“What can I get ya?” the barista greeted while popping a bagel into a toaster.
“Just a latté, please.”
He paid and stepped to the side, out of the line, and glanced around for his mother. No sign of her blond head of curls, and he was already half an hour late. The barista set Adam’s mug on the counter; he carefully picked it up and bobbed his way around the tables to find an empty one, dodging people sitting in front of laptops or on dates. Music still played low in his ears as he sat and studied the leaf pattern etched into the steamed, foamy milk floating atop his drink, and he drummed his fingers in a steady rhythm on the table.
“Adam.”
He looked up, yanking out his earbuds. Ella Bell stood there, beaming at him. Her hair, instead of the curls he’d always remembered, she wore pinned up. She appeared neat and well-dressed—her floral dress was ironed, unlike how Adam remembered her. Ella draped her coat on the back of the chair across from her son and set down her mug of whipped cream-topped coffee.
“Mom,” he blurted out, surprised. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or angry, yet he stood and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him; the top of her head fit just beneath his chin.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it last time,” she said, rubbing his back.
He wanted to forgive her. Truly, he did. But the words still wouldn’t come.
She brushed her dress under her legs and sat.
“I know.” It was all he could think to say and took a long, slow drink from his mug.
Smiling, Ella watched him, her hand propping up her chin. “Tell me how you’ve been.”
Adam offered a one-shouldered shrug. “Good. Our album came out today. We’ve already had decent sales, and we had a ton of pre-orders. Our manager is excited. He said if sales keep up, it won’t take us long to make up our advance.”
“That’s incredible.” Her soprano voice sounded singsong, and her eyes seemed to sparkle as she continued to watch him. Reaching across the table, she patted his hand. “I’m proud of you, Adam. I hope you know that.”
He bit down on his tongue, his throat tightening as a thought crossed his mind. Perhaps he wasn’t so unlike his mother after all—she chose music over her family. He chose music over Kylie.
Ella sipped her drink and wiped away cream from the tip of her nose. “Would you like to come over for Thanksgiving?”
“I already promised Benny I’d go to their place.”
“Oh.” Her voice shrank, but she smiled regardless. “That’s okay; I don’t usually do much anyway. How’s Oliver doing?”
“He’s fine.”
Her brown eyes were wide, but he didn’t meet their gaze. She leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Adam took another long sip from his mug. How could he possibly come close to articulating all of his resentments, his anger, his bitterness? He hated that she left Charleston, left him and his father. Sure, her marriage to John had crumbled, but that didn’t mean she had to leave him, too, her only living child. He both loved her and resented her.
“Are you still upset that I missed our breakfast date?”
“Something like that.”
“Adam,” she crooned.
“Why did you move away from Charleston?” he blurted out.
His mother froze. Her face paled. “I made a choice. Your father and I were getting divorced, and I needed work.”
Made a choice. He made a choice, too. He chose to come to New York. He chose music over love.
“What’s on your mind?” Ella asked.
He sighed. “I just…I don’t know. I made a choice, that’s all.”
His phone buzzed. Max, their manager.
“Hey,” he answered, staring down into his nearly empty mug. He felt his mother’s eyes studying him.
Upbeat and perky—overly cheerful, like nothing could ever bring him down—Max spoke quickly like always. “All right, I’ve got two words for you guys: opening band.”
“What?”
“The Relief. They’ve got an upcoming tour, and the band that was supposed to be their opening act dropped out. They want you guys to open for them.”
“Are you kidding!” Adam’s free hand flailed, and he jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair, scrambling to set it upright; his phone clattered onto the table, and Ella caught her drink before it spilled.
Max laughed. “No joke. You guys are in if you want it.”
“Yes, we want it. Thank you! You just made my day!” Excitement coursed through him as he hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket.
“What is it?” Ella asked, pausing as she listened to Adam’s rapid explanation. “That’s wonderful!”
