“HELLO, MOTHER.”
My heart had jumped when my phone rang, then plummeted when I saw my mother’s picture on the screen. A few hours had gone by since Jasper had stormed out, and I hadn’t heard from him. No text. No call. But he hadn’t posted any pictures of himself living it up on the private jet, either, so maybe he was just as miserable and pensive as I was.
Also, I really had to give him and my mom their own ringtones. That was, if Jasper ever intended to call me again.
Now I held my breath, hoping she liked the new gala plans.
“Hello, Cecilia. I wanted to let you know I received your e-mail and I’ll be making some notes.”
Notes. That couldn’t be good. I glanced at my open laptop. A new picture had just shown up on Jasper’s Instagram page, but it was just a wide shot of the crowd outside the venue.
“Okay.”
There was a long pause at the other end of the line. I listened for typing, or hushed voices in the background, but there was nothing.
“Mom?”
“Yes, I’m still here,” she said. “Is everything all right, Cecilia?”
The skin on my cheeks prickled. I couldn’t remember the last time my mother had asked me if everything was okay. And before I knew what was happening, I was spilling the entire story. About Jasper’s career and all the events and how he’d left me alone at the Young Nashville awards the other night and what had happened between us earlier today.
My mother listened to the whole thing and didn’t interrupt once.
“I’m so sorry your feelings are hurt,” she said when I finished.
I was touched. “Thanks.”
“But if I could play devil’s advocate for a moment?”
“Sure,” I said, out of habit.
“This is a crucial time for him, Cecilia. All he’s doing is what he needs to do to achieve his goals. He’s asking you to be a part of it. If you don’t want to be, that’s perfectly fine. It’s your choice the kind of life you want to lead—”
Ha! I thought. Hahahahahahahahaha!
“But if you don’t, then you need to tell him, so that you can both move on.”
Oh, the irony. But I bit my tongue. Because at least she’d tried. She’d tried to give me advice based on her own personal experience. This was progress.
“Well, I’m glad you decided not to go out, because that means you can come out to dinner with your father and me tonight,” my mother continued, back in politician mode. “I’ve added some new, key people to my campaign and I’d like for you to meet them.”
I sighed.
“I’m not really up to meeting people right now,” I said, the effort of saying no to her making me tense, as always.
“Oh, Cecilia, don’t be that girl who mopes around all night while her boyfriend is out having fun,” she replied. “I’ll send a car around to pick you up at eight.”
As if having dinner with a bunch of stodgy adults was some kind of revenge. But I couldn’t think of a good reason to bow out, and also, there was nothing to eat in the apartment besides cereal.
“And wear one of the outfits Matilda put together for you, would you?”
“Fine,” I said. But it didn’t matter. She’d already hung up.
When I looked over at the television, the Entertainment Tomorrow logo had just flashed off the screen and the feed cut to a reporter standing in front of the American Airlines Arena, where Jasper was performing tonight.
A glutton for punishment, I turned up the volume.
“ . . . as Blake Ralston continues his record-breaking sold-out tour,” the reporter was saying. “Opening for Blake is new up-and-coming star Jasper Case, who, as you know, has been dating America’s Sweetheart Cecilia Montgomery ever since the misunderstanding of her kidnapping was cleared up. We caught up with Jasper outside the venue.”
My throat tightened as Jasper appeared on the screen, wearing the exact same outfit he’d worn standing in my living room just a few hours ago. He looked amazing. And somehow, more tan.
“No Cecilia tonight, Jasper?” the reporter asked.
“Not tonight,” Jasper said with a winning smile. “But we’re gonna play some great music and have a great time.”
The feed quickly cut to a crowd shot, as Jasper signed autographs for screaming fans.
“But one of Jasper’s hometown friends was in attendance—Fiona Taylor, Cecilia Montgomery’s best friend, who told our Lucy Friedman that she’s considering a career in publicity.”
Suddenly, Fiona appeared on the screen. It was a different angle of the crowd and I could see Jasper far in the background, posing for a picture with a twelve-year-old. What the hell was Fiona doing there?
“We’ve sucked you into our world, have we?” the reporter asked.
