I’d spent the last few days as a recluse, waiting Thursday while I worked on some new lyrics I had rolling around in my head. I was also dodging the persistent phone calls from my manager, demanding to know when I’d be back in Nashville. I’d already told him six times that I’d be back in five weeks, but Tom was still hoping I’d change my answer. He wanted to get a start on the new record, only there wasn’t anything tostart.
I had nothing worth sharing. Yet,anyway.
The song that I’d been working on seemed too personal, too emotional, and I wasn’t ready to share it. My public image was beers and trucks, not love ballads. But, singing with Everly Daniels at the wedding had me convinced a ballad wasn’t such a bad idea, that maybe it was time to take my music in a new direction. I could think of no better time to do it than when I went on stage at the Grand Ole Opry inSeptember.
By Wednesday, I knew I needed to get out of the house, so I met the guys for half priced ribs and a couple of beers at O’Riley’s. The regular group consisted of Gordon, Tommy, Grady, and Brock. Sometimes, Steve would randomly show up. Sometimes, Braden would show up, if he didn’t have anything better to do, only he’d drink a coke in place ofbeer.
Steve, Braden, and Brock were absent this week. Brock was still on his honeymoon, Braden only really came when Brock was there, and nobody knew what Steve did when he wasn’t hanging out with us. On this particular night, it was just Gordon, Grady, Tommy, andme.
“You know what I don’t get?” Gordon said, pausing to take a sip of his beer. He sat across the table from me atO’Riley’s.
“What?” Tommy demanded, irritated at the longpause.
“I think its bullshit that you live in that bad ass mansion on a sick lake and you never throw parties there,” Gordon said, his tone accusatory and his focus zeroed in on myface.
“My mom’s there,” I shrugged. “I don’t want to put herout.”
“We wouldn’t be! Mama Channing can sling some beers with us,” Tommy grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Theyour mom is hotjokes would never stop coming, and I couldn’t even get mad at them for it. Gordon and Tommy had lost their mom when they were kids, so anyyour momrevenge jokes would be cruel. They knew it and used it to their full advantage, ofcourse.
“It’s not just her. Last time I let you douchebags talk me into throwing a party, some dumbass put the address on Myspace and an extra three hundred guests show up. We had paparazzi swarming the gates for months afterwards,” I reminded thempointedly.
“Okay,” Tommy said, raising his finger to stop me right there. “That wasyears ago,” he argued, rolling his eyes. He’d been the one to stupidly put up the address on his publicMyspace.
“It’s true, Tommy has learned the error of his ways,” Gordon nodded,smirking.
“I couldn’t come home formonths,” I laughed. “I had to hire twenty-four hour ground security to make sure people would leave my momalone.”
“Why does it matter?” Grady asked, coming to myrescue.
“It doesn’t, not really. I was just thinking that we should have a finalhurrahparty,” Gordon shrugged, taking another swig of his beer. “Before you leave for Nashville again and Tessa and Brock leave for Toronto. Get everyone together one final time.” His words seemed ominous, like we’d never all be togetheragain.
I pursed my lips and mulled it over: Gordon made a fair point. Itwouldbe cool to throw a party, and my cottage was a pretty good location for it. Private, remote. Enough space to host everyonecomfortably.
“I’ll have to run it by my mom and see what shesays.”
“Oh man, it sounds so ridiculous when you say that—like you’re still living in your mom’s trailer and she’s still ironing your shirts on the kitchen table,” Tommylaughed.
“Yeah, except it’shisplace and he pays people to iron his shirts,” Gordon ribbed, joining in on thelaughter.
“Don’t be dicks,” Grady scolded. “She lives there, it’s her hometoo.”
“We know,” Tommy rolled hiseyes.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Ipromised.
Grady downed the rest of his beer and stood up. “I’ll catch you guys later, let me know what’s happening with theparty.”
“Where are you off to?” Gordon asked, bemused. Grady didn’t usually tap out thatearly.
“Paige’s,” he grinned. Tommy pretended to crack a whip, making the accompanying sound andall.
“Is it really that bad to be whipped?” I voiced. “What’s the harm in making your girlhappy?”
“No harm in that,” Gordon nodded with agreement and glanced at me with mildsuspicion.
Tommy wrinkled his nose. “There’s a difference between making your girl happy and having to hand in your man card because you left guy’s night early to watch Gilmore Girls with her,” he said, waggling hiseyebrows.
“Fuck off,” Grady laughed, flipping him the bird. “And for your information, we’re watching Game ofThrones.”
