go to work either.
I shuffled downstairs and found my purse, fishing out my phone. I let it wake up while I foraged in the kitchen. It was too early even