“How’s the songwriting coming along?” Jo asked.
I carried the tray to the tables, distributing the vases one by one. “It’s coming.”
“Have you sent anything to Colt yet?” Meg asked.
“Not yet.”
She frowned. “Do you still get paid while you’re off the tour?”
I’d never asked. I felt stupid. I would have to search for my show contract. Check my bank balance. “I have money coming in from my songs. Residuals.”
“And you’re writing the new ones, right?” Jo said. “When do you start recording?”
I panicked. They meant well. Of course they did. But why couldn’t they let it go?September, I should have said. Or maybe,That’s up to Colt.
But what spilled out of my mouth was, “Leave me alone. I don’t know, all right? I’m working on something. It’s not ready.”
“Why are you so mad?” Jo asked.
“I’m not mad.” I was shaking. I set the tray down.
“Honey, we didn’t mean to upset you,” Meg said.
Jo nodded. “We nag because we care.”
“It’s okay to set boundaries,” Amy said.
“Even with us,” Jo added.
“Especially with us,” Amy said.
They hovered around. I looked at their loving, concerned faces, and the anger—if that’s what it was—drained away. “I didn’t mean... I shouldn’t be so bitchy.”
Meg patted my arm. “That’s not being bitchy. That’s...”
“Expressing yourself,” Jo said. “You need to work on that.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Amy shook her head. “She means you should lose your shit more often. It’s good for you.”
Jo smiled ruefully. “Good for us. We overstepped.”
“It’s because you’re so nice,” Meg said.
“Too nice,” Amy said.
“Considerate,” Meg corrected. “You care what other people think. How they feel.”
“You make me sound like a pushover.”
“Not a pushover. A little Fanny Price, maybe,” Jo said.
“Who?”
“Jane Austen.Mansfield Park?” She shook her head. “Never mind. The thing is, Fanny gets a bad rap because she’s young and shy and always worried about doing the right thing. Her family treats her like dirt. But she’s really the best of them all. The moral center of the novel.”
Their kindness brought tears to my eyes. I almost told them then. But the words stuck in my throat. How could I let them down, when they were being so understanding? How could I show them my worst, when they believed the best of me? I swallowed thickly. “I love you,” I said instead. “All of you.”
