“I am proud of you, Roxanne.”
I STAY IN MY OLD bedroom, which has been updated and remodeled a few times since I left for college. Most kids go back home and find their rooms untouched as if they never left. My parents were never sentimental like that, and I’m glad. My old room would have been haunted. I’m convinced I’d be able to smell him in my Hello Kitty sheets or see his reflection looking back at me in my dresser mirror or feel his warmth in the carpet where we once laid. I need to purge myself of all things Riot Blu if I have any chance at all of moving on with my personal life. And the first step is scrubbing him from my professional life.
The next morning, after a much needed although restless sleep, I open my MacBook to find the story I had been writing about Riot on the home screen. Although Bari reminded me that many entertainment sites would be willing to throw more than a few zeros at me in exchange for a glimpse into my life with Riot, it just doesn’t seem right. What we had is not for sale. And I could never put a price on how he made me feel.
Before I drag the file into the little trash bin icon, I give it a once over, just to tease myself with the last memories of him. I write about how he had the ability to make people feel completely at ease around him. He wasn’t pretentious. He was polite and respectful to everyone, despite his or her tax bracket. He laughed at his own corny jokes, and while he was often bold with his feelings, he was insecure about being accepted. He just wanted to be loved.
That’s the Riot I fell in love with, and the Riot that no one else gets to see. Breakfast burritos on the terrace, performing his mother’s favorite songs, playing old school jams in the car, watching reruns over takeout… People all over the world take what they see on TV and read on blogs and believe it as gospel. They believe any convoluted story that’s leaked about him and are so quick to label him as a whore, a junkie, an asshole. And he is none of those things. Maybe it’s time someone set the record straight.
In just a couple of hours, what once started out as an exclusive peek into the glamorous life of Riot Blu evolves into something else entirely. Not an expose or a watered down gossip piece. I’m writing a love letter and every word of tribute is a lyric. I detail my life with him when we were children, and how we bonded over our appreciation for 90s R&B. I write about how we fell in love and how that deep, all-consuming affair became bigger than both our bodies. I share the pain of losing him, of losing what we had created, and how those ugly truths stayed with me over the years. And I write about all the reasons it was so easy to fall in love with him again.
When my eyes are bleary with tears and my fingers are cramping, I save my work although I have no idea if I’ll ever do anything with it. Most likely, it’ll sit on my computer, and maybe once in a while, I’ll pull it out and read it when I want to reminisce. But that doesn’t seem right. Why relive a past that will only bring me pain? Loving Riot has been the best time of my life, but losing him is death. It’d be stupid of me to put myself through that.
I look down at my phone to find I have a text from Haze. She knows I’m alive and at my parents’ house and is giving me time to sort shit out on my own. I have no plan, barely have any money, and I may not even have a place to live if PopBlu stans keep vandalizing the building. I don’t even know if there’s a place in Seattle for me anymore. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start in a new place. A place where no one knows me or my connection to Riot or Poppy or anyone else from that world.
I hit Reply.
You’ve Got Mail.
For safekeeping, I decide to email the file to Haze and mark it PLEASE SAVE, BUT DO NOT READ. That way, I can scrub it from my computer and take away the temptation to obsess over every word and detail and keep it in case I do get desperate enough and decide to sell it. She probably won’t even open her account; Haze is convinced that email is a dying technology and, according to her, in a few years time, we’ll all be Snapchatting our resumes and professional correspondence. Hopefully by then I’ll have a grasp on what I want to do next. I let the love of my life go so he could chase his dreams. Maybe I’m ready to chase mine.
“What are you doing?”
I look up from the booklet in my lap to find my dad in the doorway of my bedroom. He smiles at me in that way dads smile when they’re trying to gauge a situation. Will he get raging bitch monster today? Weepy, blubbering mess? Cold, detached, and quiet? He’s seen all the many faces of my grief over the past week. And it’s not that I want to keep wallowing in misery. It’s just that Riot and Poppy are everywhere. Every channel, every magazine, every news site. I wanted to avoid it all, but I needed to get serious about looking for a job. And the very publications that I was querying were the same ones reporting every single happy little detail of their new journey.
It had only been days since I left. Days. And then—Bam. Right on the landing page of People.com. A vibrant, glowing Poppy wearing a smile as bright as the huge diamond on her left ring finger. I didn’t even have time to make it to the toilet. I threw up in my Hello Kitty wastebasket, which, oddly, is the only thing my parents kept from my room.
Two days later, with the news of their engagement still dominating every site and social media platform, the happy couple announced that they were expecting. And this time, it wasn’t just a picture of Poppy showing off her huge rock. They had given an exclusive interview to E! News, and it aired during their usual prime-time slot.
All I wanted to do was watch some fucking Kardashians, eat a huge salad, and get lost in their wonderfully ridiculous world so I could forget about mine. But instead, I caught a glimpse of Poppy and Riot sitting on the couch at Riot’s home. He was gorgeous and polished in a casual navy suit, no tie, the top few buttons of his printed shirt undone, and sneakers. A PopBlu pocket square brought the whole look together as Poppy wore a dress in the same shade. I could almost hear Haze dying of laughter at their conjoined fashion fail. But even that wasn’t enough to soothe the sting of seeing them together. Who am I kidding? It wasn’t a sting. It was a giant, gaping wound that left my guts exposed and vulnerable to rot.
