by Layne Harper
Me: How are you? It’s been so long since I’ve heard from you that my worry has turned to the realization that whatever we had is no more. I’m no longer carrying my phone everywhere I go in the hopes that you’ll text. I’m writing a post letting my readers know that we’re over. It feels like a lie to keep pretending we’re something that you obviously don’t think we are. If you’d like to read it before it goes live, let me know or have your publicist contact me. I’m sorry we turned out like we did. You’ll always have a place in my heart.
After hitting send, I begin making excuses why I need to give him a few more minutes to stop me from publicly breaking up with him. He’s in the shower. He’s in a meeting. His phone battery is dead. After a while, and longer than I care to admit, the regret sets in. Why can’t I see my time with Aaron for what it was? He’s a musician who lives in a world nothing like mine. We were each other’s two-week distraction. The sex was epic, but that’s it. MOVE ON. All of this would be so much easier to accept if he hadn’t shared his new album and cover art. His songs were written about our relationship. Him, on the cover, wearing the necklace I gave him to help him find his way, and my name tattooed on the fist squeezing the anatomically correct heart over his own heart. My name placed next to his daughter’s.
But it’s been three months since I learned he was using again and asked him to get help. Nothing. Not a text or phone call. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s have all passed without so much as a thinking of you note. Valentine’s Day was three days ago. Not even a half-eaten, red satin box of drug store purchased chocolates.
The man who I once refused to Google now is a daily Internet search. I have an alert set up for his name or Jude’s. Not a morsel of information has made it online.
Taking a sip of wine, I know it’s time. If Aaron still wanted me in his life, I’d be by his side. He’s not one who takes no for an answer. What hurts the most is that he didn’t even give me the courtesy of a breakup text. His silence has been deafening.
My fingers tremble as they dance across the keyboard.
With all the housekeeping stuff taken care of, I also need to share the change in my personal life. Johnny Knite and I are no longer a couple. Please don’t jump to conclusions. Basically, everything the media reported surrounding us and my accident was FALSE. I have the utmost respect for him. His heart is pure, and his soul is beautiful. For reasons, I will not elaborate on, we feel it’s best to go our separate ways. I still love him, and just writing these words makes me sick to my stomach.
And they do, but that’s why I must share this post. It’s time to move on. I can’t keep hiding in my apartment. I need my life back. And this is an important step in making that happen.
We’ve been over for a while, but I couldn’t share with you until I could find a lesson in my time with him. Here it is . . . He showed me what it felt like to be loved and return that same emotion. I throw the terms love, chemistry, and connection around this site like birdseed at the park. But I experienced the meaning behind those words, and instead of being bitter that they’ve been taken away, I’m hopeful that one day I’ll have the opportunity to experience those emotions again.
Love is not for the faint of heart, but I’m brave enough to keep trying.
Muah,
MK
Without checking Messenger, I hit publish. Relief washes over me in waves, turning my bones to Jell-O. I pick up my glass of wine, toasting my computer screen. The smile on my face is not one of joy. It’s like I’m seeing my old life in the rearview mirror. This moment ends the chapter on the first thirty and a half years I’ve existed on this planet. Tomorrow when I wake up, I will begin a new one.
My time with Aaron and after he stormed out of my carriage house has fundamentally changed me as a person. The old, carefree, fiercely independent girl, with the motto of Alis Volat Propriis, is gone forever.
Over the last three months, I’ve dealt with days so black that Bella would come over, forcing me to eat. I quit filming videos and sharing pictures of myself because I looked too ill. Christmas Day was the worst. I dragged myself to Bethany’s home to watch my nieces open their presents. The mask I wore, I thought, was a joyful one. After the gifts were unwrapped, my precious four-year-old niece crawled in my lap and kissed my cheek. I asked her if she’d gotten everything from Santa that she asked for. She replied, “Auntie MK, I asked Santa to give you your smile back, but he forgot to deliver it.” Her fingers drew the corners of my lips into a grotesque smile. She giggled. “There. You look pretty again.” I couldn’t keep the tears from falling down my cheeks and spent the next five days in bed.
