But you come up with a melody and lyrics first. You don’t need your guitar,my subconscious likes to remind me, as if I don’t already know that.
But the truth is, I’m not in the same headspace I used to be.
I don’t want to write about my MS. There’s nothing joyful in it. People connect with heartache and love—all of the things I haven’t really lived through. But maybe that distance makes it easier to imagine. Easier to write.
I could write about the MS.
But I don’t want that part of me to be public.
I don’t want it in a song. I don’t want it in the lyrics that will be sung back to me.
That part of me is private, and it’ll stay that way until I decide otherwise. If I ever do.
And it’s not like my sisters have anything exciting happening in their lives to write about at the moment.
Cassandra looks like she’s well and truly in her Adam Sandler era. Comfort over style, every day.
Jenna is so busy with work and just…happy.
And Lizzie? She’s probably given up on finding her knight in shining armor, hoping he just magically appears out of thin air.
So, yeah. No inspiration on that front.
My phone chimes beside me—a text from my manager in the group chat she set up between Avery, Orlando, and me.
"What now?" I mutter, picking up my phone to check a text I’ll probably forget about five minutes from now.
Strictly Business
Josie
Olive, clear your schedule on your break.
Orlando
I’ve already cleared Avery’s.
Avery
Do I dare ask why?
Josie
The two of you are presenting at the F&T awards in California.
Josie
Also,Olive? Pretty sure you know one of the nominees in your category... and another one earlier in the night. Jenna Rogers? Cole Green?
My groan is loud enough to echo through the entire hotel, I’m sure of it.
But instead of replying to the text, I do something I haven’t done in weeks.
I video call my sisters.
The Herring Girls group chat has been noticeably quiet since I got hitched. I know everyone has their own shit going on, but it doesn’t make the silence any less painful.
Lizzie answers first, the familiar backdrop of our apartment behind her, the TV casting light across the wall.
