It’s a few weeks after I heard that sweet voice on the phone and while Jordan sure as fuck hasn’t talked to me again, she also hasn’t sent Angie after me, so I’ll call it a draw. Life has gone on as usual, and we’re gearing up for our tour. Which involves more contact with Stan than usual. In fact, we just got off the phone with him.

Not sure how he managed to weasel out of coming to the garage today, but he did. It’s too bad, because it cracks me up to watch him try to not touch anything in here. I don’t even know what he’d do if he were in the actual garage, not just a reasonable facsimile of it. I would’ve airlifted the whole damn thing here from my parents’ house if I could’ve, but this is the next best thing.

The guys are all goofing off, taking a break after our phone call. Things have been…not exactly rocky between us but changing. Which I guess it had to someday, but I hadn’t honestly thought much about it. It had always seemed hazy, that at some point, we would maybe not do this anymore? The band “breaking up” is maybe too dramatic a way to put it, it’s more like drifting apart. Or maybe like pieces breaking off an iceberg. LtG is still here, but chunks keep falling off.

I’m not mad exactly about everything that’s happening—Zane and Rowan getting together, Zane launching his solo career, Teague and Christian being a couple, Christian having a side project with his friend Dylan, and Teague…I don’t know. Teague’s gonna do something. All of that’s good and I’m happy for my friends, but it feels weird too. Unsteady somehow, like the end of an era that I’m stuck in. I’m not totally sure how to move on from here, and I don’t want to be that guy who’s still wearing a leisure suit when hair band fashion is the new thing. And I’m not totally sure if I’m worrying too much or not enough. Not enough is usually my problem.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and while I have a beat of hope that it’s Jordan, I have no illusions that she’s actually going to be calling me again. I liked her voice, and I liked her, but I turned her down flat, made her sad. Nah, I’m not going to be hearing from that girl again, ever, even if I keep hearing her voice in dreams. And it’s not her this time.

“Hey, Ma.”

The guys all catch who I’m chatting with and a chant of “Mama Park” goes up in the room. They’re a bunch of wild animals, and luckily my parents were pretty chill about having a zoo in their garage. Probably way quieter now that they actually keep their cars in there since all the furniture got shipped out here.

I put her on speaker so she can hear them, and she laughs. She’s always so damn indulgent with us, relaxed and lenient. When our home base was in my family’s garage, she’d only scold us when we were so loud that we bugged the crap out of Kevin and he couldn’t read or concentrate to do his home chem lab or whatever. She chats with them for a while, asking after their families, checking in with Zane about Rowan and telling Teague and Christian that she wants them to act more like a couple for the paparazzi because she wants pictures. They counter with an offer of a selfie, and she accepts.

She’d talk to them all day, but I suppose we should get some work done at some point. I’ll talk to her just the two of us before I go, but for that everyone needs to say goodbye to the band mom. I hustle them all along, and she promises to send some baked yakgwa she’s been experimenting with. When everyone’s had their fill of loving on each other, I pick up my phone and click it off speaker, taking the call outside.

“Everything okay?”

She tsks at me like she always does, like things being not okay is impossible.

“I’m fine, your father’s fine. Well, same as last time.”

Which means not fine at all, but we’ve all gotten used to exactly how not fine he is. My dad’s been sick for years, and I pay for home nurses to help out. Kevin still lives near home so he’s around to lend a hand too. Mom doesn’t have to do the heavy lifting, but it’s still a strain on her.

At least she’s fine. I don’t think I could handle it if she got sick. It’s ludicrous and not totally fair because she’s as human as everyone else, but I appreciate her attitude. Like, don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to live forever, and nothing can keep me from making dozens of Korean pastries and mailing them to grown men who could damn well afford to get their own desserts because they’re literal freaking rock stars.

“How are you doing? Met any nice girls lately?”

I’m pacing now, the gravel crunching beneath my feet as I walk the length of the garage, trailing my fingers along the cinder blocks, and roll my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“And?” she prods. Right, the same questions she asks me every time we talk. Truth is that I haven’t met many women lately, and especially not any I’d tell my mother about. The only one who’s held my attention for more than a passing second has been Jordan.

“And I wouldn’t call her nice. But yeah, I did kinda meet a girl.”

I can picture my mother settling down in her favorite chair with a cup of tea and sipping at it, her shrewd eyes gleaming with anticipated gossip. I swear she’s worse than the tabloids, but at least she keeps her knowledge to herself.