Mourning a lost relationship in the privacy of my apartment was one thing, but every single time I step foot outside, I’m reminded of him as the reporters and fans scream his name. If it hadn’t been for Grandmother paying to build the fence, Bella’s unrelenting support, Tripp’s handyman skills to keep the carriage house from looking vacant, and my mother finally dragging me to a psychiatrist, I wouldn’t be the stronger woman that I am today. What’s the saying? It takes a village . . .
With my own wings, I no longer fly. But, I hope by making this post live, I’ll begin healing and discovering just exactly who the new Mary Kay Landry is.
It’s officially over.
We’re officially over.
Closing the screen, I stand and walk into my kitchen to fix a late dinner.
I pull out a white container of leftovers from supper last night. Grandmother and I checked out a new restaurant by her home. This is sort of a pastime of ours. We love exploring new places that pop up all over our beloved New Orleans. The Ginger Rose is Asian fusion. We shared an order of tiger prawns, so when my red curry chicken arrived, I barely touched it. Leftovers are the best.
Grabbing a spoon, I dump a blob onto my teal ceramic plate and stick it in the microwave. Normally, I’d heat in the oven, but laziness is prevailing tonight.
Punching in sixty seconds, I lean against the counter and watch the plate turn in a circle. It’s hypnotizing. As usual when my mind is unoccupied with details, it drifts to a long-haired, blond boy. Tall. Toned body with asymmetrical tattooed skin. His full lips and sparkling blue eyes which could drive me wild and make me shake my head in disbelief. My very own Peter Pan. My lost boy who never grew up.
My stomach growls as if it’s telling the microwave to hurry up. Throwing my hands over my belly button, I laugh, shaking me from a path that I don’t need to walk down for the millionth time because I’ve started a new chapter and all. The joyous sound exiting my mouth is not one that my ears have heard in a long time.
My whole body feels lighter, as if I could float, or maybe I’m deflated like a balloon after the party has long ago ended. It’s over.
A loud dinging noise draws my eyes to the countdown clock on the microwave. Still six seconds left. Then I hear it again and realize it’s a Google alert.
Walking over to my computer, I open the message. My eyes scan the words. Any chance of me enjoying my leftover curry flies out the window and is replaced with the crippling feeling of dread.
Austin, Texas: In a surprise move, Johnny Knite and the band ACE just released the long-awaited and rumored album Alis Volat Propriis. This new music confirms that the band has not broken up despite reports to the contrary after Johnny’s run in with the law and then time spent in rehab for drug abuse. Right now, it only appears to be available on iTunes.
Seconds later, another Google alert flashes across my screen.
Austin, Texas: Johnny Knite and his band ACE have announced a forty-date arena tour to promote their new album Alis Volat Propriis. Tour is set to kick off in April in Boston. Check their website for more details.
Then another alert appears.
New Orleans, Louisiana: MK Landry, blogger and girlfriend of Johnny Knite, has announced the end of their relationship. The reason is listed as, “We feel it’s best to go our separate ways.” Knite’s publicist has issued a statement stating that she do
es not comment on her client’s personal life.
Alert after alert pours in and my phone begins ringing and chiming with those trying to reach me. It’s just like it was after my accident. I ignore them, turning off all my electronics. I open the microwave door and dump the contents of my uneaten dinner in the garbage can before I crawl into bed and bury my head under the covers.
I would like to believe it was a coincidence that I shared with my followers that we were no longer dating and his album went live only minutes later. But I’m no fool. He did this to prove a point—maybe even to hurt me. Why though? I’ve done everything but take out billboards in Austin to compel him to talk to me. I’ve left messages for his sister and Sam. I never reached out to his daughter because, well, that just seemed a bit dirty. Why does he feel the need to torture me? What did I ever do to him?
