CHAPTER 56

There’s nothing like the morning after a night that doesn’t end. Last night I rewrote the final song for the musical completely while staring at the studio before falling asleep in my chaise lounge, my notebook on my lap. The fog I’ve been wrestling with cleared and I accomplished what I’ve been trying to for months. I was so sure of it, I took a screenshot and sent it off to Miranda Tamayo last night. When the sun comes up, a slice of vibrant orange on the horizon, the paper is on the patio next to my chair. My phone buzzes with a message from my writing partner. It’s short and sweet. Miranda: That’s it. Satisfaction and pride settle in me as I shift out of the chair, rubbing a hand through my hair. The tile cool under my bare feet, I stretch my sore muscles, thinking of the routine I’ve established since I returned from New York. Helping with Sophia in the morning, taking her to school. Hanging with Haley when my dad’s working, half to keep an eye on her and half because she’s fun and super smart and the kind of woman I want to be. Dropping in on Timothy around lunch—midafternoon if I can wait that long—to hang out, which often ends with us sweaty and naked. But yesterday he played me Shane’s track, which is sounding freaking awesome, plus a couple of new bands he’s thinking about sending to my dad. I teased him about being a wannabe A&R guy. “When I dream, I dream of us.” When he said the words, I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let him go. Because I love spending time with him. I love how he is with Shane, how she’s slowly dragging him out of his own head where his music is concerned. He’s so different than he was when we broke up, and better still for having spent these weeks here. And so am I. I’m more comfortable with myself. I don’t have every answer, and I’m okay with that. I’m not afraid someone will accuse me of not being capable enough to write a musical, or star in a show, or be unreasonable because I want to be in the spotlight and be part of a family. Dad and I can have a conversation one-on-one, not just be civil for a meal, I like helping Haley and Sophia, and most of all I love that the only guy who’s ever owned my heart is right here. I considered walking away from my dreams to run after Timothy two years ago, and it would’ve been a mistake. He needed the space to figure out a new normal, and I needed to prove to myself I could hack it in the city. So what if this time is different? I head upstairs and take a shower, luxuriating in the hot steam for a few minutes before I pull on jean shorts and a tank top and head to Sophia’s room. I crack the pink curtains before dropping to my knees next to the bed. I tickle her face. “Good morning. Time for daycare, Soph.” She wrinkles her nose and swats my hand. “It’s not.” Her sleepy mumble has me laughing. “It is.” “Sing me a song.” I start to, and her eyes blink open. “I don’t know that one.” I brush the hair back from her face. “No one does yet. I wrote it.” “Sing more.” “When you get up.” She’s out of bed in a second. If my audiences are as receptive as Sophie, maybe this new show has a shot. She picks out her clothes, and I pull her hair back and braid it, the only part she’ll let me do. When we get downstairs, there’s a figure looming at the sliding doors. “Timothy!” Sophia runs over, pressing up on her toes to stubbornly work the lock until she can let him in. “Thanks, Sunshine Sophia.” His hands are full of a huge basket with fancy decaf and other treats, which he lifts. “For Haley.” “What about for me?” Sophia prompts. I’m about to tell her we’re making her cereal, but Timothy frowns and rummages in the basket, pulling out a purple plastic truck. “I don’t see anything for you.” She jumps on the toy. “I got it in LA, but it’s been living in my hotel room ever since,” he murmurs to me. My stomach twists, every part of me tingling. “I love you,” I blurt. Timothy’s smile freezes. He squares to face me, his handsome face surprised and pleased. “I love you too.” The words sink into my skin, my bones, my soul. I want to hear him say it again. “I love you both,” Sophia says solemnly, and I can’t help laughing as Timothy ruffles her hair. “All right, time for cereal,” I say, heading for the cupboards. Sophia runs toward the front door before I can argue, comes back a moment later with shoes, and drops them at Timothy’s feet. “Shoes first.” Apparently, she’s decided she wants him at her beck and call. Can’t say I blame her. “Shoes at the same time,” Timothy counters. She hops into her chair and puts on her bib. “Sing your song for Timothy,” she commands as she starts to munch. I sing, pouring a black coffee for me and one with cream for Timothy. When I turn back to him, mug in hand, he’s watching with fascination. “That’s it,” Timothy murmurs when I finish. “Funny. Miranda said the same thing.” As Timothy and I drink our coffees and Sophia finishes her cereal, my dad comes down the steps and takes in the scene. “Daddy!” She scoots out of her chair and into his arms. “Emily wrote a song. It’s the best song.” “Emily writes all the best songs,” Dad responds. “How would you know?” I toss. “My favorite is this one.” He starts to sing one from my other musical and Sophia squeals in delight. “Let’s get you to school, kid,” he tells Sophia once he finishes. I’m still struggling with the emotion that comes from realizing he knows one of my songs. It never occurred to me that he did. But as my gaze finds Timothy’s, I know he can see it all on my face. “How’s Haley?” I ask Dad as Sophia finishes her breakfast and goes to grab her backpack. “Tired but in good spirits. I shouldn’t be going to this party in LA.” I cross to him and squeeze his arm. “It’ll be okay. Serena’s coming tomorrow to stay, so she, Haley, Sophia, and I can do a girls’ night. Besides, everyone’s going