The aroma of cooking meat and a wave of heat swept through the kitchen as Maggie opened the oven door to baste the turkey. Kylie bustled about the large kitchen, buzzing from the refrigerator to the array of ingredients on the island counter. A football game blared from the living room.
“Kylie, it’s okay, really. I can handle it. You can watch the game with Colton if you want.” Maggie set the baster on a wooden spoon and dug through her cupboard full of spices.
“I’d rather stay busy, if you don’t mind.” She poured a bag of dried breadcrumbs into a bowl. “Do you have rosemary?”
Maggie returned to the cupboard and passed a small shaker.
“Thanks. It’s just this holiday used to be one of Mama’s favorites and…well, yeah. I’d rather stay busy.”
“Of course I don’t mind. Didn’t you say she always put rosemary in the dressing?”
“And a pinch of cinnamon, if you have it.” She took the shaker as Maggie passed it. “Mama said she did it one year by accident, the first Thanksgiving with my dad. She meant to put the rosemary in the potatoes, but she was nervous cooking for him. Dad loved it so much, she did it every year after that.”
Silence passed between them for a few moments until, finally, Maggie spoke, “So, can I ask what exactly happened between you and Bruce? Everyone’s talking about it, but I’ve heard ten different stories.”
Since that day, Kylie had cooped herself up at home, terrified at the fact that she was now unemployed. She had to find something, she knew, but fear paralyzed her. No paycheck, no health benefits—nothing. Sure, she had savings, but nothing to sustain her for more than a few months.
With a sharp intake of breath, she relayed, in detail, what had happened.
Maggie shook her head. “Ugh, Bruce is such a creep. But at least you don’t have to put up with him anymore.”
“I know, but what am I going to do? Where am I going to work?”
“Maybe you should enjoy life for a few weeks. Live it up. Travel.” She grinned and smacked Kylie’s shoulder. “Where’s the one place you’ve always wanted to visit?”
New York came to mind, but Kylie quickly pushed the thought away and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m happy here. My life is here,” she lied.
“There has to be somewhere.”
“Nope.”
Kylie passed her the dish of rosemary stuffing. Maggie didn’t press the subject, something Cat would have done. In harmony, they buzzed around the kitchen, taking turns at the stove and counter.
I happened to hear your boyfriend’s song on the radio. Bruce’s words rang in her mind as she bustled about.
“Hey,” she began slowly, hoping to sound uninterested and dispassionate, “you haven’t heard One Night Young on the radio, have you?” She paused from mashing a bowl of peeled and boiled potatoes.
Maggie glanced up from opening a can of cranberry jelly. “They did an interview on the radio the other day on one of those nationally-aired shows.”
The masher slipped from her hands and dropped into the bowl of sticky potatoes, and Kylie scrambled to scoop it out before the handle was covered. Clearing her throat, she paused. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, stuff about their album. Typical radio interview stuff,” she
replied with a shrug.
It was almost too nonchalant, thought Kylie. She bit the inside of her cheek, wishing she hadn’t asked. “That’s good. Good for them.”
Nodding vaguely, Maggie popped open the oven door. “I think the bird is done,” she chirped happily.
Colton entered the kitchen, gave a slight nod to Kylie, and stepped to the stove. Kylie smiled stiffly. Maggie had grown on her in the last six months, more so than Colton. It seemed he ignored her with a reserved, laconic demeanor, and as time passed, he spoke less and less. Maggie treated her more like a sibling, and although Kylie was glad to have Maggie, she still missed her best friend.
She missed Cat.
I can do this.
Kylie brushed loose strands of hair from her face, fighting to stand still and subtly shifting her weight from heel to heel at the end of the line of bridesmaids as the ceremony went on. They all held small bouquets of white gardenias wrapped in red ribbon to match their dresses.
The weather cooperated just as Maggie had hoped; the late afternoon sun shined low in the sky, its rays filtered through the few fluffy clouds on the horizon, and a gentle breeze blew in from the ocean. Waves caressed the sides of the yacht as it cut through them, and white folding chairs adorned with red satin bows sat in straight rows on the deck. One chair, sitting in the front row, was left empty in honor of Sarah.
