“Mel,” Danielle prompted, softly. “Do you want me to call an Uber?”
Before Melody could answer, Danielle’s phone started to ring. Again. It had been ringing nonstop for the last three days, probably the network wondering why she wasn’t doing anything to bolster ratings. Apparently cutting her bangs didn’t count.
Danielle sighed and answered the phone. She shot Melody a glance and then turned away. “She’s surrounded by security,” Melody thought she overheard. Followed by, “Turn on the live stream and see for yourself . . . well, if you never turn it off, then why do you keep calling to check in? You can see everything that’s happening. You can see she’s safe . . .”
Security started ushering her forward then, obviously having given up on her actual feet. Come on, she could do this. Walk. Her apartment was only two more blocks, long though they were. Bracing her shoulders, Melody reached down deep for some strength and worked up a brisk pace, setting one foot in front of the other. Security moved with her, Joseph taking up the rear of their posse. People ran alongside them in the street or stopped their cars in the middle of the road to watch her pass, their curiosity about the breakup coming across loud and clear, even when they didn’t ask.
Join the club.
She had no idea what happened.
One minute, she’d been on cloud nine, in love with the most magical human ever to be created and lucky enough to have her affections returned. The next, the lights had gone out and she’d been surrounded by impenetrable darkness.
When they passed the community garden on her right, Melody knew they were only half a block away from her destination and she glanced up, hoping that seeing her door might give her the final impetus she needed to get inside, away from the cloying curiosity. But instead of seeing her door, she saw a person instead. A woman.
A manacle closed around her throat and locked tight when she realized it was Trina.
Trina stood outside of her door.
Her mother was here.
Her guitar case was propped up against the metal gate—and if that pungent scent in the air was any indication, Trina had recently partaken in a midafternoon joint.
“Mom?” Melody called, as they drew closer.
“Oh my God,” Danielle whispered behind her, apparently having finished her phone call.
The people who had been following Melody on her errand took a collective gasp—and all hell broke loose. Camera phones changed their target, flashes went off, voices rose in volume. Trina didn’t even bat an eyelash. Didn’t pay them the least bit of attention, really. Her focus was trained on her daughter.
“I know. You told me not to come. Either way, I’m not due a visit for another five or six weeks, but . . .” she started, jerking a thumb over her shoulder, “mind if I crash for a few nights anyway?”
Trina’s unexpected appearance was Melody’s tipping point.
For the last three days, she’d been too numb, in too much shock, to cry. Trina showing up on her doorstep in the middle of her anguish proved to be the kick she needed to burst the dam. Scalding tears pressed to the backs of her eyelids and overflowed, a sob bursting from her mouth. She cried like a toddler, right there in front of everyone in the middle of the sidewalk. Vaguely, Melody was aware of Danielle’s phone starting to ring again, but the sound faded behind her as she jogged through the gate to Trina and threw herself into her mother’s arms. Halfway there, it occurred to her Trina might not hug her back after the scene in New Hampshire, but her heart couldn’t be broken any worse than it already was, could it?
Might as well be reckless.
Thankfully, after a surprised jolt, Trina did wrap her arms around Melody.
Chaos was breaking loose in the street, more and more people arriving, probably having watched the rock star’s arrival on the live stream.
“We should get inside,” Melody muttered thickly, fumbling for her keys in the small cross-body pouch she was wearing.
“Sounds good.” Trina coughed, her own eyes holding a suspicious sheen as she surveyed the street, her attention drawn by the shouts of her name. “Damn. How long has it been like this?”
“Since the stream started, pretty much. It has died down in the last three days because I’ve done nothing but work and watch Bob Ross reruns.” Melody unlocked the door and stepped aside to allow Trina, Danielle, and Joseph to follow them in. “There was a spike in viewership when I cut my own bangs. I think we broke the record for most crying emojis sent at one time on the internet. So that’s nice.”
Trina brushed Melody’s bangs with her index finger. “Very punk rock.”
“A bad demo tape, maybe.” Melody unbuttoned her jacket and hung it on the peg, her mind automatically flashing back to Beat hanging up her coat on Monday night, his scent and size and safety making her apartment feel like a little bubble of heaven. “What are you doing here?”
Trina eyed the camera. “Is that thing going to keep rolling the whole time?”
“It’s here until Christmas Eve. Part of the contract I signed with the devil.” She winced. “No offense, Danielle.”
“None taken.” The producer was half hidden behind Joseph. “I’m not here.”
Melody hummed. “Do you want something to drink, Mom?”
“Something stiff, if you please.” Trina skirted around the couch and sat down, in the way only a rock star could. She sprawled, her limbs taking up as much space as possible. “Why am I here, you asked. Well. I guess I’m still piecing that together.” Trina gave one final, wary look at the camera and sighed. “I hated the way we left things, Melody Anne. A phone call didn’t seem like it was going to be enough.”
Melody processed that while pouring a glass of whiskey for her mother, carrying it into the living room and finding what little couch room was left for herself. “You didn’t come here because you changed your mind about the Steel Birds reunion?”
“I’d still rather die.”
“Womp womp,” Melody said, looking straight into the camera lens.
A corner of Trina’s lips jumped, but her amusement ebbed just as quickly. “You don’t usually cry when you see me. Is there something wrong?”
“You really make zero use of the internet, huh?”
“Hell no. It’s a man-made plague.” Trina shifted her position, crossing her arms over her middle in a way that was almost . . . self-conscious? “But if I did hate my sanity enough to look at the internet, I would find out what’s wrong with you on there?”
“You would find a lot of theories.”
“What’s the truth?”
Melody’s throat ached harder and harder until she sucked in a breath. “Figures that the first time we ever have a heart-to-heart conversation, millions of people are watching.”
Trina scoffed. “We’ve had heart-to-heart conversations before.” Her confidence in that statement faded almost immediately. “Haven’t we?”
Melody attempted a smile, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate today.
“It’s that man, isn’t it?” Trina said quietly. “I warned you about him. He comes from spiteful stock.”
Those words struck Melody like stones. Even now, her heart denied them. Beat wasn’t spiteful. He was wonderful. She was missing something. She wasn’t seeing the full picture. That’s all. Or was she pathetic to be thinking like that? “Mom, I should warn you that Octavia Dawkins apparently watches this live stream.”