Fiona gave a practiced laugh. “It seems that way. But no, I’ve just had an amazing time helping Cecilia and her mom plan this gala event we’re hosting in my hometown, and spending all this time on the road. . . . It’s really opened my eyes to the possibilities.”
“What!?” I blurted out loud. “What? You’ve done nothing to help! Zip, zero, zilch!”
They cut back to the Hollywood desk and I shut off the TV. The silence enveloped me and I suddenly felt embarrassed for yelling at the television, even though no one was there to witness it. I barked a laugh that was followed quickly by tears.
First Jasper, then my mom, then Fiona . . . everyone really was all about themselves.
* * *
By the time the sorbet was served I was so bored I was reciting the states and capitals in my head, in alphabetical order, backwards. The new people my mother had added to her campaign were two statisticians, and all they could talk about was numbers. The number of swing states she’d need to win in order to take the election. The number of single mothers she’d have to sway her way to secure the female vote. The number of fingernails I’d have to extract from my hands before I passed out and saved myself from this torture.
Just kidding.
My phone vibrated in my lap. It was a photo text from Britta—a picture of her and Jasper backstage.
WISH YOU WERE HERE!
My heart burned inside my chest. Clearly, Jasper hadn’t told her about our fight.
“What is it, Cecilia?” my father asked.
It seemed my emotions were written all over my face.
“Nothing. I’m just tired.”
“I remember that last summer before college, gearing up for a whole new life,” said Felicia, the woman who sat to my mother’s right. “It can be so stressful. Tell me, Cecilia, where are you doing your undergraduate work?”
My mother and I locked eyes. My father cleared his throat. I knew what I should say, but for some reason, I didn’t.
“I’m seriously considering the Tennessee School of Design,” I told her.
She blinked, then laughed. I didn’t.
“Oh,” she said finally. “You’re serious.”
“No. She can’t be,” her partner, Reginald, said. “Certainly you were able to get her into a reputable institution,” he added, looking at my father.
“Actually, she got herself into Harvard,” I said. “Not to mention Yale, Stanford, Penn, and Dartmouth. But I may choose to do something different.”
“Cecilia—”
“In fact, Mom, I was hoping to use my design for your gala as part of my application,” I said gamely. “I thought I’d include pictures from the event in my portfolio.”
My mother’s face froze. I could practically see her trying not to react. My father and our two guests watched us, transfixed, as if they were waiting for one of us to explode. We stared each other down, and then she looked into her lap and swiped her hands across her napkin.
“Well, if you’re serious about this school, then I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
My mother took a sip of her wine, then placed the glass down. “Because, Cecilia, the plans you sent me earlier today were pedestrian at best.”
“What?” I gasped. “But I gave you what you asked for.”
“Which is, of course, a very important goal for a person who intends to work with clients for a living—the customer is always right, after all—but while I asked you for a patriotic theme, I did not ask you to phone it in, as they say.”
“You wanted traditional!” I blurted, attracting the attention of nearby diners. “You told me to throw some purple irises on the table and be done with it.”
“Well, I didn’t expect you to take me literally,” my mother replied calmly. “And now that I know how much this matters to you, I’m a bit concerned if you think that what you sent me is in good taste, or your best work, for that matter.”
My throat closed over. I’d never felt so offended in my entire life. I shoved my phone into my purse, plucked my linen napkin off my lap, and dropped it on the table next to my untouched sorbet glass. I could feel the eyes of every patron in that restaurant on me, and even though I was experiencing a rage spiral, I remembered my manners. I was not going to give them—or my mother—what they were expecting. So instead, I smiled at our guests.
“I’m so sorry, but if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to walk home.”
My father and Reginald rose slightly from their seats as I stood.
“Cecilia, I’d prefer it if you’d stay until the meal is through,” my mother said. “And I’d also like you to apologize to our guests for being so rude.”
“I know you would, Mother. But I really could use some air,” I replied.
We faced off for a moment, and I realized that yes, I had been rude. So I glanced sideways at Reginald.
“I apologize for my outburst,” I said.
And then I walked out before I screamed and shattered all the fine crystal.
“Feel better, darling!” my mother called after me, needing to both get the last word and make it look as if everything was perfectly fine and normal.
