“I called Shannon Crossley, and she’s got a fairly open schedule these next few weeks before Christmas,” Dan says gently. “Should we schedule some sessions?”
I blink hard before I buck up and admit that I desperately need help. In fact, a couple of weeks on her couch, staying put and buckling down, might be just the push I need.
29
“HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVE!” Stella calls when I answer our door.
“My two favorite elves,” I say, hugging both her and her mom as they come inside. We’re hosting the First Annual Barrett Family Christmas Bash tonight, and the Crossleys were obviously invited.
“We brought eggnog and pie,” Shannon says.
“And presents,” Stella adds, her eyes twinkling. “Listen, don’t pick mine during the White Elephant exchange. Seriously.”
“What did you bring?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“I’ve already said too much.”
We laugh and walk through the living room where all the guys are watching Christmas Vacation. Stella intentionally blocks the TV as she sets her gift under the tree and everybody—including my uncles and cousins—shouts for her to move.
“Stella, you are so obviously the Cousin Eddie,” Dylan remarks, shaking his head.
She blows him a kiss. “I’ve missed you, too, Clark,” she cracks.
In the kitchen, my mom and aunts are cooking up a storm. The Alabama Christmas album plays in the background and a folding table is set up for us kids. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.
“So, did you get your grades back?” I ask Stella as we sit.
She glances up at her mom, who is already washing her hands to help make mashed potatoes. “Not great,” she says quietly. “I don’t think I’m cut out for college.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, floored.
“I hate English, I hate Com, and I still have to take Math, Art History, and all these other stupid Gen Ed courses,” she says.
“Well, what about the design class you were so excited about?”
“I don’t even love that, truthfully,” she says. “I just want to go with my gut, you know? But it’s like all of my instincts go against what they’re teaching. Plus, design was fun for me before. Now it’s… I don’t know… stifling or something.”
I nod knowingly. “I’m going through the exact same thing.”
Luckily for me, though, over the past two weeks Shannon and I have finally fallen into a groove that works. My demo was really ballad heavy, so we upped the tempo on a few songs and scrapped two altogether. She reminded me that some songs are only meant to be written, not recorded. She had me change keys, rewrite verses, add hooks—you name it, we tried it. And as hard as it was to pick them apart, we both think A&R will like the revised tracks a lot. I’m still a few short of an album, but Shannon thinks I’ll get the green light to book a studio, which will be a relief. Once I’m recording again, I’ll at least feel like I’m working toward a tangible goal.
Stella and I commiserate about her course work and my album until my mom says it’s time to eat and all sixteen of us cram into the kitchen and circle up to say grace.
“Let’s bow our heads,” my granddad says. He mutters his standard prayer, thanking God for His Son, our country, freedom, family, loved ones far away, and the troops. I could tick them off on my fingers I’ve heard the list so often. “Amen,” we all say when he wraps it up.
My mouth is watering by the time I fill my plate. The adults eat in the dining room, and I squeeze between my brothers at the kids’ table in the kitchen. Dylan is so focused on stealing a roll from my cousin that he completely misses Stella swiping one of his stuffed peppers.
When he looks over, she takes a bite of the stolen pepper and closes her eyes as if it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted. “Yum. Dylan, you’ve got to try these. They’re amazing.”
Jacob and I laugh, and Dylan glances down at his plate, realizing at once he’s been robbed. “Who even invited you?”
“I’m a VIP,” she says.
Dylan shakes his head and smiles. “I’ll get you back, Crossley.”
He jabs his fork toward her plate, and she puts both hands up, blocking it.
Just then my phone rings, and I quickly pull it out of my pocket. “Oh!” I say, backing my chair from the table.
“Let me guess,” Stella says. “Kai?”
I nod. “Hello?”
“Oh, Kai!” Dylan calls in a high-pitched voice.
“Kai, I love you,” Jacob teases, making loud smooching noises.
“So obnoxious,” I say as I walk into the living room. “Hey, Merry almost Christmas, babe.”
