You’re about to perform live for thousands of people for the next six months, a voice in my head points out.
True, I relent. Maybe this interview is a good way to dip my toe in. Prepare for the never-ending spotlight I’m about to be under.
The tour starts in four days, kicking off in Boston because it’s the hometown of Mollie May’s Irish mother, who’ll be backstage for the show. While I’m excited to meet her, I wish the person backstage wasBlake, but I haven’t heard from her since fate brought us together on a street in Trenton.
I’m calling it fate, because I refuse to accept that Spencer and Spencer Hanz were right about a ghost spreading her love magic around.
“And that was Wyatt Graham’s ‘Lightkeeper,’” Ashley, the host, chirps into her mic.
Her cohost is a big, bald quipster named Hughie, and the three of us are squished into this hot studio like buns in an oven. They’re cool, if you ignore Hughie’s obnoxious habit of overemphasizing every other word.
“And you guys are inluck,” Hughie tells the listeners, “because we havetheWyatt Graham sitting here in studio with us.”
“Looking real fine, if I might add,” Ashley chimes in, winking at me.
“Thatsong,” Hughie says to me. “Streaming numbers arethroughthe roof, and it just got a review inRolling Stone. Critics are calling itrawandrecklessandsad as hell. So I guess what I want to know is—whohurtyou?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Sad, huh? I thought it was more romantic than sad.”
“Very romantic,” Ashley agrees, nodding. “Big song. Big feelings. Is that what we can expect from the rest of the album?”
“I think so. I worked with Tobey Dodson, who’s so great at pulling out the emotion and getting the best out of you with every track.”
“And how many songs can we expect?”
“Ten, plus a bonus track,” I say, because the publicist that the label connected me with said I need to tease the bonus track. Apparently, people love ’em. “I’m excited for everyone to hear them.”
Grinning, Hughie wags his finger at me. “Now, now, don’t think I didn’t notice you dodging my question. So. ‘Lightkeeper.’ Is it about arealgirl?”
I scratch the stubble on my jaw. I forgot to shave this morning because I was too busy preparing for this radio spot. My sister was firing questions at me on the phone all day. She tried to catch me off guard with a few, and this was one of them. I’m supposed to say my music is about no one in particular, but as I’m about to deliver the rehearsed line, I suddenly can’t do it. Because this whole fucking album is about someone in particular, and it feels wrong to dismiss that.
“It’s about a real girl,” I say gruffly, and both hosts grin at me now.
“Ooh,okay, we’ve got a muse,” Hughie says.
“Yes.”
“And you and this muse,” teases Ashley. “Are you together?”
“Not at the moment,” I admit, then want to smack myself.
The first thing the publicist told me wasdon’t discuss your personal life, and here I am, talking about Blake.
I quickly try to redirect the conversation. “Not all the tracks on the album are about love, though. There’s one that explores the idea of family,” I start, but that only opens the door for them to ask about my mother, which leads to two minutes of gushing about how incredible she is. And yes, Momisincredible, but I was supposed to stay on point and plug my own work, not hers.
We’re in the middle of discussing how prolific my mother is because of all the genres she’s written in when I notice the producer in the booth pressing a hand to his earpiece. Then Ashley does the same in her plush seat, and the next thing I know, she lets out an elated laugh and cuts Hughie off midsentence.
“Guys, sorry to interrupt, but plot twist. We’ve got someone on the line claiming to be the muse.”
My shoulders tense. “What?”
Behind the glass, the producer is mouthing the wordsline three.
“We’re patching her through right now,” Ashley announces. She presses a button, which I deduce is muting all of us, because she winks at me and says, “Just play along, honey. It’s probably some cuckoo bird, but the listeners love this shit.”
There’s a click in my ear, and then a nervous voice comes over the airwaves.
“Hi.”
