“Hey now …” Hector says.
“She’s right,” Elaine mutters.
“And my obstinance,” Harmony adds. “That’s from you, Mom.”
Wagging a finger, Hector says, “Don’t talk to your mother like that.”
My gaze hops from one to the other like I’m watching tennis. I’ve got to hand it to Hector, though, standing up for his ex-wife.
“Like what? I’m stating facts. She literally has ‘Obstinate, headstrong girl’ on a quote poster. She owns that trait happily.”
They get into a faster back and forth that I can hardly keep up with, tension building until my asshole is clenched tight and my shoulders are nearing my earlobes. Finally I cut in: “It doesn’t matter what either of us said in our music, alright?”
Everyone goes silent and turns to stare at me.
I force myself to relax, shuddering as I shake out my hands. “Am I sorry? Yes. Do I regret any of it?No. Because if it hadn’t been for our feud, our label wouldn’t have forced us to work together. If we hadn’t worked together, we never would have realized how we feel about each other.” I inhale. “I think your daughter is incredible. She’s smart and sweet, and a complete badass—excuse my language. Most of all, she is genuine and thoughtful. I’m sure a lot of that comes from the two of you, too. Credit where credit is due.”Flattery where flattery is due, I think. “If it puts your mind at ease in any way, you should also know that I’ve written somenicelyrics about Harmony too. I’ll bet you didn’t know that my album title comes from a song about her.”
Harmony’s brows pinch together. “What?”
We’ve talked about our album tracks on occasion and shared some clips with each other, but she doesn’t know all my songs in their entirety, and I don’t know all of hers either.
“’There Goes The Sun,’” I say, “was a song I was working on when we met. It was the first track I started after I signed with Glambam. It was supposed to be about a road trip, driving allday in some beat-up pickup truck until sunset. After she left the release party, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and the song evolved into something different. It wasn’t about the open road anymore, it was about a girl walking away from me, and me wanting her to come back. So when I sing, ‘There goes the sun,’ it’s not literal—it’s Harmony. She’s the ‘sun.’”
Elaine and Hector exchange a pensive glance.
“I had no idea,” Harmony says softly.
“Well, it was sort of half-baked, and then you came out with ‘Friction,’ so I didn’t end up changing much more of the song after that. But the idea was there.”
The marketing team might brand her as “night” but in my mind, she’s the brightest thing in the sky. She lays her head on my shoulder and we all calm down.
When our food comes, we eat quietly. I follow Harmony’s example as far as how to eat the pupusas with a runny red sauce and a type of cabbage slaw. They are weird, but rich and comforting in my stomach. I see why she likes them.
Little by little, her dad opens up, first with small talk about the weather, then sports, then work. I learn about the civil engineering firm he works for and some of his projects, and he asks about my employment atThe Goldrush Gazetteand how I got into the music industry, which allows me to share my struggle with my brand and career path.
I get to know Elaine too, her background and her job teaching choir, her love for harmony that inspired her only child’s name.
After we finish up, Hector settles the bill despite my insistence that I am happy to. We all say our goodbyes and he shakes my hand again. This time, he doesn’t half-crush my finger bones.
I’m going to call that a win.
No One Can Find the Rewind Button, Girl
HARMONY
GriffinandIstandin the back corner of one of the Wentworth Hotel elevators, my cheeks still pink and warm after what we just did in our room.
There are five other people in here with us, each wearing a lanyard badge that says Blue Wave Media Summit on it. Two of them are up-and-coming artists signed with other labels: a teenage girl named Flovie who got popular doing covers on YouTube, and a twenty-something guy whose name I forget but he used to be in a mediocre band and recently went solo (which was apparently a good move). The others must be managers and assistants. They greeted us with enthusiasm when we boarded with them, but now they’re busy talking PR strategy and rehearsing answers to interview questions. Unlike us, they don’t seem to be running late; they probably don’t need to be anywhere just yet and are going down for breakfast and to mingle ahead of time.
Griffin and I spent all yesterday doing briefings and light press (lower-key interviews and meet-and-greets) after checking into the hotel around 10 a.m. Even though the media summit is inL.A., it’s easier to stay the night before day 2 since we have a much earlier day today and it’ll be packed with activities for us both.
The idea was that we’d already be here first thing this morning and not have to rush to get to our first press block, but the sight of each other half dressed while we got ready was enough to cause a delay. Black boxer briefs and an open dress shirt? There was no hope for me. I had Griffin back in bed in ten seconds. The rest went pretty quickly but then we had to put clothes back on (I also had to fix my makeup a little) and run out the door.
So much for not having to rush.
Now I’m in my head about the questions I’m going to have to answer, and on top of that I’m all frazzled because there won’t be time for coffee or breakfast pastries, but Griffin distracts me by pressing me up against the metallic wall as he pretends to make space for yet another few people to board at the next floor.
“I’m going to be thinking about you all day,” Griffin whispers almost inaudibly, brushing his lips against my earlobe. He slides one hand around behind me and discreetly squeezes my ass. His half-erection teases my hip.
