“Mom,” I say, turning toward her for a little support.
Instead, she crosses her arms and shakes her head, her eyes full of disappointment.
“You may pick one thing to keep,” my dad says through clenched teeth. He points to the pile of luxury items. “The rest is going back.”
My mom stands up, giving me one last I’m-so-disappointed-in-you look before following him out of my bedroom. Furious, I throw my sandals into the closet and slam the door behind them. Then I sit on my bed and pack up the day’s purchases, fighting back angry tears. My dad may not be my manager anymore, but he’s certainly still running the show.
21
“IT’S JUST SO hard not seeing you every day,” I complain to Kai on the phone. We said we would talk every day, but it’s been hard, already. Like today, I had the meeting with Troy, lunch with Devyn, and then shopping plus the parental debacle afterward. I didn’t want to be in the same house with them, so I brought a blanket down to the beach for some space. And now that I finally have time to talk, Kai’s squeezing me in before he has to work the show. We’re both busy, and the time difference is brutal. “I mean, I’ll see something and be like, ‘Oh my gosh, Kai would love that,’ and then I just get sad.”
“Like what?” he asks.
“Um,” I say, thinking. “Oh, like this heart-shaped seashell I just found on the beach.”
“That’s nice,” he says. “Send me a pic.”
“I will,” I say. “But it’s not the same.”
He sighs. “I know.”
I stare out at the ocean and watch the waves roll in and out. It’s mesmerizing.
“Hey, how was your day with Devyn?” Kai asks.
“Actually, it was a lot of fun,” I say. “I was worried because she’s clearly so high maintenance—totally different than anybody I’ve ever hung out with, and surgically attached to her phone—but I was surprised. She’s also really funny. And she gets it, you know? I mean she gets this life. She’s super driven, which I totally admire, and Kai, she knows the Hollywood scene. I’m telling you, she knows everything about everybody.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, who’s going out with whom and what projects the studios are after.” I search for the right words, trying to explain it, but this is exactly what’s so hard about long-distance relationships: it’s never the same trying to tell him about what’s going on as it would be just to experience it together. “She knows a ton of people out here. It’s like getting a crash course in all things Hollywood.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, and we’re going to this indie film festival when she gets back from New York. See? Another thing you would love.”
“That’s cool,” he says.
“Yeah.”
And then: The Pause.
The Pause has become like a third party in our relationship. I’ll tell a story and he’ll chime in with, ‘Cool,’ or ‘Great,’ or ‘Uh-huh.’ And he’ll tell a story and I’ll be like, ‘Why?’ or ‘Who’s that?’ or ‘Really?’ And then we segue, taking turns retelling the actual events of our lives, continuously pushing through The Pause. There were never awkward pauses when we were on the tour together. Not since the beginning, at least. The conversation just flowed, like we couldn’t get enough of what the other was saying, thinking, or feeling.
“So, get this,” I say now, telling him about the awful fight with my parents. “Devyn had to go shopping for her appearance on The Tonight Show this week. So after lunch, I went with her to Rodeo Drive.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And these places are pretty fancy, you know? You have to have appointments and everything. They treated us like royalty. It was so awesome.”
The Pause.
“So anyway, I wasn’t really buying anything at first, but then I saw this dress that was so pretty. I mean, everybody at Chanel was like, ‘That is so you.’ ”
He laughs.
“What?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says. “These people just met you. How do they know what is ‘so you’?”
I bristle. “Well, I guess they were just saying it fit me perfectly. And it’s sort of mod-country chic, you know? It’s black with white stitches making squares all over it, and the middle is this oval-shaped white crocheted cutout. It looks like a giant belt buckle or something at first glance. Really cool.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“Well, that’s what I’m telling you,” I say, digging my feet into the sand. “Devyn bought, like, a trunkful of stuff—I mean that girl spent some serious money—and I only bought seven things. That dress, a couple of pairs of shoes, a coat, a bracelet, and… I don’t know. Something else. Anyway, my parents flipped out.”
The Pause.
“Kai, they flipped. My mom was all indignant, basically saying I’m taking the food out of orphans’ mouths, and my dad is taking me back to all the stores tomorrow to return everything but one pair of shoes. Do you know how mortifying that will be?”
“So…” He hedges. “How much did you spend?”
“It was, like, nine.”
“Nine hundred?” he asks.
“Um, thousand,” I say quietly, placing the heart-shaped shell in the sand and drawing our names around it with my finger.
“Nine thousand dollars?” Kai asks. “Bird, you spent nine K on clothes?”
“What?” I ask.
“ ‘What?’ ”
“Yeah, what?” I ask, sitting up. “You’re right. Nine thousand dollars is a lot of money, but we were having fun, and it just added up. And okay, maybe I overdid it a little, but I work hard for the money I make and I never, ever splurge.”
“Well, there’s splurging and there’s nine thousand dollars,” he says.
I exhale loudly. “I got the lecture from my parents, okay, Kai? I didn’t call you for round two.”
The Pause.
“Do you know what that kind of money could’ve done for me and my mom when I was growing up?” Kai asks quietly. “That’s a hella lot of money, Bird.”
