And to fight for what I believe in and see it through.
All these career milestones are amazing, but I’ve felt empty for the last two and a half years. I was looking to alcohol, sex, fitness, and shopping to fill a void that seemingly could never be filled.
“Why don’t you go ahead and introduce your brand-new number one single,” Abbie says.
“Sure,” I say, wiggling forward and grabbing the phone. My mum squeezes my leg with her hand, a smile radiating out from her face. “Hi, I’m Alexander Morgan, and you are listening to my number one singleMy Anchorwith Abbie McCarthy on Capital.”
The song begins playing and I start to hang up, but Abbie stops me.
“Alex, you gotta do something to celebrate the song going to number one, man.” She’s continuing our conversation from before we went live, when I told her I had no plans to celebrate.
It’s become so normalized that I never seem to stop and celebrate when I have a number one or reach some career milestone. In fact, this time, it feels like I am being actively stopped from celebrating. I’m being punished for drinking, for escaping the hotel, for spraining my wrist.
As if I’m some teenager that’s been grounded.
“Where’s good to go here in town?” I ask. Just like in LA, it seems like every time I come to London there’s a new spot that’s the place to be.
Paul jumps up from the couch and tries to grab the phone from me, almost knocking my wrist in the process. Fear claws at my throat at the sight of him. But I sink back into the couch, holding my phone tightly against my chest before he can grab it.
“The Box on a Friday night is the place to be,” Abbie says.
I need to get Paul off my back, his face quickly turning crimson, his glasses framing the fury in his eyes. His hand rests on the mini fridge at the end of the couch.
“Great, we’ll be there. Paul, can you speak to Abbie? Sort out the details?”
I finally pass the phone to Paul, who lets out a sigh and reluctantly takes it. He turns off speaker phone and leaves the room.
“Congratulations, baby.” My mom's arms go around me, squeezing tightly. The latch of her bracelet gets caught on the back of my T-shirt.
“Well done, son.” My dad helps detach the bracelet, then ruffles my hair.
“Thanks,” I say, slumping back into the couch.
I’m grateful for the acknowledgment and approval that I yearn for, but I’m conditioned to play it down so I don’t upset my brother. Even though Harrison isn’t here.
“What’s this club we’re going to later?” my dad says.
“I don’t think they’ll let you in like that,” I laugh.
My parents look like your typical Americans abroad. They wear matching white T-shirts, with the wordLondonand a British flag printed across the front, and beige shorts. Their pink and blue crocs are the only item differentiating the two of them. But they are convinced crocs look cool because Justin Bieber and all the hip people wear them.
“Says the guy in a T-shirt that’s more like a crop top.” My dad pulls at my black T-shirt, two sizes too tight for me, that exposes my belly button.
“It’s Christopher’s.” I bat his hand away, shaking my head at him as he raises his hands and mouthsOoooh.
I swear sometimes he acts more like a child than I’m told I do.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” The door bursts backopen. Rob immediately lifts himself up before seeing it’s Paul, and sits back down.
The energy completely shifts in the room, like a dark storm rolling into town.
He throws my phone back to me, and it lands in my lap. His nostrils flare as his forehead crinkles, forcing me to clench my fists and push myself upright.
Paul has been indignant for the whole afternoon. He lashed out at Rob and Lucy for leaving me unguarded for twenty-four hours. And at me for going skateboarding while on tour. And he read me the riot act for how they’ll have to change the setlist now that I can’t play any instruments.
“You do realize I’m a human, right? Not a robot that you can control.” My nails begin to dig into my palms, trying to temper the anger bubbling inside. “God forbid I be a human who wants to celebrate something I’ve dreamed about as a kid, without any financial remuneration you get a commission from. Who needs a break from all of this for twenty-four hours to cool off.”
Paul moves toward me, looming over me like a vulture, pausing for a beat as if deciding whether I’m worth the effort.
