“I’m fine. I’m not leaving the party till it’s over.”
“It’ll be over, any minute. The band should have played ‘Sweet Caroline’ as the last song, five minutes ago. Those surprise performances must have delayed them.”
As if on cue, the instantly recognizable intro to Neil Diamond’s classic tune begins inside the ballroom, followed by the wedding singer’s amplified voice shouting, “This is our last song, folks! Get onto the dance floor and boogie, one last time!”
Amy’s mother gestures, as if to say, Ta da! Before shoving that same water glass at Amy. “Now, drink up and I’ll take you upstairs.”
My eyes meet my mother’s, and when she arches an eyebrow, everything she said last night slams into me.
I want Beretta-O’Brien grandbabies!
Amy’s always had a crush on you!
Don’t you dare lead that poor girl on!
Fuck.
I’m a monster. A horny-ass fucking monster.
“I’m gonna find Dax,” I shout, way too loudly, before turning on my heel and sprinting away, without looking at Amy or anyone else.
When I enter the ballroom, I find Dax onstage, playing guitar on the famous song, while his wife dances happily with Fish and Alessandra and several members of the wedding party. But the second the song ends and Dax exits the stage, chatting happily with one of the musicians from the wedding band, I barrel straight toward him.
“Gimme the key to the room, Daxy,” I command, holding out my palm. I look toward the double doors, my breathing shallow. But, still, no Amy. Thank God.
“I’ll come upstairs with you, if you give me a minute,” Dax says casually, clearly not sensing my urgency.
“Where’s Amy?” Violet asks, striding toward me from the dance floor with Alessandra and Fish in tow. “She said she’d party with us in the suite after the reception.”
“She’s with her mom outside,” I reply. “She wasn’t feeling well. Too much to drink.”
“Oh no. When did that happen? She seemed perfectly fine a few minutes ago.”
“It came over her, all of a sudden.” I bat Dax’s shoulder. “Key. Now. Please.”
“What’s your deal?” Dax says, handing me the key. He tells me the room number, at which point I sprint out of the ballroom, without answering him. Without explaining my “problem.” And without looking back.
Ten
Amy
Oh my God, that kiss with Colin!
It was better than any fantasy.
“Are you sure this is your room?” my mom asks, after she’s swiped my keycard and nothing happened.
And that stuff Colin whispered into my ear right after our kiss was hot as fuck!
Good lord, the stuff Colin said made me so horny, so hot and bothered and ready to go, I felt like I was on the cusp of coming, right then and there, from his kiss and sexy talk alone! In fact, I felt closer to coming in that moment, with Colin, than I ever did having tepid sex with Perry for a whole year.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I reply. “Room 709.”
Mom tries the keycard again but gets the same result. “Amy, think hard. Don’t make me go downstairs to get a new key, if you’re too drunk to remember the right room number.”
I open my mouth to protest, but a nagging memory at the back of my head stops me. Despite what I just insisted, I’m suddenly not positive this is the right room. “Oh!” I say, pulling my phone out of my little purse. “I took a photo of my room number earlier, in case I got too drunk to remember!” I snort. “That’s a little trick my friend on the crew taught me during the tour.”
“Lovely. I’m so happy to know you needed such a valuable life hack during the tour.”
Giggling at Mom’s grumpiness, I swipe into my photos and grimace when I find what I’m looking for.
“Oh.” I snort again. “My room is 708.”
“Oh, Amy.”
We turn around and Mom swipes the keycard on the correct door this time, the one immediately behind us, and I sashay into the room behind her, laughing at her obvious annoyance. Mom’s been severely annoyed with me all day long, not only tonight, ever since I dropped the bomb at breakfast that I’ve one hundred percent decided not to go to law school, but instead plan to move to LA to find a job as a celebrity PA.
When I got home from the tour three weeks ago, I informed both my parents, separately, I was seriously second-guessing law school. But back then, I didn’t definitively say I wouldn’t attend. In fact, I remained quiet when they separately insisted on me going and said I’d thank them later.
But when I talked to Colin yesterday about this topic—when I looked into his dark brown eyes and realized Colin had always followed his dreams—and was still doing it, as a matter of fact, with his amazing movie role—something inside me clicked. A new kind of bravery was born inside me in that moment—one that inspired me to want to follow my dreams, whatever they might be, whether my parents like it or not.
When I told my mother the news at breakfast, and then told my father at lunch after that, neither of them took it well. My mother accused me of wanting to be a mother and wife, and nothing more than that. Which in her eyes, is a fate worse than death. And my father said he couldn’t believe I’d throw away the “expensive education” he’d bought me to become a “glorified celebrity ass-wiper.”
I tried explaining it to them. I told them I want to work hard and be useful, before one day settling down to have a family—which I admitted, yes, I do hope to have in the future. I told them how inspiring it was to discover Colin has all the money and success in the world with his band, but is still chasing acting and modeling dreams, simply because he still wants to grow and learn and challenge himself.
“Colin has that luxury, thanks to the money he’s making with his band,” my mom retorted during breakfast. And during lunch after that, my father said basically the same thing.
“But the tour showed me I don’t need a lot of money to be happy,” I responded to them both. “I don’t need a lot of material possessions. So, why would I pick a career that notoriously chews up souls and spits them out and gives nobody time to spend their big, fat paychecks or enjoy plenty of quality time with the people they love?”
Oops.
It was that last comment about quality time with loved ones that triggered my mother the most. Instantly, I realized my mom has felt judged, all these years, about her choices. Her decision to pursue a high-powered career while raising two kids. Of course, judging my mom’s life choices was never my intention. My childhood was the only one I knew, so it never seemed weird to me that I barely saw either of my parents. And I’ve always been proud of my mother for being such an ass-kicker in her career.
But now that I’m older, I realize I want to do things differently than my own parents did. I don’t want to follow in their footsteps, if I’m being honest with myself. Because that life wouldn’t suit my personality. But that doesn’t mean I’m angry with my mom for her choices. Or that I love her any less. Which is what she clearly thought during breakfast today.
“Mom, I’m not judging you,” I said to her, when it became clear her outrage at breakfast had more to do with her own insecurities than me going to law school. “I’m glad you’ve kicked ass in life and followed your dreams, Mom. But your dreams aren’t mine. I’m not the same as you and Dad and Logan and Grandpa. I don’t like arguing. I don’t care all that much about money. I want to make less but feel inspired every day.”