“I get that it’s a lot of money, Kai,” I say. “I wasn’t raised with a silver spoon in my mouth either. But I went shopping once. Once. At places that weren’t discount retailers. And I was treated like a princess. And it felt good, okay?”
“Well, I hate that you had to go all the way down to Rodeo Drive to be treated like a princess.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
The Pause.
“I know,” he finally says. He sighs. “Look, I’m not trying to be all judgy or treat you like your dad or anything. And it’s not like you did anything inherently wrong. It just doesn’t sound like you. You spent a lot of money on materialistic stuff.” I bite my lip, staring out at the surf. “And you are only seventeen,” he says delicately, “so your parents do still have a say in what you buy.”
I shake my head, annoyed all over again, and think it best to change the subject. “Whatever. What’d you do last night?”
“Oh, it was pretty cool, actually,” he says. “Astrean played this intimate space in Raleigh, crazy small and cozy. And she convinced the owner to kill the overhead fluorescents and hang these vintage chandeliers. It was so beautiful, Bird. You would’ve loved it.”
“Sounds amazing,” I say halfheartedly.
“Nothing but her voice, the piano, and the violin,” he continues. “It was like she cast a spell, Bird. It was like the rest of the world stood still and the only people breathing were in that room, listening. And when the show was over, everyone just lingered, you know? Because they were so moved by the music.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. It was mind-blowing. Have you ever felt like that?” he asks, really worked up now. “So inspired that you literally could not keep living unless you wrote the song in your head?”
I immediately think back to “Sing Anyway,” the last song on the Wildflower album, the one I wrote right after Adam called things off. I had terrible writer’s block, b
ut once the idea sparked, it wrote itself in ten minutes. I tweaked it and worked it over, but the essence of the song was so gripping when inspiration struck that it nearly took my breath away.
That’s not exactly a story I want to share with Kai, though.
“Bird?”
“I’m here,” I say. “That sounds amazing. I’m so glad you’re enjoying the tour.”
“Yeah, this is really where I belong,” he says. “The big tours pay the bills and set me up, which is good and all, but this… This is an experience… This is, well, it’s just life.”
I know he doesn’t mean to, but that hurts my feelings, like he’s diminishing my music in some way. This is life, too. My life. My shows may not be in cozy little lounges, but people all over America—all over the world, even—are inspired by my music.
“Bird, I have to go,” he says. “My call is in half an hour, and I need to eat first. Talk after the show?”
“Yeah, I’ll be up.”
“Sweet. Miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Bye.” I press END on my phone quickly. Maybe I’m reading into it because I was already in a bad mood, but I can’t help feeling like Kai just called me immature and superficial, writing music that’s too commercial to be good.
And maybe it cuts a little deeper because I’ve got another album due and lately I’ve felt anything but inspired.
22
“BIRD, IT’S ALMOST time,” my mom yells from the living room.
“Be right there!” I holler back as I finish brushing my teeth.
Last night I was pretty quiet at dinner, not just because of the clothes fight with my parents but also because of how crappy I felt after my phone call with Kai. Before going to bed, I nursed my ego by reading fan posts on Twitter and Facebook about how I was a shoo-in for the Country Music Awards nominations this morning. Then I handed over my laptop, iPad, and cell phone to my dad. We all agreed we wanted to experience the announcements on Good Morning America for ourselves instead of hearing the good or bad news over the phone or online.
The minute I woke up to the smell of my mom’s buckwheat pancakes this morning, I felt butterflies. Open Highway is counting on me. My fans are counting on me. It would be so freaking spectacular to be nominated for a CMA.
“Bird, it’s on!” my mom calls again. “It’s on!”
I nearly trip over a pile of dirty clothes in my bathroom as I race to the TV. My dad sits on the couch next to my mom, both of them clutching mugs of coffee, with their eyes glued to the flatscreen, and it hits me that they’re as nervous as I am. I grab a throw pillow and plop down beside them, then stand up again, then pace a little. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.
“And the songs nominated for Single of the Year are,” Kacey Musgraves finally says, “ ‘Hold You Tighter,’ Mom and Pop’s Shop; ‘Notice Me,’ Bird Barrett—”
The second we hear “Notice Me” is nominated for Single of the Year, we scream. We all scream. My mom spills her coffee all over her blanket, and my dad pumps his free hand in the air as if he just saw the Titans win the Super Bowl. We stand up and hug, acting like lunatics, jumping around in a circle.
My dad kisses my forehead. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”
“Oh, Bird, I’m so happy, baby,” my mom says, hugging me tightly. “You deserve this. You work so hard.” Tears are streaming down her face, and we all laugh.
“Mom, stop crying,” I say. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“Hush, y’all,” my dad says. “They’re still going.”
“Oh right,” I say breathlessly. “I didn’t even hear who else was nominated.”
We settle back onto the couch and this time I squeeze between my parents. We listen to Blake Shelton, Miranda Lambert, and Keith Urban rack up nominations, and I see on a news ticker that Kayelee Ford was also nominated for Single of the Year. It doesn’t matter, though. Doesn’t even faze me.
