Chapter Five

I felt like I had discovered a long-lost treasure scrolling through Billy’s photos, reviews, interviews and all of his social media, especially his social media. He was funny, irreverent, smart and of course gorgeous. He had well over a million followers on Twitter and even more fans on Facebook—or at least Blake Lincoln had all of that. I wondered for a moment if Blake was a facade or he really was Billy. There could be some recent college grad tweeting and posting statuses for him. But, that humor, that generosity of spirit. It looked like he answered every tweet, replying to teenage girls with fifty followers as often as he replied to the actors in his movies or even to other celebrities who tweeted him.

Where had I been that I missed all of this? Surely if I had seen a photo of Blake Lincoln, I would have known he was Billy. I had heard of him, but not being a teenage girl, I never knew what he looked like. I grabbed Josie’s book, curled up in a chair and read. I finished it at 4:07 a.m. with a satisfied sigh. Austin and Natasha reunited—she was free from the chains of her past, her abusive father. I just knew her father represented Trent. I also knew Billy sent the hearts.

I went onto Facebook and liked Blake Lincoln’s page, after changing my profile picture to one that showed a little cleavage. A girl’s gotta use what she’s got, I decided. If I had a Twitter account, I would follow him too. Maybe I’d set one up in the morning. I also went to his website and signed up for his newsletter. There. Now he knew I knew who he really was. The ball was in his court.

I almost overslept in the morning. That alarm going off at 6:30 a.m. sucked after two hours of sleep and I hit snooze twice. I stumbled out of bed twenty minutes late and woke Josie. “Get up, Sunshine. It’s almost seven. I’ll drive you to school again.”

After pouring Josie a bowl of cereal and throwing on my clothes from the day before, I glanced at my phone. My heart stopped. There was a Facebook message from Blake Lincoln. All I saw from the preview was, So, you found me. I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out.

I glanced at the time. I had to take Josie right that minute, or she’d be late. I couldn’t read the rest of the message until after I dropped her off. Agony. “Come on, Jos. We need to leave right now,” I practically screeched. The quicker I got her there, the quicker I could read Blake’s message.

“Okay, Mom. Don’t have a stroke. I just have to get my books.”

“You don’t want to have to sign in again,” I said, a bit louder than I needed to.

“I said, don’t have a stroke. Seriously, I’ll be ready in a minute. Go start the car. It’s freezing out.”

“Fine.” She was right. It was freezing. The blast of February air hit me like a sharp, stinging slap. I turned on the car and waited for that little temperature gauge needle to move far enough for me to blast the heat. While I waited for Josie I tapped the password into my phone and clicked on Facebook messages. I was about to read Blake’s message when Josie slid into the car.

“Okay, let’s go,” she snapped. “You told me to hurry and now you’re sitting on your phone.”

“Sorry, I got a message from Billy, I mean Blake Lincoln.”

“What?” Josie yelled. “Blake Lincoln sent you a message?”

“Yes, I told you—he’s my old boyfriend. Do you believe me now?”

“Ohmigod.” Josie said it as one word.

“Read it!”

“No, you’re right. We need to go. You’ll be late for school.” I turned the heat to full blast. The warmth felt comforting.

“I don’t care. Just read it.”

“Fine.” I opened the message. The heat blowing on my face combined with the anticipation of what the message might say made me feel faint for a moment. I took a deep breath and glanced down. So, you found me. I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out. Did you like the candy hearts? I know it’s been years since you came home and I could have gotten in touch sooner, but for one reason or another the time never seemed right. But now I think it is. May I see you?

I turned to Josie. “He wants to see me.”

“Holy crap. Blake Lincoln wants to see my mother.”

“Yes, your old mom isn’t as much of a dork as you thought she was. In fact, I think that book you love so much, Crazy for You, was a message to me. It’s not a coincidence that Natasha was in California.”

“I can’t believe you’re Natasha. That much I don’t buy. Sorry. Can I meet him? Pleeeaase?” Josie drew out the please and gave me a look that I remembered from when she was little and would beg for a new Barbie or extra dessert.

I missed that look terribly, so I said, “Okay. But, I’ll see him first and then introduce him to you. I promise.”

I felt like I needed to see him alone first, because I knew Josie would freak out and bring teen girl drama and histrionics to the moment. Not that I didn’t love my daughter. I had an image in my mind of my first reunion with Billy and it didn’t involve my sixteen year old. It did, however, involve lips, tongues and maybe some other body parts.

“Okay, Miss Josie, you need to go to school now. Don’t tell anyone about Billy, all right?”

“Are you crazy? Of course I’m going to tell my friends. I won’t tell the ‘popular’ girls,” she said popular with air quotes. “They’re too stupid to read books and wouldn’t even care.”

“Josie, you can’t tell people his real name. Please. It seems like he’s worked very hard to shed that part of him—or perhaps he’s worked hard to keep that part of him private. Whatever it is, he’s only out there as Blake, not Billy. So, don’t tell anyone he’s really Billy Leibowitz and he grew up here. Please.”

Josie was silent.

“Okay, if you tell anyone, I won’t introduce you to him. You can tell your friends that your mom is old friends with Blake Lincoln and that’s it.”

“Fine.”

When Josie got out of the car at school she actually said, “I love you.” I knew it was because she wanted to meet Billy, but I didn’t care.

When I got home I wrote back to Billy and told him I loved the candy hearts and that I’d love to see him, but I’d have to call him Billy, not Blake. Old habits die hard, I added in a second message.

He wrote back right away. You can call me whatever you want. Blake is such a stupid name anyway. My agent made me change it. She said Blake Lincoln would appeal more to my teenage girl demographic than Billy Leibowitz. I was desperate to sell my book. She had been shopping it for a while with no bites. I only got the agent, because I had worked for that magazine, if you remember, and I met her through the editor. That was just luck. But, selling the book took a complete image overhaul—it didn’t matter if it was good, they wanted a brand they could market. And smooth, sophisticated Blake Lincoln fit the bill much better than goofy, kinda nerdy Billy Leibowitz.

I loved goofy, kinda nerdy Billy Leibowitz, I typed back.

Yeah, sometimes I mourn his loss, but I promise I’ll try my best to get you to love Blake too. Actually, even better, I can still be Billy with you. I’m sick of being someone I’m not for everyone. I can’t wait to just be myself with you.

As I read Billy’s message, parts of me that had been sleeping for a very long time, woke up—my heart for one. And a southern region that hadn’t seen any action for years, except maybe a little self-love here and there.

I could get to know Blake, if you want, I typed. Or I could just welcome the old Billy back into my life. Maybe have a drink or two with him. Or maybe an ice cream. You can decide who you are.

I think I’ll be Billy, and ice cream is perfect. Would you like to meet later today? I don’t mean to sound over-anxious, but honestly, I just really want to see you.

I wrote back right away. I can meet you after work at 12:30. Today’s my short day. Should we meet at our favorite place? They have inside tables in winter, but we can sit outside if you want. I was grateful that our old spot—our favorite ice cream stand, a town institution, stayed open for the winter. Not many people ventured there, but they served scoops even through the most frigid months, thanks to a few cozy tables inside the tiny building. They left the wood tables out all winter, so perhaps we could sit at our favorite weathered wood perch, our initials silvered with age, but still there. I checked them periodically, whenever I took Josie for a cone. Not as often as I would like; the older she got, the less often she wanted to go for ice cream, even in the summer.