I look out the passenger window at the back of the concession stand inside the water park on the other side of the alley.
Good question,what next?
And I don’t know.
Which is exactly what led to the disaster in Denver that made the band call it quits. Me not knowing what I’d do if my life fell apart.
And then I went and made it fall apart.
Probably because I didn’t actually like eighty percent of what I was doing. My every move being dissected by the tabloids. Interviews where people asked intrusive questions about our private lives. The inability to even come home without having reporters and gossips camped out around the old neighborhood.
The band? The band was great. Performing? Yeah, I liked the rush. Being with the guys? With the men I will call my brothers until my dying day?
Fantastic.
The rest of it?
I knew I’d break. I just didn’t know when.
It’s been fifteen years since Denver.
I’ve grown a lot since then.
Matured.
Found coping mechanisms. A purpose in life with my job.
Learned to deal with my feelings.
But I’mfeelingthe same restlessness that led to Denver, and Vanessa is the one person in the world I can’t lie to about it.
Doesn’t mean I can’t deflect though. “You busy this weekend? I told a friend I’d fake-marry her to get her grandmother off her back.”
“Again?”
“First time in this half of the country.”
“Are you going as yourself?”
“Yes.”
She snorts.
“What?”
“How are you going to explain that to all of your other fake wives’ families?”
“Most of them were very small ceremonies to appease dying grandparents who are no longer with us.”
“Is yourfriend’s grandma dying?”
I don’t miss her emphasis on the wordfriend.
It’s not a word I use often when referring to anyone outside of the circle we grew up in.
“No idea. I’m just along for the ride until she’s ready to tell her family to fuck off. Bonus points to her if she also tells them that she hates men and will forever.”
Vanessa snorts again.