That was three days ago, and since then, I’ve sworn off TV. I’ve sworn off the Internet. And I’ve decided that trying things my parents’ way may not be such a bad idea after all.
I look up at my dad and try to plaster on the fakest smile I can muster to show him that my erratic emotions are in check and it’s safe to approach. “Just looking at brochures again. A little overwhelming. I haven’t done this in a while.”
He pushes off the doorjamb and comes to sit on the bed, gathering all the different college forms and pamphlets.
“I can understand that. But are you excited?”
I shrug. “Nervous. A lot of classes I’d have to take.”
He nods. “I remember my med school experience. By far the most challenging, scary, exhausting, yet rewarding time of my life. Luckily you already completed many of your pre-med requirements.”
I nod. “Yeah. Lucky me.”
My dad frowns. Everyone says we look alike, especially when we frown. I have his round face and his heavy-lidded dark eyes, but other than that, I think I favor my mom.
“Is something wrong, honey?” he asks.
I shake my head, but answer, “I just don’t know what I’m doing. Yeah, med school would be great, but most students are at least five years younger and aren’t walking around with a scarlet letter etched on their forehead. Do you think I’m making the right decision?”
My father contemplates my question for a beat. “Do you think you’re making the right decision?” When he sees the reluctance in my sagging shoulders he adds, “Roxy, I don’t want you to go to med school if that’s not what you want to do. You have to follow your heart, make your own path. We love you either way. Take all the time you need to figure it out and then make a plan. We’ll support it.”
I smile. This one is genuine. “Thanks, dad.”
He kisses me on the forehead then exits. I guess I passed all his mental wellness checks.
&nbs
p; After stashing the brochures and pamphlets, I pull out my phone and tap out a text to Haze.
Hey, I need that story.
If I’m going to blaze my own trail, I need to stop being afraid of the journey.
Haze’s response comes sixty seconds later.
What story?
I roll my eyes and reply, Haha. Very funny. Send it to me. I really think I should publish it.
I wait thirty seconds, sixty seconds, two minutes, and still no reply. And it shows that it’s been read.
Hello? Seriously, Haze. Send it.
Another two minutes go by. Then five.
Please don’t tell me you deleted it!!! I’m wanted to publish it!!! (expletive emoji, expletive emoji)
Finally, Haze texts back, but it’s not exactly the response I was expecting. Oh, hell no.
Too late.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU posted it?” I screech.
Haze stands in my parents’ living room, shame-faced and looking everywhere but at me. The second she sent me that bogus text, I called her. Of course, she let it roll to voicemail, knowing I was pissed. So I blew up her phone until she was forced to turn it off or face me. And everyone knows Haze can’t live without her phone.
“Well, when you sent it, I thought you were just joking. You know, doing that thing where you pretend you don’t want people to give you recognition but you really do because you’re desperate for validation.”
“I don’t do that!” I scoff. “You do that!”
“Oh,” she nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I do.”
“Oh my God, Haze. Who did you sell it to?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t. Promise.”
“You gave it away? What? Do you realize how much I could have gotten for that story? I was planning to sell it and use it to help fund my new career.”
“New career? Doing what? And since when?”
I flop onto the couch with a huff. Haze follows.
“Since I lost my job and probably look like an opportunist to every publication out there. And I want to be a songwriter, which isn’t so much a career than a hobby unless you write songs that people want to buy. Point is, I needed that money to hold me over until I make some music connections and write something worth selling.”
“Oh. My bad.” She actually looks remorseful. “But I promise, I didn’t give it to anyone. I just published it on my blog.”
“What? Haze, you have a fashion blog. My effed up love life has nothing to do with fashion.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a migraine coming on.
“Well, actually, it’s a lifestyle blog. And your effed up love life got a million hits within the first day it went live. That was three days ago, right after that bogus special on E! aired. And since then, the number has quadrupled at the very least.”
“Wait…what?”
“Yeah. Beefed it up with ads too. I think you’re going to make at least twenty five Gs. Probably double that after tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” I frown.
“You didn’t hear? Girl, you need to read the newspaper, or something. Riot’s listening-slash-engagement party. It’s at the MoPOP.”
I try not look too salty. It’s painful enough that Riot and Poppy are hosting an engagement party, which will probably be the event of the year, but Riot is having his listening party at the Museum of Pop Culture. He used to dream about the day he was famous enough to have events there amongst exhibits honoring the greats such as Hendrix and Prince.
“Well, I’m sure I won’t be missing anything,” I lie.
“Why don’t you go? I’m sure he’d want to see you. I watched that E! special, and girl…he looked terrible.”
“Ok, now I know you’re lying. He looked gorgeous in that suit and sneakers and you know it.”
Haze lifts a knowing brow. “I thought you told me you weren’t watching TV?”
“I haven’t since that. And I didn’t watch. I caught a glimpse of it and quickly changed the channel.”