to this party, right?” “Yeah.” He nods in response, giving me a one-armed hug. “So, maybe Shane should go.” Dad looks between me and Timothy as I hold my breath. “Yes,” Dad decides. “Shane should go.” Timothy shoves both hands in his pockets. “I’ll let her know.” They leave, and I jump on Timothy. “I’m so glad Shane's working out.” “Thanks to you.” “No, thanks to you,” I point out. “You’re the one who pushed for her. I just helped move things along.” I plant a kiss on him, then take the treats he brought up to Haley, who thanks me. “No treats for you?” I ask Timothy when I’m back downstairs. He looks up from his phone before tucking it away. “I have very discriminating standards.” “Bullshit.” I grab a bowl and the box of Rice Krispies. “You’d fuck someone for Circle Krispies.” He groans as he crosses to me. “If that someone is you?” he murmurs against my neck, wrapping an arm around me to drag my hips against his, “I’d fuck you for dryer lint.” I laugh, but every part of me lights up. I reluctantly pull back and pass him the bowl of butter and marshmallows. “We should probably make some Circle Krispies for Sophia.” “The kid’s going to be a walking marshmallow.” “Didn’t hurt us.” He chuckles and melts the marshmallows. “Why don’t we get sick of these after so many years?” I ask. “I can’t decide if it’s the sweetness or the chewiness.” “It’s because we always made them together.” God, my aching heart. I cast a look over my shoulder, thinking about the email sitting in my inbox since yesterday, the one I’ve read a dozen times. “I emailed my mom. She’s in LA. She said she’d meet me.” Timothy closes the distance between us. “Wow. That’s huge. You could come to LA with us when we go for the party. You don’t even have to tell your dad the reason.” I turn that over. “Maybe I will. What kind of activity says, ‘We’ve never met, but let’s connect as grownups’?” “Fly fishing.” I laugh. “Or drinks. Somewhere quiet but not so quiet you can feel the awkwardness.” “I can suggest a few places.” “Thanks.” We share a smile. “You’re so good with Sophia,” I can’t help saying. “You want kids?” “Depends who with. I figured you and I’d have three. The first one to practice. The second would be the refined model. The third, just because we were so fucking good at making the first two.” I nearly drop the wooden spoon. The microwave beeps, and he removes the bowl before turning back to me. “We didn’t have great childhoods, but we wouldn’t put our kids through that. It doesn’t mean everything would go smoothly, but we’d love the hell of out of them.” Timothy sets the bowl on the counter and takes the spoon from between my fingers, as if he didn’t blow me apart a second ago with this wild and enthralling idea of us procreating. We’re too young to think about it, but I know Timothy would be a great dad. He’d be caring and patient and consistent. He’d always take an interest, have a sense of humor about things too. “Are you asking me to have your kids?” I try to make it a joke, to hide the longing in my voice. He traces the handle down my forehead, my nose, my lips. “I’m telling you I’ve thought about it. With you, I’ve thought about everything.” My heart squeezes and I try to make sense of the jumble of feelings and thoughts swirling inside me. “So you’ll come to LA when we go?” he asks abruptly before I can respond. “I don’t see why not. But aside from hitching a ride on the charter, what’s the rush?” He heaves out a breath. “Because after this party…I’m staying in LA. My hand surgery is next week and after that, I’m scheduled to go back into the studio.” “Oh.” The backs of my eyes burn. He threads the fingers of his good hand into my hair, pulling me against him. I want to tell him not to go, but that feels petty and childish. I know it’s not only the logistics that are keeping us apart. The last time I went all in on him, I lost him. We’re older now, smarter, but the possibility of him changing his mind, or of the lives we’re building coming between us, is the most awful thing I can imagine. He moves behind me, wraps his arms around my waist. “Sing me that song again.” I close my eyes and give in to the feeling and do as he asks. I pretend for a moment it could always be this way—him asking for things, me knowing I can give them to him, that I can make this man happy. This man who, by breathing, gives me so damned much. “It’s beautiful,” he says. “What happens when this pitch session goes well?” Needing to distance myself even a few inches, I mix the cereal into the bowl, then spread the mixture into a pan, pressing it down with a wooden spoon. “If it goes well,” I amend, “we get commitment to move forward.” I take the pan to the freezer and return to him. “Then, if we keep meeting stage gates and the reception is strong… we could be off-Broadway in one year. On Broadway in two or three.” “Years. In New York.” Hope swells inside me, but it’s bittersweet. “That’s the dream. And it is a dream, Timothy. For so long I’ve wanted to be in the spotlight. I thought it was about me, but after doing the first show, I learned it’s more than that. When you’re performing live, you get to be intimate with people. Whether it’s a few hundred or thousands, they’re not a crowd. You’re touching every person in that audience. People like us who are questioning if they’ve got it figured out, or who know they don’t and can’t see a way forward. People who need a flash of inspiration, something out of the ordinary. People who need to feel something real.” He watches me steadily as he strokes a thumb down my cheek. “I have a call with my label this afternoon, but if you want someone to rehearse with first…” “I’d love that.” Timothy’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Then let’s go to work. I’m all yours.” But my chest aches because I want the second part of his vow more than the first.