Chapter Two
MK
July
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
Big meeting, y’all. If you pray, say a prayer. If you don’t, that’s okay. Keep me in your thoughts. #FollowYourDreams
Lacy Nutrition @LacyNutritionCenter
@NoPinkCaddy, you should be ashamed of yourself. Louisiana has one of the highest obesity rates in the country.
Lacy Nutrition @LacyNutritionCenter
@NoPinkCaddy, your recipes are high in fat and sugar. Promote #HealthyEating instead. #SocialResponsibilty
“We love you. Like we love you so much we’d marry you,” the bright, bubbly blonde says with so much enthusiasm that I cringe a bit. It’s been awhile since I’ve been around anyone that is so happy. For the last eight months, I’ve avoided people like her because as the saying goes, misery loves company.
Her laugh carries through the small café, and I glance over my shoulder to see if anyone is staring at us. Fortunately, no one seems to care. “Cindy and I read your blog and watched your videos, and we laughed.” She gestures to her partner, and they exchange a smile. “Well at you, and with you. We cried when you shared your heartbreaks, and I called her and said, ‘She’s our next star.’”
Cindy, who looks so much like her business partner, Janet, that it’s difficult to tell them apart, smiles in confirmation. “MK, you’re a natural.”
Picking up my glass of water, I use it as a distraction—a pause so I can have a moment to absorb their praise. Since Aaron and I broke up, life has been brutal. Then, after his surprise album drop minutes after I announced our breakup, it was like the almost-healed wound was cracked opened again. It was obvious to the world when they heard his new music that the songs were written about me. I mean his most popular song is called Pink Cadillac. His response in interviews has been to neither confirm nor deny it, but he gives a knowing wink or sexy little smile. That’s it though. He makes no other comments about us.
Once again, I felt like I was caught with my pants around my ankles. Instead of my breakup post returning my life back to normal, he dumped the paparazzi and his fans on my doorstep for a second time. In one day, I received over a hundred phone calls, and I didn’t bother to count all the emails, texts, and other messages. Everyone wanted to know my thoughts on one of the biggest names in rock essentially writing two-thirds of his new music about me. My response was to say nothing. I’ve never acknowledged that the album even exists. Some days I’ve absolutely hated him. Other days I still question why he seems hell-bent on making my life miserable. But days like today, I must thank him. Without Johnny Knite, I wouldn’t be dining with two of the most successful producers of reality lifestyle programs.
Janet continues, “We left you so many messages. We’d just assumed that you were blowing us off. And then. Well, then, you called months later. And I immediately texted Cindy and told her that we scheduled this meeting, and she actually picked up the phone and called me squealing. Like she was so excited she couldn’t stand it.”
A smile that doesn’t begin in my heart touches my cheeks. “To be honest, I wasn’t at a place where I was ready to embrace this opportunity when you first contacted me. Sometimes you must wade through the trenches to come out on the other side as the person you want to be. I think I’m finally there. I can turn the mess of my life into a message.”
“And it’s talk like that that will make you our next star. Twenty-two minutes of you just being you.” She pauses for a breath, and then adds, “Of course, we’ll have story lines, and you’ll work with us to make sure the content is spot-on for our viewers, but we really just want you to be you.”
The linen napkin twists between my fingers as I fight to refrain from mutilating my cuticle. “This all sounds great, but I don’t know, ladies. I mean, thank you, I’m totally flattered. I’m just worried people will think I’m trying to capitalize on my brief time with Johnny Knite.” I plaster on another bright smile. “It’s been a rough year.”
And now, eight months later, I’m starting to feel like a new improved version of MK—one who’s stronger, sassier, and ready to take on the world. I no longer spend hours preparing mentally to leave my home. I’ve learned to roll my shoulders back and smile brightly, ignoring whatever questions and comments are hurled my way. My skin has grown so thick that elephants are jealous.
I also can’t continue living in limbo like I have been. My best friend is now a married woman. Even Tripp seems to be moving on. I caught him texting with his assistant, and his eyes conveyed that he was imagining dirty things. My sister is pregnant again. Everyone is advancing in their lives but me, and it’s time I do something bold and brave and show the world that MK Landry is back and stronger than before.