“Mmmm hmmm. So quick that you probably know what color socks he was wearing. It’s ok if you want to see him, Rox. You love him. And he loves you.”
I suck my teeth and make a face. “Since when are you #TeamRiot?”
“Since I peeped game and realized what a horrendous skank Poppy is,” she answers without missing a beat. “I hope that boy gets a paternity test. Maybe I should get Kaz to smuggle out a hair and we can do the test ourselves.”
The same crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to come across like a hater. I know one thing, Poppy can’t be trusted. And if Riot was telling the truth about not sleeping with Poppy since long before I moved in, how pregnant is she?
“It’s none of my business.” Hopefully saying it out loud will make it true. “And if you’re my friend and if you love me, you won’t get involved. Riot is a big boy. He got himself into this and, if she is lying, he’ll get himself out.”
Haze pokes out her lower lip. “Fine. You never let me have any fun. How am I supposed to be the Blair Waldorf of South Lake Union if you won’t even let me practice?”
Since my parents decided to go out to dinner to give Haze and I some extra girl time, I order in for us, hoping it will coax her to stay. I’ve missed her. And even though she brings news of the Seattle and all things Riot, it’s nice to finally talk to someone. Plus, I broke into my dad’s Soju stash, so I know it’s going to be one of those nights.
“If you’re not watching TV or using the Internet, what the hell is there to do here?”
“We can talk, Haze. You know…that thing that requires people to communicate without the use of a keyboard or emojis.” I refill our shot glasses for a third round.
“Boooo. Lame.” She tosses her half eaten egg roll onto her plate. “I want to go do something. We haven’t hung around this hood in a while. Let’s see what trouble we can get into.”
I roll my eyes and take a shot. “Have you forgotten where we are? There’s nothing to do here, which is exactly why we moved.”
“I know. But if you’re not going to let me watch TV or get on Instagram, you gotta give me something. Come on…let’s go out.”
I must be insane to let Haze talk me into abandoning my comfy sweats and cozy slippers to leave the house. But I have been cooped up for a week, and if I was going to go out, it might as well be at night when I wasn’t as noticeable. I throw on some jeans, an oversized sweater, and a pair of Nikes and slick my hair back into a ponytail. That’s as good as it’s getting.
“One hour,” I tell her as I lock up the house. “One hour is all you’re getting.”
“Yeah, yeah. Bring your cute ass on. Maybe we’ll find you a new man to get under to help you get over Riot.” She wiggles her brows. “Speaking of…have you met the new owners of his house?”
I shoot her a really, bitch? look. “Now why would I do that? No, Haze, I haven’t.”
“We should go over and say hi.”
She takes off across the lawn, passing the realtor’s SOLD sign, and heads to Riot’s old childhood home next door. Great. Drunk Haze loose in Redmond is going to mean serious trouble for me. So much for keeping a low profile.
“Haze!” I whisper-shout. “Haze! Get back here!”
But she is intent on making my life difficult right now. I chase behind her, hoping to stop her from making a fool of both of us, but when her legs are twice the length as mine, it proves to be a bit difficult.
I make it to the front porch as Haze’s finger hovers over the doorbell.
“Haze, knock it off!”
“Remember when we used to play Ding Dong Ditch?”
And before I can tackle her onto the new neighbor’s flower bed, she presses the bell and takes off sprinting.
Great.
This is just fucking great.
I can try to run and risk getting caught by the owners. Or I can stand here like an adult and make up some lame excuse as to why I’m ringing their doorbell. I know someone is home—I hear the TV, or maybe it’s music. I
don’t have too much time to ponder what to say before I hear footsteps approaching.
I take a deep breath as the front door opens, my polite smile locked and loaded.
Yet it never slides into place.
“What are you…?” I gasp. I blink, certain that my eyes are deceiving me. How strong was that Soju? “What are you doing here?”
Riot stands in the front doorway wearing a suit even more gorgeous than the one he donned for E! and a seductive grin. He doesn’t look surprised to see me. Actually, he seems quite prepared.
I’m going to kill Haze.
“I had to see you.”
“Riot, you have no business here.”
He frowns. “Why not? It’s my house.”
I don’t know why I’m shocked, but my jaw drops. “You bought it?”
“Of course, I did. But that’s not why I’m here. Come in.” He steps aside to let me pass. I stay right where I’m at on the porch.
“You shouldn’t be here. You should be with Poppy at your party.” Even saying her name makes me grimace.
Riot shakes his head. “Poppy and I are through. Come in and I’ll explain everything.”
“No.”
“No?” He lifts an amused brow.
“No. You’re supposed to be getting married. You have a baby on the way. I’m not getting in between that. And it’s cruel of you to come here when you know I’m trying to get over you and let you live your life.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Rox. I don’t want you to get over me. And I want to live my life with you, the way it should be. There is no engagement. And…there is no baby.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“I’m going to invite you in one more time before I put you over my shoulder and carry you in. Now would you please come into my home, Roxanne Lee, and stop ruining my got damn surprise?”
I crack a smile. Damn him. I was resigned to hate him for the rest of my life. “Fine. But you can keep your surprise. I’ve had about enough of them.”
Rhythm and Blu Page 24