She didn’t trust him. Not all the way.
So, she didn’t see the point in getting her family all riled up—not until she and Cassian knew what they were doing. Because truthfully? She really, really didn’t want to go back to the emotional roller coaster of high school. This time around, she had much more at stake. My career.
“Well, I’m happy about that. I can book us a spa day. We can get in some good hikes. Hey, we’ve talked about renting a place on Whidbey Island. We could do that this week.”
“Mom, no. I’ve got three weeks left before I find out if Dale’s going to drop us or not. I’m going to use that time to write some songs.”
Her dad came back into the dining room. “Unbelievable.” He kissed Coco’s temple. “You’re a wizard.” Before sitting down, he set a chocolate skull next to his wife’s plate. “She made that.”
Her mom picked it up, marveling at its glittery silver artistry. “It’s fabulous, sweetheart. I can’t wait to try it after dinner.” She reached for her daughters’ hands. “It’s so good to have both of you here.” This time, her smile was strained.
No one addressed the elephant in the room. What could they say? Stella will be back one day? We’ll be a whole family again? There was no guarantee that would ever happen.
She couldn’t stand to see her mom in so much pain, so she said, “I’ve decided not to sit around and wait for Dale to determine my fate, so I pitched a solo record to her.”
“Good for you,” Coco said. “That’s awesome.”
“I love that idea,” her mom said. “What did she say?”
“I’m still waiting to hear back.”
Her dad seemed distracted with constructing his dinner. Where he was a steak and potatoes kind of guy, her mom liked a little of this and a little of that. When she cooked, her dinners consisted of various interesting dishes that she liked to nibble.
Her dad didn’t know what to do with it, so he constructed them into a meal he could understand.
“Give me that.” Grabbing his plate, her mom made a bottom layer of roasted vegetables, added chunks of feta, tossed a couple olives on, and then rested a piece of cod on top. She handed it back.
“I’m grilling tomorrow night,” her dad grumbled.
“So, you’re making a demo?” her mom asked. “Do you have enough material?”
Gigi set down her fork. “I’ve got notebooks filled with half-written songs. Hopefully, there’s something worthwhile in them.”
“There is,” Coco said.
“She’s right,” her mom said. “We’ve heard you composing and playing them over the years.”
“I’d have to change the lyrics, though, since I’d still be a Lollipop.” Their fans didn’t want to hear about broken hearts and lost dreams. They wanted to feel happy. “But I think I can do it. I’d like to try.”
“You think Dale will go for it?” Her mom popped an olive into her mouth.
“It could go either way. I’m hoping she’ll see it as a way to save her label from the Lollipops blowing up, but she might just want to wash her hands of us and put together a new girl band. We’ll see. In any event, that’s what I’ll be doing while I’m home. Writing new songs.”
“You could do that in LA.” Her mom gave her a knowing look. “Any reason in particular you’re doing it here?”
Okay, so they already knew. “You obviously know why.”
“We wondered,” her mom said. “Now we know.”
“So, how’d the tour go?” her dad asked.
Gigi cut a look to her sister. Classic Dad. Avoiding the emotional stuff. “It was the best one so far.” She hadn’t wanted to talk about it tonight, but since the truth was out, she might as well lay it all on the table. “Want to know why?”
Her dad looked up from his cod, interested. Totally oblivious.
Are you kidding me? She’d spent a week with Cassian, and her dad wasn’t even slightly worried that she’d found out what had gone down in high school?
Her mom’s uncomfortable—maybe even remorseful expression—said she sure was.
“Because I threw a balled-up napkin at Macy Guthrie’s head.”
“You what?” Her mom was not amused.
Coco raised a hand, and Gigi slapped it. “That woman’s a stuck-up bitch.”
“Coco,” her mom said.
“Mom, she gives you these tight smiles, like somehow she’s better than you because she won an award? You’re an amazing photographer and interior designer, a kickass wife and mother, and you’re a world-class philanthropist. She’s got no business sticking her nose up at you.”
Her mom got up, wrapped an arm around Coco’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. “I love you, my fierce angel.”
“I know why you’d say that, but she’s actually pretty cool,” Gigi said. “At first, she barely even acknowledged us.”
“See?” Coco said.
“But as soon as I hit her in the head, she loosened up, and then we all had so much fun together. Kevin’s absolutely amazing. He should get a raise. He works nonstop, and we hardly had any snafus.” She didn’t want to ruin dinner—she hadn’t planned on bringing it up at all—but everyone at this table had to be wondering what had happened between her and Cassian.
She poked the tines of her fork into the fish. “And the kids and their families? Their spirits amaze me. You’d think there’d be self-pity and anger, you know? But they’re all just warriors. I swear these tours are a reality check.”
“Amen to that,” her mom said.
“You guys have done a really good thing with Dreams Come True.” As frustrated as she was at them, she needed to let them know that. “I’m really proud to have you as my parents.”
“Aw, sweetheart,” her mom said. “We’re proud of you, too.”
“How’d Cassian do?” her dad asked.
Oh, my God, are you serious? Throwing out his name like it doesn’t land with a thousand tiny pin pricks? She looked at Coco with wide eyes and shook her head. The man was absolutely clueless.
“Cassian did great.” She heard the bite in her words, but her dad didn’t.
He remained focused on his dinner. “I figured he would. I don’t normally send someone who’s in the middle of all that tabloid attention, but I knew he’d take this tour seriously.” He looked up with a smile. “And they love him. Everywhere he goes…they just love him.”
Yeah, about that? Remember when I loved him, and you treated it like a stupid little crush?
How could her dad act like he’d played no part in their story?
Okay, calm down. You can talk to him later, privately.
“That seventeen-year-old from Salina? Cassian rented a convertible mustang for him. Don’t tell anyone, but he let him drive it in an empty parking lot. And he was incredibly patient with everyone who wanted autographs. He ran out of jerseys on the third day, because he literally handed them out to everyone who approached him, and he had more overnighted.”
Her dad’s fork scraped across the plate. “Glad to hear it. He’s a good kid. He just…”