Lee adjusts herself in the beige armchair. Her newly trimmed white hair hovers just above the shoulders of her green dress.
“And you’re sure you are ready?”
“I do.” I fiddle with the guitar pic Christopher got me.
I’ve felt this way for the past three weeks now. All therapized out. Struggling with what to talk about. It feels like Groundhog Day, covering the same things about Christopher, where he’s at, how it impacts me. I’ve got a steady hand on my sobriety. I’m nine months clean and sober. The nightmares and flashbacks with David have stopped. My parents seem to be getting on better than ever as they work through their divorce. And the issues with Paul have all pretty much been resolved. I haven’t had any dealings with him since Christmas.
Aside from Christopher, there don’t seem to be any problems I have to contend with—for once in my life.
“I can see why you would want to come to an end. And I’m inclined to agree, but I would say one thing.” Lee pauses to wipe a smudge from her glasses before continuing. “We should schedule one final session, just to have a managed ending, rather than abruptly ending your therapy here.”
I reluctantly nod. I’d hoped to have this over and done with, but I guess one final session won’t hurt. And it’s better than trying to be convinced I should stay in therapy any longer.
I reach for my phone to check my calendar and work out when I’m available after our upcoming trip and offer up a date.
“Friday June twenty-seventh? Same time?”
Lee confirms that it works for her and we exchange pleasantries before I say goodbye, head outside, and momentarily forget where my car is. I look for my truck before remembering I brought the silver Mercedes today. I get into my car, type the record label address into Waze and set off.
One more thing off my list done, only a few more to go.
The battle between deciding whetherWon’t Fall AnymoreandI’m A Broken Manwill be the first single from my new album has beendragging on for the last week now. With the album announcement going out today, along with the preorders, the label wants to lock in a decision.
Both the CEO of the label and head of promotions have pushed forWon’t Fall Anymore, saying we need a dark and gritty song to launch the album rather than a ballad likeI’m A Broken Man. I’d pointed to several examples of artists, including Adele, who have successfully launched a new album with a ballad. But they started talking about how ballads don’t work on TikTok and that ballads usually perform best during winter, not at the height of summer when the first single is due to drop.
After John reassured me outside that we’ll get to releaseI’m A Broken Manas the next single afterWon’t Fall Anymore, I conceded at the start of the meeting, much to the label’s relief.
I guess I can compromise on that, given I wouldn’t compromise on the album title or artwork.
Betty.
The word is written in the pupil of a hazel eye. Christopher’s hazel eye, slightly doctored for dramatic effect.
I can’t wait to show him later, now that I have a mock-up of the vinyl. I’d played the last track I’d recorded for the album,Darkest Days, for him two days ago, telling him it’s dedicated to all he’s been through.
I twiddle with the vinyl sleeve while the album cover and accompanying social assets for today’s announcement are brought up on the plasma screen, and handouts are passed down to the twenty or so people from the label who are all sitting along the long mahogany table.
Leah, my new marketing point person, runs everyone through the rollout.
“The announcement is scheduled to go out at four p.m. Pacific today. Spotify, Apple, and Amazon all have their pre-save countdowns going live, and we have the various album bundles all lined up and ready to roll out on Alexander’s website.”
Collective nods come from the team member.
“Alexander, are you still good to do a live stream for the announcement?”
All eyes turn to me, including Connie and John’s, who know I’m due to be headed to the airport at that time. Surely a simple video announcement will do, rather than a drawn-out live stream. My chest tightens at the thought of all the questions fans will ask, which isn’t helped when it becomes clear that neither Connie or John are prepared to come in and push back on the request.
“Sure,” I say, putting the vinyl down.
I guess I can do a quick five-minute live stream at the house before the driver picks us up for the airport.
“Do we have a confirmed release date for the film?” Leah asks.
“They’ve moved it forward two months. November seventh. Same date as the album,” John jumps in, putting down the yellow highlighter he brought. It worked overtime on the handout as he marked all the key details and dates. Once a lawyer, always a lawyer, I guess.
The film. God, the film.
It was a painful watch when Alfonso brought John and me in to watch the final cut. Not only because it’s painful to watch myself on-screen, but the guy I left behind in November was there in full Technicolor.