“You too,” Kai says. “Are you having fun with your family?”
“Yeah. Sorry my brothers are so annoying.”
He laughs. “I think that’s how they’re supposed to be to their little sister’s boyfriend.”
“I guess,” I say. I flop down onto the couch. “How’s Makana?”
“Oh, it’s great,” he says. “We’re slammed actually, so I don’t have long. They need me in the kitchen. But I wanted to call because I have some bad news.”
“Oh no. What?”
“Well, it’s good news and bad news,” he says. “I just found out that I get to work the Times Square New Year’s Eve concert and ball drop.”
“Oh, wow,” I say. “That’s big time.”
“Yeah, it’s going to be pretty incredible,” he says. “The city on New Year’s has this amazing vitality.”
“That’s cool, I guess,” I say, not nearly as excited for him as he is. “But I thought we were going to spend New Year’s together.”
I really had my heart set on being with Kai next week. I couldn’t get away from Nashville over Thanksgiving, and he joined the Genuine Scoundrels’ tour right after. We haven’t seen each other since he surprised me in California and that feels like forever ago. This New Year’s was going to be the first time I’ve had someone to kiss when the ball drops, and ever since we’ve been dating long-distance, the kisses have been too few and too far between.
“I know, me too,” he says. “I mean, you could come up, I guess, but we really wouldn’t get to see each other. I’ll be working the whole time. It’s a pretty intense day, and the NYPD is strict about who they let into Times Square. And it’ll be cold.”
“Wow,” I say sarcastically. “Sounds like you really want me to come.”
“No, Bird, I do if you want. I’m just being honest. We probably wouldn’t see each other much.”
“Ugh, this sucks,” I say.
“I know. I knew you’d be bummed, but I just found out, and I really can’t afford to pass it up,” he says. “I have to pay the bills, you know?”
“Well, what if I could help you out?” I suggest.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, what if I just gave you the money for your bills or whatever?”
“Hell no,” he says. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m serious,” I say. “I really want us to be together.”
“Listen, Bird, I don’t need money from my sugar momma,” Kai says. “I can take care of myself. I get opportunities like this because other people have noticed how hard I work.”
Shocked at his tone, I slowly reply, “I realize you work hard, Kai.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t realize that not everybody gets paid thousands of dollars just to get out of bed every morning.”
My jaw hits the floor. I’m speechless. I want to remind him that I’m not some trust fund kid—I used to live in a freaking RV—and that I work hard for my money and that my music is my heart, but I really don’t want to fight on Christmas Eve.
The Pause.
I am fuming as I stare at the white lights on our Christmas tree, listening to my family laugh and enjoy themselves in the next room. I just wish Kai were here. I wish we were together. Everything always seems easier when we’re face-to-face, when we can hold hands and talk things out without
a million distractions. That’s when we’re really us.
“I’m coming,” I hear Kai yell to somebody in the background. I hear dishes clattering and somebody calling out orders in the restaurant kitchen. “Listen, Bird, I have to go. I’m really sorry, okay? But I need to work this show. It’s good money and good connections. I know you’re disappointed, but surely you know the business well enough to know that it’s all about networking. If I turn down this gig, they’ll skip over me for the next one.”
I sigh heavily. “I know.”
“Okay. So I’ll call you later. Okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, my throat tight. The doorbell rings.
“I miss you,” Kai says.
I uncurl myself from the couch and get up. “Miss you, too. Bye.”
“Bye,” he says, but I barely hear him because I’m trying to hang up first.
I walk to the front door, deeply disappointed. And then, when I swing it open, I gasp.
“Merry Christmas, Lady Bird,” Adam says with a grin. His black fleece is zipped all the way up, and his cheeks are pink. His brown hair is shaggy, his jaw is covered in stubble, and his hazel eyes twinkle brighter than the lights my dad strung up in the yard.
“Adam.”
It’s all I can bring myself to say.
