Still, I may never forgive her for this. Millions of people will see this performance because we are playing the top country song of the year, at least sales-wise.
I tug on the small foot-shaped pendant hidden beneath my neckline, a funny, sweet gift from Shelby and Coach after the birth of their healthy, cherubic son. I wear it when I need a reminder to have the courage to go in the direction life sends me.
Female Artist of the Year was already announced, and Mac lost it to a legendary singer whose last album was released posthumously. Mac isn’t disappointed in the slightest, but I am. Not that the other singer didn’t deserve it after her many years in country music, but we put together an amazing album. Sure, I’m biased, but millions of sales bolster my claims.
The sting of that loss is mitigated, however, as Mac plays the opening chords to our song. She’s sitting on a stool with her custom onyx cane next to her, and everything about it feels right.
Thankfully, someone smarter than me decided that, while I mess around on stringed instruments in my living room, the actual playing of an instrument in front of a live audience should be left to the professionals. I’m just here for moral support and a few backing vocals. Even as I think that, I know Mac would be quick to remind me that the solo single she insisted I record currently sits at number seven on the country music chart. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but life seems to be sending me in this direction.
As Mac sings the first lines of the song, the audience joins in. I’ve seen the same thing on tour with her, but this is an auditorium full of her peers, and they are singing it joyfully, smiling broadly as they sway to the music.
When I come in with my harmony, a small cheer rolls through the audience, shocking me.
Mac, until this point, had a reputation as somebody who was a bit stoic, not giving away too much of her personal life. But in every interview that’s come out since this song dropped, she’s been a swoony, lovesick mess. I swear, she won’t stop talking about me, and it’s getting embarrassing.
The highlight of my life is spotting Dolly in the audience. When she catches my eye and gives me a thumbs-up, I may die and go to heaven. I’ll definitely cry about that a little at the hotel tonight.
Mac and I sing into our shared mic, sounding better than we ever have before, looking into each other’s eyes until everything—the auditorium, the audience, the fancy people, the sparkly dress that somebody put me in—all of it goes away. She and I are just singing this little song we worked on together.
Even if “Roots and Sky” had flopped, I would be nowhere else in the world except right by this woman’s side. It’s exactly where I’m meant to be.
* * *
Mac
The live performance goes even better than I’d imagined. While, yes, I’m disappointed to lose Female Artist of the Year, it’s hard to complain about a night like this. Kinley and I are backstage after the performance, standing next to each other, grasping each other’s hands because they’re about to announce Song of the Year.
“And the award goes to…“Roots and Sky” by Mackenzie Nash and Kinley Burke!”
Kinley startles next to me, then brings her hands up to my face, pulling me in for a kiss before we walk back onto the stage, taking the award from someone I know to be a raging homophobe.
I’ll be sending the organizers some fancy bottles of whiskey for making him say our names. He’s gracious, though, and congratulates us before putting the award in my hand. Kinley already told me she’d be too nervous to say anything, so I take the mic as she steps to the side. Thirty seconds later, I’m being played off the stage with no idea what the hell I just said. Kinley is there to celebrate and cheer me on, and that’s really all that matters.
Well, that and the small box in my inside jacket pocket.
I’ve got the hotel room set up with rose petals and champagne, and I can’t wait to ask her one of the most important questions I’ve ever asked.
We make our way back to the audience just in time for them to announce Album of the Year. When they say my name, I worry for a second I’ve just had another seizure. But no, this is reality, and Kinley is putting my cane in my hand, pushing me toward the stage.
“It’s you, baby,” she says. “It’s all you.”
The sensation is then repeated when they call my name for single of the year.
Entertainer of the Year is next, so they keep me in the wings again. While I’m excited, I hate not being with Kinley in this moment.
When Reba opens the envelope and says my name, my knees buckle. A stagehand whose name I don’t even know helps keep my feet under me. I look into the audience, and Kinley’s eyes are filled with tears. I walk unsteadily toward the podium, and the audience goes silent as I struggle. Even with the cane, I don’t think I can make it.
I stop and give Kinley a look. Understanding lights her eyes, and she hops up, uncaring of her expensive dress as she practically sprints to my side, helping me the rest of the way.
The mood in the audience is tense, so I hold up my hand and crack, “Y’all don’t worry about me. I’m just being dramatic.”
“True story,” Kinley mutters under her breath.
There’s a half-second of silence before the audience breaks.
“Seriously, though,” I say over the laughter. “I’m fine physically, y’all. I promise. You gotta understand—this has my knees absolutely shaking.”
Kinley, beaming with pride and love, steps off to the side.