After a forty-five-minute photoshoot of the wedding party, they proceeded into an interior reception room. In the front was a wooden dance floor, surrounded by large round tables, which were all seated with chairs adorned with satin bows. At the front of the dance floor stood a long table, its two middle chairs wrapped in red tulle. A four-tier cake, complete with a statuette of a bride dragging her groom, sat in the far corner. Kylie was seated at the end of the long table beside one of the groomsmen, with whom she had processed to the altar.
He leaned toward her. “Hey, what was your name again?”
Earlier, she hadn’t paid him much attention, even at the rehearsal. But now that he spoke to her, she noticed his eyes—the same dark color as Adam’s—and he had a similar tenor voice; a voice she hadn’t heard in months. His hair, however, was dark. Determination to enjoy herself took over, despite the lingering memories ever since Bruce mentioned hearing the band on the radio.
“Kylie,” she said with a smile.
“Troy. How do you know Maggie?”
“We used to work together, but Colton’s my half-brother.”
“Aha. I thought you two looked alike,” said Troy. “We were friends in college.”
The soft background music of the jazz band grew quiet. Kylie leaned away while the Master of Ceremonies, dressed in a blindingly bright button-down shirt, stepped forward to the edge of the dance floor.
“Good evening,” he began jovially, “I’d like to introduce to you our couple of the evening for the first dance—Mr. and Mrs. Colton O’Donnell. Please, give them your warmest welcome!”
Applause flooded the room as Colton and Maggie entered through the large French doors, holding hands and smiling as the clarinetist began with a sweet, gentle tempo. Colton embraced her, holding one hand high, the other on her lower back as they danced in a slow circle. Kylie smiled as she watched; they appeared lost in one another, as if no one else existed.
The M.C. stepped forward again. “I’d like to now invite all guests to the dance floor.”
Troy gave her a pointed look. “Shall we?”
“Um.” She looked at his proffered hand. “Sure.”
They rose to their feet, and he led her to the square patch of floor, followed by the rest of the wedding party and several couples from the tables. Troy’s warm hand on the small of Kylie’s back felt foreign and unfamiliar, and his cologne smelled sweet. Although his eyes were dark brown, now that she looked closely at them, she realized they didn’t carry the same depth or bright playfulness. Her stomach turned and knotted into a hard lump, but she forced a smile. As they came to a full circle in time to the music, they passed Colton and Maggie, who gave an encouraging smile. The knot in Kylie’s stomach loosened, just a bit. It wouldn’t be so wrong to let loose for one evening, right? She could channel her inner Cat, couldn’t she? The song came to a gentle close, and as applause filled the room, Troy and Kylie returned to their seats.
A swarm of waiters, buzzing around with trays of plates, served dinner shortly after, which was interrupted by a near-continuous clinking of metal knives on crystal champagne flutes. (Which, with a grin, Kylie partook in several times.) Each time, Colton and Maggie paused between bites of food, Maggie covering her mouth while she chewed, and they leaned toward each other for a brief kiss.
Kylie looked down at the plate in front of her, on which pork and vegetables sat in perfect arrangement.
“So, what do you do for work?” asked Troy.
“Oh, um…I’m in between jobs right now, but I used to work for Charleston Charm. You?”
“I work for the post office. Sort of in between jobs, too.” He smiled. They ate quietly for several minutes, listening to the jazz band. Troy’s head bobbed to the music, out of time to the beat. “Do you go to any concerts?” he asked suddenly.
“Sometimes.” She shrugged. “Haven’t been to one in a while, though.”
“I love the big shows at the Coliseum. Have you heard this new band that’s been playing on the radio? I forget their name, but supposedly they’re from Charleston. I think someone said a few of the members worked at one of the restaurants downtown.”
Kylie froze, fork and knife still in hand, and her fingers went cold. Faking an airy tone, she lied, “No, I don’t listen to the radio much. I usually just play CDs.”