“Hi. May I come in?” he asks.
“Oh, um, yes. Of course,” I say, stepping back. We haven’t been face-to-face since that day in my kitchen when he defended Kayelee, and I worry that things will be weird.
“Jacob invited me,” he says by way of explanation as we share an awkward side hug. “And, hey, congrats again on the Grammy nomination,” Adam says as he sets down his gift bag and guitar case. He unzips his jacket. “How awesome is that?”
“Yeah, thanks, it’s—it’s incredible,” I say as I take his coat and hang it in the closet. “Sorry I haven’t been that great about keeping in touch. I’ve been doing all this press and then trying to get songs ready for the next album and—”
“You’re busy,” he cuts in.
“Yeah.”
We stand there in the entryway, looking at each other the way you do when you haven’t seen someone in a while and you’re cataloging what’s different… the way you do when you have more to say than you ought to say… the way you do when there is chemistry between you that you know there shouldn’t be.
“Something smells good,” he finally comments.
“Oh, yeah, everybody’s eating,” I say, turning around and leading him through the living room. “You can put your gift there. And your guitar anywhere.”
He adds his gift to the pile and follows me into the kitchen. Jacob and Dylan get up and exchange bro hugs with Adam, and when he ducks his head into the dining room, my dad gives him a hearty slap on the back and a healthy handshake, while my mom is near to tears when she comes over to hug him. Stella’s eyes nearly pop out of her skull when we make eye contact, and although I wasn’t expecting him and although things were a tad tense last time we saw each other, I have to agree with my mom when she says he sure is a sight for sore eyes.
“Sit, sit, eat,” she says now.
Chatter fills the kitchen again as Adam fills a plate. I sit down and try to resume eating, but my thoughts are all over the place, my head reeling from the horrible call with Kai followed by the surprise visit from Adam.
“How’s Kai?” Dylan asks annoyingly.
“Good,” I say quickly. I glance up at Adam, whose back is to me, and then over at Stella. Jacob gets up for more food, and I start to slide over next to her, but Adam takes his place, squeezing right between us.
“Move your feet, lose your seat,” he says and immediately starts to eat while Dylan launches into his take on the Titans’ play-off chances.
It takes me a few minutes to get comfortable next to Adam. I sit with my back ramrod straight and try to think of anything normal to say. It doesn’t help that our legs keep touching accidentally under the table. Why am I buzzing like this? I have a boyfriend. I shake my head and try to relax. Fortunately, Adam makes it easy. It’s not long before he’s telling stories and making everybody laugh, and I resolve not to let my phone call with Kai ruin my night.
After dinner, my dad suggests a good old-fashioned jam session, just like the old days. We play a few bluegrass standards and several Christmas carols. I close my eyes and lose myself in the songs, completely content as I make Maybelle sing, wishing the music would come this easily when I’m writing for the new album. As we wrap up “Go Tell It on the Mountain,” I feel a surge of inspiration and turn toward my brothers, playing the first notes of “I’ll Fly Away,” the sweet bluegrass hymn that was played at my little brother’s funeral. It’s Christmas Eve and Caleb should be remembered.
After that song, we move on to the gift exchange. My favorite part is when Dylan gets stuck with Stella’s gag gift: The Gentleman’s Fart Button. Every time he pushes it, the button makes a loud, obnoxious sound and then a very polite British voice says something like, “Who cut the Brie?” I laugh so hard that tears stream down my face. “I wish we’d had that during your teenage years in the RV,” my mom tells Dylan, making me laugh even harder.
By the end of the night, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Eventually, everybody makes their way back into their coats and out the door, or upstairs to the guest rooms. After I walk Stella and Shannon out, I head up to my own room and get ready for bed. The house is still. I am exhausted. I brush my teeth and wash my face, pulling my hair back with a thick headband. I put on a pair of PINK sweatpants and a long sleeve T-shirt, then climb into bed and snuggle under the heavy comforter with my cell phone. But before I can call Kai, my mom knocks on my door.
