CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
My mom’s still out with Dan when I get back to Gavin’s place and that makes me smile.
I take Jasper for a quick walk and feed him, then change into Gavin’s soft blue T-shirt and take a cordless phone to his bedroom, snuggling in the spot he’s established as my side of the bed.
I wait but my eyelids are heavy with tequila and exhaustion. I was up at the butt crack of dawn cleaning and finishing Gavin’s apartment before my mom arrived.
The phone jolts me awake.
“Hello?” My voice is foggy with sleep.
“Sounds like you’re already in bed.” I hear the familiar rasp in Gavin’s voice and savor the sound of my name on his lips.
“Mmm. Yeah.”
“Our bed?”
“Yes.”
“On your side or mine?”
“Mine, but I’ll warn you—I’m a sprawler.”
“And a snorer. You told me.”
“Let’s pretend I never said that.” I roll over in the smooth, cool sheets and inhale the smell of his shirt again. “I got your song. I love it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. The minute I got to Bali, something changed. I opened up my notebook and just started writing. And everything came out. All the notes I’ve made during my trip started to make sense, and it was like a flood.”
“Gav, that’s great. That’s amazing. I’m so glad you’re OK.”
“I’m better than OK! I’ve got tons of energy with all the walking I’ve been doing, and no booze, and music’s just coming out my ears. I called the band today and we’re going to go back to the studio. We’re ready—we needed new material, and the stuff our label threw at us after Beast was just garbage. But this stuff’s new and raw and different. It’s going to take our music to a new place.”
I want to tell him I’m happy for him, but I’m stuck on the first part of his statement: next week.
“Does that mean you’re coming home?
“Yes. I’m booking a flight as soon as possible. I can’t wait to see you and hold you.”
“And try some of the passion fruit gelato you sent me? It’s fantastic.”
“And see what you’ve done to my place. And see Jasper. I feel like there’s so much I missed out on—not because of my trip, but before. I didn’t really appreciate what my life could be.”
“And what about Lulu?” It’s hard to even ask this question, but I have to.
“I loved Lulu. But I wasn’t enough for her. She inspired my music, helped me work through the rough patches, but I learned on this trip that the music didn’t come from her. I’ve got it in me, and I’m just discovering new ways to draw it out.”
“She got you un-stuck.”
“Yeah. That’s what she did really well. And you got me un-stuck too. And this trip, it just changed me. I’ve spent so much time trying to become a star that I forgot about doing other stuff. Important stuff.”
“You mean, the stuff that lasts even if you’re not a star anymore?”
“Yes.”
I take a huge breath and stretch across Gavin’s bed. “I like that stuff. I’m figuring out who I am now that I’m not a student anymore. Like with my writing. I spent four years in J-school and it only took ten months to figure out I hated it, and I hated the coffee shop, too. Now what do I do?”
“That’s a delicious question, Beryl. Because you can do anything.”
“Says the rock star with unlimited funds.”
“To the girl with unlimited potential.”
“You get that I’m probably never going to be a famous writer, right? Even if I write my whole life, even if I sell stories, even if I publish a book.”
“Listen to me. That’s not the point. My friends and I didn’t start our band to get famous. We just wanted to have fun, play music, and not have to work at other jobs if we could get away with it. That was the point. But then it shifted, and I got lost. The label started talking about market positioning and pushing a bunch of pre-fab songs at us. It stopped being fun.”
“I think I’m following you.”
“Good. Because your writing career can be exactly the same way. You do it because it’s fun, because you’re good at it, and because it gives you joy—and maybe you even make some money. But if you judge your success as a writer by whether you become a star or not, you automatically lose.”
“But you won. You made it.”
“No, I lost. I lost most of my friends outside of the band when we hit the top of the charts. I lost Lulu. And it’s possible I might lose our record deal if we force the issue about what kind of music I want us to do next.”
“Your song was really different from anything I heard on your other CDs.”
“Yeah, that’ll probably be a fiasco. The marketing department will pitch a fit. But you know what? I don’t care. I got my fun back, Beryl.”
I hug Gavin’s pillow, hearing the smile in his voice from across the ocean.
“Well, I’ll take you any way I can get you, rock star or not, Gavin Slater. Because you’re pretty awesome.”
“You’re pretty awesome, too.”
“Hey, Gavin?”
“Yeah?”
“If I told you I was naked in your bed, would you come home faster?”
“I’m on my way.”