He laughed. “CDs? What, are you stuck in 2004?” He screwed up his face at the ceiling while munching on a green bean. Then his eyes widened, and he waved his fork at her. “One Night Young, that was their name. Their album just came out; I still need to download it. Hey, maybe if they ever come here to do a show, you and I should go,” he said cheerfully, popping another green bean into his mouth.
“Yeah, maybe.”
She bit down on her lip, hard. I can’t do this. Swallowing, Kylie slid her half-empty plate away, slapped her cloth napkin on the table, and rose to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
As she stepped out onto the breezy deck, the wind tugged at loose tendrils from her up-do, tickling the nape of her neck. Leaning against the rail, she watched while the boat sliced through the waves, white foam spraying up the sides. Gooseflesh prickled on her arms, and she shivered. So, it was true. Adam’s band was on the radio. Their album was out. His dream had come true. This evening was going all wrong; she didn’t want to be reminded of him, but Troy was doing just that. Something churned inside her chest. I screwed up. Big time. I shouldn’t have told him no. Cat was right. I waited to regret my decision before I realized I made a mistake. I chose wrong, and now he’s gone forever. Probably met some model or actress and would never want me again. Her eyes began to sting, and she dabbed at them with her knuckle before her makeup could smudge.
A voice sounded from behind. “Hey, are you okay?”
Kylie cleared her throat, hoping her eyes weren’t puffy and red, and turned to see Troy. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She displayed her most genuine smile, but it felt shallow. “Just needed a bit of fresh air.”
“Yeah, sometimes boats make me a little queasy, too,” he mused.
She stood perfectly still, motionless, suddenly deep in thought. What would Adam say if he were here, seeing her nearly in tears? What if it were Adam who would be dancing with her? Probably do something to make her laugh, surely.
But it wasn’t Adam standing next to her.
Adam wasn’t gone, either. Not the way her parents were gone. He was only in another state, several hundred miles away to be more precise. What if…what if she tried? What if she fought for him? What’s holding me here, anyway? I have no job now, no Mama, and it doesn’t seem like Cat will ever speak to me again. Sure, she had
Maggie, but she wasn’t a replacement. If she were honest with herself, their friendship felt shallow, superficial.
The normal life she once knew was long gone, nothing but a memory now.
Sharply inhaling through her nose, she held her breath for a moment. A sense of calm washed over her, and a tingling sense of determination coursed through her. She could do it. Go to New York. Move there. What did she have to lose?
“Let’s go back in. Can’t miss the Grapevine,” she said, smiling. It felt genuine.
Adam followed Benny and Lacey out of the elevator and into a large, open penthouse. Two of the walls had been replaced by floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a wide, panoramic view of the city skyline. Dots of lights stood out against the night sky, offering a beautiful sight in its own way.
People had already packed into the room, and piano music played low in the background, a soft overlay to the posh atmosphere. Adam imagined everyone speaking in tight-lipped accents and holding their pinkies up while sipping from martini glasses, and he choked down a chuckle. Women were dressed in glittering gowns in a rainbow of colors, and the men in perfectly pressed suits. He felt insecure seeing them and fidgeted, smoothing the lapels of his new blazer and running a hand through his combed hair. In the corner stood a small, curved bar, topped with an antiqued plank of oak, with a bartender in pristine uniform behind it. Waiters carrying silver platters of an array of hors d’oeuvres slipped through the crowd. Black Diamond had spared no expense to celebrate the kickoff of One Night Young’s tour with The Relief.
Adam nudged Benny. “There’s Max,” he said, pointing to a young, bespectacled man leaning against the bar. His tension eased, just a bit. At least there was one other familiar face, as Ollie and Shawn had yet to show.
“Hey, Max,” Benny greeted as they approached.
“Benny, Adam! Glad to see you finally made it,” said Max, shaking each of their hands with a knuckle-crushing grip.
Adam shook out his hand and flexed his fingers.
The Days Without You: A Story of Love, Loss, and Grief Page 20