“How did you meet her?”

“She knows Angie, actually. They went to law school together.”

“Oh, a lawyer, very nice. Is Angie in LA? I know you didn’t come home without telling us.”

“Of course I didn’t. No, Angie’s not here. I—I met this girl on the phone. Her name’s Jordan, she called me.”

“About what?” Yeah, there’s the overprotective mother I know. She’s definitely put her teacup down, is staring straight ahead with narrowed eyes, waiting to spring into action. Because clearly, her son the rock star with all his lawyers and minders and everyone else including his buddies in the band have fallen down on the job and she might need to come to my rescue. My mom’s the best.

“She wanted us to do a charity concert. And you know us, we like doing that stuff and we do it as much as we can, but—”

“But you can’t say yes to everything! You’d run yourselves ragged trying. You boys do plenty and if this girl can’t understand how generous you are and that you can’t save the world single-handedly, then I don’t think you want anything to do with her. Those types of people are never satisfied no matter how much you give. That she’s Angie’s friend speaks well of her, but you’re only human and you need someone who appreciates you.”

Her assurances make me feel less guilty, which I’m not entirely sure I deserve, but it’s nice anyway. Everyone should have someone like my mom on their side.

“I know, that’s what I told her. I said she could try talking to our label about it, but we don’t handle our schedule. I felt bad, because I do think immigration issues are important, especially when it comes to kids who were brought here and grew up here, but—”

“Wait, this is about immigration? Dreamers and children who were adopted from outside the US?”

Her voice has gone from soothing and nurturing to demanding. Why does it matter, anyway?

“Yeah…”

“Then you have to do it.”

A record scratches in my head. What?

“Wait, you just said—”

“I know what I said, but I didn’t have all the information. You call that nice girl back and tell her you’ll do it.”

“But, Mom—”

“No buts, Benjamin. You heard me. You’re going to tell her you’ll sing every song you boys have.”

That…would be a lot of songs. And no one wants to hear that anyway. How has my mom done a complete one-eighty on this? She’s usually pretty chill, helping me and Kev with whatever we need her to, but mostly leaving the decisions up to us. It’s like blue-moon-frequency that she tells us to do something. I’m not sure what’s activated the Mama Park bossy streak.

“Okay, but can you tell me what this is about first? I don’t get why you’re insisting we do this gig after you were just saying we shouldn’t.”

There’s silence on the other end and I have to wonder what’s going through her head. Or maybe she’s just looking toward the heavens and counting to ten. She used to do that a lot when we were kids. Maybe more accurately when I was a kid. I was a pretty frequent flyer in the ER as a kid with broken bones and a concussion or two plus various things stuck in my nose and ears. Kevin avoided all that with his good sense.

“You have no idea what we went through to adopt your brother. All the time, the money, the lawyers, the home visits. It was exhausting and complicated. And so worth it. I don’t want you to think that I regret it because I never have, not even for a second. Our family wouldn’t be complete without Kevin, just like it wouldn’t be complete without you. Anyway, one of the things we did to help us get through the rough spots was join a support group for people who had adopted internationally or were in the process of doing it. Those people, especially the other moms, helped me when things were difficult and I will always be grateful for that.”

She goes quiet again and I start to get that gross feeling in my stomach like I messed up somehow, but I don’t get how. When we were kids, it had been pretty obvious. I would’ve broken or lost something, or maybe painted something that really didn’t need painting, like the cat.

“Some of those parents had children who were too old for the Child Citizenship Act to apply to, and hadn’t gotten their children citizenship. It was expensive and time-consuming, and they’d had enough. I don’t agree with their actions at all, but I don’t think the kids should have suffered for it. Anyway, these things matter, Benji. They matter to our family and tens of thousands of other families.”

She gets choked up, and it’s the worst feeling in the world. Moms crying are my Kryptonite. Not just my mom either. Maybe Jordan should’ve gone for that—get Mrs. Kennedy on the phone in tears and I would’ve been a goner. I might be able to rock salmon ladder pull-ups, but I am weak.

I have the power to do something about this. For my mom who has always supported me and my friends, and would have continued to even if we were still making a racket in her garage. For people like my brother. Hell, just because I’m not a terrible person.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll call Jordan and tell her I’ll do it. I can’t promise for the rest of the guys, but she’ll at least have me.”

For once in my life, I’m not going to be the problem child. I’m going to do something for a good cause and because it means a lot to the people I love. And because it’s the right thing to do.