“Bird, did you rinse out your skirt?” she asks.
“Ugh, I forgot,” I say, throwing my head back against my pillows.
“Well, you don’t want the stain to set,” she says. I dropped a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Cupcake on my skirt at dinner, and as exhausted as I am, the article of clothing in question was the recent catalyst for yet another argument about my shopping habits. Not only did my dad think it was too short, but my mom claimed it was too expensive. When will they realize that I can afford this stuff now? “There’s a bottle of Mean Green under the sink in the laundry room,” she adds.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say through a forced smile.
I throw the covers back and climb out of bed, picking the skirt up off the floor and breezing past her. I walk downstairs and hear the faintest music coming from the living room. When I turn the corner, I am stunned to see Adam strumming his guitar on the couch. I didn’t realize he was still here.
I try to tiptoe behind him, but he turns around.
“Hey, Lady Bird,” he says.
“Hey.”
“Jacob’s on the phone with his girlfriend,” Adam explains.
“Jacob has a girlfriend?”
“Uh, never mind,” he covers. “Anyway, I’m leaving soon. Just messing around with this new song I’m working on.”
“Cool. I’m just grabbing the stain remover from the laundry room,” I say, holding up the skirt. “It’s Prada, so, you know…”
Adam looks amused. “Oh, well, if it’s Prada.”
My cheeks flame. I scurry down the hall, feeling ridiculous. I grab the bottle and berate myself as I treat the stain, wondering why I can’t be normal around Adam. I remind myself: I’ve moved on. I’m with Kai. I’m in—
“Hey, Bird?” Adam says.
I jump a mile.
“This song, I don’t know, it feels like it’s missing something,” he says. He runs his hand through his hair. “You care to listen? Maybe let me know what you think?”
“Oh, um, sure,” I say, hanging the skirt on a drying rack. I follow him down the hall and glance at my cell phone. It’s only nine thirty in LA. Kai might not even be off work yet. And anyway, I think as I pocket my phone, he ought to be the one calling me after the New Year’s blow off.
In the living room, Adam sits and picks up his
guitar. I sit on the other end of the couch, bringing my knees to my chest.
“Being here tonight kind of got me inspired,” he says. “I was waiting for Jacob and this song was just brewing, you know?” I nod. “But the lyrics—I don’t know. I’m hung up a little.”
“Okay.”
“And so it’s really new,” he continues. “Like minutes old.”
“Okay, okay, Adam,” I say, grinning. “I’ll be gentle. Just play it.”
“Okay.” He takes a big breath, and I tuck my chin to hide my smile. I can totally relate. Sharing something before it’s ready is the most vulnerable feeling in the world, but there’s also this need for someone to listen to it and tell you if it’s working or even worth pursuing.
He starts to strum. Immediately, I am rocking to the beat and can easily imagine a guy like Jason Aldean singing it.
Adam belts:
“I know a girl who’s from every town,
Kinda girl who shakes you up without letting you down.
From Georgia to Kentucky, New York to Caroline,
I’m right there in her shadow, but always a step behind.”
He glances up at me nervously, so I smile and motion for him to keep going. It’s already so catchy. He changes chords and sings louder:
“Gotta prove myself, gotta make her see,
Gonna sing across the miles.”
Then, abruptly he stops. “See, I hate that line.”
I swat his arm. “Keep going!”
He shakes his head, grinning as he finishes the chorus:
“That I’m the man for her, she belongs with me,
I’m the one who needs her smile.”
He strums and starts in on the second verse. The song is actually really awesome; I can’t believe he just wrote it a few minutes ago. I see what he means about the chorus being a little corny, but the song is so good that it’ll be easy to fix. Excitedly, I get up and grab my guitar from where Shannon left it propped by the bookshelf during our impromptu jam. He starts in on the chorus again and I play with him, singing quiet harmonies here and there. By the time he strums the final note, we are both invested.
The Road to You Page 19