My mom’s back to that all-too-familiar look again. The pitying one I don’t need right now.
“Okay, honey. Well, we love you. Give Quinny a squeeze for us.”
“Will do. Love you too.” I hang up and swipe a hand through my hair.
“My favorite girl,” Caroline sings.
It would be endearing to hear her say that if she didn’tjustsee her last night. I slap on my stage smile and round the corner. “Caroline!”
“Do you always let your four-year-old answer the door?”
“It’s nice to see you too. I see you’ve let yourself in.” I hold out my hands and she shoves a pan against my chest. Not the well-loved kind that’s currently sitting on the counter with tinfoil crunched around the edges, but the silicone kind with the matching lid and fancy handle.
“Well,” she huffs, shrugging off her fur-hooded parka into her husband’s waiting arms, “you would have heard our knock if it weren’t for all that racket. What onearthis going on out there? And don’t even get me started on those reporters.”
I roll my eyes at both comments. The reporters I can’t help, butthat racketis a four-man construction crew I hired to transform the garage loft into a music studio. It was my only selling point left to convince the record label not to drop me after having to move home. That’s how this industry works. If you aren’t ready now, you’ll never be. I already compromised on Nashville, I think she can handle a few hammers and a table saw for the afternoon.
I ignore her question and circle back to her firstcomment. “I didn’t think my daughter would be snatched from inside this house.”
“Crazier things have happened.” She skirts past me, holding Quinn’s hand.
I kick the door shut and follow along with her offering clutched in my palms. I’ve memorized the back of this woman’s head at this point—layers of dark curls bear resemblance to the two most important people in my life. It’s the only reason I tolerate her.
“Coco, give the kid some credit,” Wade says.
She clears her throat. “You’re right. Congratulations on showing up to your daughter’s birthday this year.”
I grunt, even if I deserved that—I missed Quinn’s third one. If it hadn’t been for the video that went viral on social media last year, the trajectory of my life would be very different right now. I don’t know whether to be grateful or devastated. I went from gigging at local coffee shop to being signed by one of the best labels in the country and offered a multi-state tour. Then became a widower at the age of thirty-three because of it. I wake up every damn day wondering if I hadn’t pulled El from this place, maybe she’d still be with me.
“That small detail had slipped my mind. Thank you for the reminder.”
“Well, Eliza’s no longer here to do it, so…”
I grit my teeth.What the hell is that supposed to mean?This woman has had a chokehold on my life from the moment she entered it. Standing up to her had never come easy to El, and I’m sure there were times when she got walked all over by her mother while I was away. When she hounded El to call me and accuse me of being an absent parent. At least for the short time she still lived in Boise. But El never once did that because she was always supportive of my career. She was the one who uploaded that video in thefirst place.
I offload the couple dozen Pastry Perfection cupcakes onto the granite. Quinn stands on her tippy toes with her fingers clutching the edge of the countertop. She squeals when her eyes land on the frosted buttercream topped with bug rings.
Caroline takes off the see-through lid so Quinn can get a better look. “What do you think?”
“Waeybuts!” Quinn claps. Even with her back to me, I can imagine Caroline’s smug expression.
I frown at theBlueybirthday banner suspended over the table and my pathetic attempt at dessert in the corner of the kitchen. Of all the ways in which Caroline drives me crazy, witnessing how much better she knows Quinn than me is at the top of that list.
“Ev, we’re here!”
I don’t register the addition of another voice in the room until she’s gripping me by the shoulders from behind. I startle and turn around.
What is it with people not knocking anymore?
Emma may have lived here as long as I did—our bedrooms across the hall from one another’s—but she certainly doesn’t live here now. A detail I’m normally thrilled about. There’s no one who celebrated the day my sister passed the bar more than me. If I share a similarity with her, it’d be our devout work ethic. But her freedom, because of it, grates at my jealous nerves now.
“How are you, big brother?”
“I hope you brought tequila,” I whisper in her ear. At least she hasn’t commented on the reporters out front.
She pulls back enough for me to read her lips as she mutters through clenched teeth, “Is that allowed at kids’ parties?”
I don’t get the chance to answer with her attention bouncing to the person next to me. “Hi, Caroline!”