When they get around to announcing the New Artist of the Year category, I am once again on pins and needles. I want this one. I really want this one. They announce Kayelee right off the bat, but my own name is called just after, and the circus in my living room begins again. This time we’re all unabashedly crying. I was nominated for two CMAs. Two CMAs!
When the announcements are over, we immediately power up our phones. I laugh at the sounds they make when we fire them up, the pings and beeps of about a hundred message alerts confirming that many of our Nashville friends and family tuned in earlier. My dad’s calling my brothers and then my granddad. Mom calls my gramma and then probably half of Jackson. I go to my room and call Kai, the one other person I most wish were right here at this very moment. I wish I could see the look on his face. I wish I could have a hug, the huge kind where he swings me around in a circle. I wish I could have a big, romantic, dip-me-down-low congratulatory kiss.
“Hey, Bird.”
“Good morning!” I sing into the phone. “Guess whose girlfriend is nominated for two CMAs!”
“Wow! Bird, congratulations,” he says.
“Can you believe it?” I yell. I jump up onto my bed.
“Yeah,” he says, not even close to my level of enthusiasm.
“Kai, I’m jumping up and down over here. My pillows are falling off the bed. Answer me like you mean it. Can you freaking believe it?” I shout.
He laughs hoarsely. “Yeah, I can, Bird. You’re amazing.”
I know he worked a really late show last night and then had to load up and get back on the road right after, and I imagine him in his tour bunk, shirtless probably, the covers thrown everywhere and his hair a mess. A pang of longing grips me. “I wish you were here,” I say, flopping down. “I so wish you were here right now.”
“Me too,” he says. “I’m really happy for you.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ll definitely celebrate when I’m back in town.”
I flop onto my belly and trace the pattern on my comforter, already imagining it. “I can’t wait.”
He chuckles. “Me neither.”
“I wish I could just come meet you out on tour,” I say. “I could get to know your tour mates and Astrean, put names with faces, and they could get to know me as your girlfriend and not just the girl on the radio or whatever.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says uncertainly. “That’d be cool.”
The Pause.
“Wait,” I say, a weird feeling taking over. “You’ve told them about me, right?”
“Bird, yes,” he says. “Of course they know I have a girlfriend.”
“And you’ve told them that it’s me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Kai.”
“No, it’s just, you know, a lot of the people on this tour don’t really do country music. I don’t want to be that guy that’s like, ‘Oh, I’m dating Bird Barrett.’ ”
“Why not?” I ask quietly, feeling like a popped balloon.
“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I thought you wanted to keep us quiet and not let the tabloids in on it.”
“I thought you wanted that.”
“Right, well, we both did. So…”
I wait. “So what?”
He exhales loudly.
I shake my head. I can’t believe Kai hasn’t told his friends about me. I can’t believe my boyfriend is embarrassed by me. I know new country’s not really his preferred style of music, but—
“Hey,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the tightness in my throat, “Dan’s beeping in on the other line, so I should probably go.” It’s a lie, but my feelings are hurt, I might cry, and I don’t feel like talking anymore.
“Bird, I really am happy for you,” Kai says. “A CMA is a huge deal—”
“Yeah, it’s a pretty big honor,” I squeak out. My eyes get blurry because I can’t help but expect my boyfriend to be over the moon for me instead of making me feel like my music isn’t legit—or even worse, that I’m not.
“Bird, I’m so proud of you. I really am.”
; “Uh-huh,” I manage. “I’ll call you later, okay? I really do have to go.”
“Okay, call me any time today. I’ll have my phone right here, okay?”
“Yep. Bye.”
I press END before he can say another word.
Before this phone call, I was on the high of my life. Adrenaline was racing through my body and I felt like I could rocket myself to the moon. But now I feel silly. I was ecstatic when they announced my name this morning. I was happy for myself and for my label and for my family. I was already imagining Kai on the red carpet with me.
Tears fall down the sides of my face and into my ears. Maybe if a few hundred thousand fewer people liked my songs, then the one person on earth I really want to like them actually would, I think bitterly.
My phone beeps and I check a new text from Kai:
Not sure how the convo got weird, but I really am happy for you, okay?
I start a text back, typing:
You’re not sure how the convo got weird? Maybe because you’re embarrassed that—
but I don’t get a chance to send it because a phone call comes through and I accidentally answer it with my thumbs.
“Hello?” I hear Adam say. “Bird? Are you there?”
Unbelievable. I close my eyes and wipe my face with one hand before bringing the phone to my ear and faking the appropriate perkiness.
“Adam, yeah, hi!”
“I just heard the news,” he says excitedly. “Two CMA nominations? That’s amazing. Congratulations!”
“God!” I say, exhaling loudly. “Thank you.”
“Yeah! Of course.”
“Seriously,” I say, snatching a tissue from the box on my dresser. “Freaking thank you.”
“Um,” he says, thrown off. “You’re welcome?”
I MUTE my phone real quick and blow my nose.
“Bird?” Adam says. “Are you okay?”
I press UNMUTE. “Totally,” I say, as my eyes fill up with tears again. Leave it to Adam to call and see through me right away. “Yeah, of course I’m okay. I’m just… so happy.”
The Road to You Page 14