Cindy reaches across the bistro table and motions for my hand. Reluctantly, I release the napkin and take it. It’s cold and over-moisturized, slimy to the touch. “That’s why we feel like now is the perfect time. You’re vulnerable and real. We’ve all had our heart stomped on then heard songs on the radio that remind us of our ex, right?”
But how many people had those songs written about them? Sure, I’m not the first girl that has ended a relationship. But mine went down in spectacular flames in the bright lights of the media, while the paparazzi waited on my sidewalk like seagulls hoping for a morsel of food.
She continues, “Girls want to see you cry. They want you to share your vulnerabilities. You are them, except you’re an exceptional cook.”
The waiter appears at my side and begins clearing our plates. My salad was barely touched. First of all, I wasn’t hungry, and second of all, I didn’t want to spill food on Grandmother’s vintage pink Chanel dress from the 60s that she loaned me for this meeting. I’ll have a peanut butter sandwich once I’ve changed into my grubby clothes.
Janet leans in conspiratorially. “So you brought him up.” Cindy and Janet exchange glances. “Tell us what’s up with Johnny Knite. We’ve all heard the album, and it’s hot, hot, hot.” She fans herself with her hand. “Like I had an ear orgasm.”
Cindy laughs. “An eargasm. Janet, you’re too much.”
“Our lips are zipped,” Janet adds as she simulates the act of locking her mouth and tossing away the key.
Glancing back and forth between them, panic makes my heart tight and difficult to beat as I snatch my hand back. “There’s nothing up with Johnny. It’s like I said on my blog post months ago. We’ve decided to go our separate ways. He’s been photographed with some new girl. We’re really over.”
Cindy rests her elbows on the table and leans in. “Sure. Sure. That’s the answer his PR people told you to say. But, seriously, you can tell us. No one writes those kinds of songs and doesn’t get the girl.” She motions back and forth between her and Janet. “We think the model is a plant. Like a distraction to boost album sales. No one actually believes they’re a couple. The world is cheering for you guys to get back together.”
Janet adds, “I mean, we would like for him to make an appearance or two on your show. Can you imagine you teaching Johnny Knite how to fry beignets?”
Cindy crinkles her nose and looks toward the ceiling as if she’s hav
ing a vision. “Great TV,” she says with a dreamy expression on her face.
My spine straightens as my stomach churns, thankful that I didn’t put food in it. “Look, ladies, I’m flattered that you’re interested in turning my blog into a lifestyle show on your cable channel. Honestly, thank you for your time.” I toss my napkin on the table and reach for my bag. “But Johnny Knite and I are no longer a couple. The model may be a ploy to sell more albums, but I have nothing to do with her or him any longer. We aren’t in some secret publicist’s dream three-way to boost album sales. He will not make special appearances, and I will no longer discuss my relationship with him. If that’s not good enough for you, I understand. Hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”
Standing, my pulse quickens, and I’m prepared to bolt out the door. This was a terrible idea. I received two other messages from producers interested in turning my blog into a TV show. I’ll call one of them.
Janet stands, grabbing my elbow. “I’m sorry, MK.” Her eyes meet Cindy’s, and the business partners exchange a secret message. “We just assumed.” Her laugh is awkward. “I guess we got caught up in the rumors flying around. We’re still very interested in moving forward with this project if you are.”
I sit back down without removing my bag from my shoulder, just in case the fight-or-flight instinct kicks in again. “Johnny Knite is a non-topic of discussion for me. I will not be introduced as his former girlfriend, lover, or any other title that indicates we had a relationship. If his name is even so much as uttered, I walk away. No Pink Caddy was a success before I had a brief fling with a rock star, and it will continue to be a success without having to mention his name.”
“Yes,” Janet says in a soothing voice. It reminds me of when my nieces think they’re injured, and my pediatrician sister placates them with a few kind words. “But viewers are going to be interested in the girl that was Johnny’s muse. And, honey, that’s you.”