Outside, I took a deep breath of the warm evening air, but it did nothing to calm my irritation. I couldn’t believe she didn’t like the plans I’d sent her. I’d done exactly what she’d asked for. Exactly! I bet she actually didn’t hate them. She was just trying to get back at me for announcing my design school plans in front of her staff—for acting as if I had a choice in where I went to school and what I was going to do with my life.
Why did everyone on the planet think they knew what was best for me? My mother and father knew where I should go to school, Matilda and Max knew how I should look, Jasper knew how I should react to my mother, Tash knew how I should do basically everything. They all wanted a piece of me, but they wanted it to be the piece they chose and they wanted it to look and act the way they wanted it to. Even the damn statisticians had an opinion.
Suddenly all I wanted to do was go home and tear up all the new plans for the gala. She didn’t like them? Fine. Maybe she could throw her epic party without a designer. Have fun impressing your donors with undressed tables and waiters who have no food to serve. I curled my fingers into fists and started to stride across the park. I swear there was smoke billowing out my ears.
And then I heard something that slowed my steps. Sweet, harmonious voices rose up from inside the gazebo in the center of the square. It was a barbershop quartet rehearsing under the warm torchlights. Their voices blended together in such a soothing, sweet way that for a moment I paused and closed my eyes, letting the music wash over me. I took long, deep breaths and tried to calm my nerves. This was why I loved Sweetbriar. This was the reason I’d come here. It was so homey. So comforting. So welcoming.
Maybe if I stood here long enough and listened to these people sing their traditional Southern tunes, it would soothe my nerves. Maybe I would have an epiphany, think up a new idea for the gala—one so amazing that even my mother couldn’t find fault with it. If I just let them inspire me . . .
A sudden shout knocked me out of my semimeditative state. The singing stopped.
“Do you guys know ‘Shake Ya Tailfeather’?”
The question was followed by a round of cackles. I took a few steps closer to the gazebo and saw that half a dozen photographers were lounging around on the surrounding benches. They were drinking beer out of cans and heckling the singers.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said under my breath.
“Look, gentlemen,” one of the singers said, “we’re just trying to rehearse.”
“And we’re just bored,” a woman with a long ponytail shouted. “Sing something upbeat!”
The four men on the platform looked at one another. They went back to the song they’d been singing, and the photographers began to boo.
Ugh. Why had did my mother have to come here? She was ruining Sweetbriar for me. For everyone.
I turned and took off at full speed across the park before any of the photographers could spot me. As I walked down the alley alongside Hadley’s, I wished I had a punching bag up in the apartment. If Tank, my old bodyguard, were here, he’d spar with me. But at the moment, I didn’t have anyone—or anything—to pummel. I tugged out my keys and was about to come around the corner behind the building when I heard whispered voices.
“What if this isn’t her garbage?”
“Who else’s could it be? There are only three cans.”
“I don’t know. Somehow I don’t peg Cecilia Montgomery for a Bud Light girl.”
I froze half a second before revealing myself. What the hell?
“Who knows what kinda girl she is at this point? You ever think you’d see her licking tequila off some dude’s abs?”
The two men cracked up and I flattened myself against the wall, my adrenaline higher than ever. These guys really didn’t want to mess with me in my current state. Hadn’t they seen Fiona’s viral video? I could kick their asses with one hand tied behind my back.
I glanced around the corner and saw the two of them—one burly and hunched over an open garbage container, the other tall and sifting through a pile of discarded trash. God, these people were everywhere. And they were shameless. Going through my garbage for inside info? My palms prickled. Maybe if they got their butts handed to them by a girl, they’d go away. Then at least there would be two fewer photographers in Sweetbriar.
Don’t be an idiot, Cecilia. Call the police. The voice in my head sounded a lot like my mother’s.
But if I called the police, she would find out about this. And if she found out about this, she’d definitely get me a bodyguard. Who was I kidding? If I beat the piss out of these guys, it would make front page news and she’d hire me a whole team of bodyguards.
“Check this out! An empty Cocoa Krispies box!”
“Girl has good taste at least.”
They chuckled, and I deflated. I so wanted to put these guys in their place, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even defend myself. My mother’s reach extended everywhere. How was I ever going to figure out who I was if I couldn’t make my own decisions when I was alone?
The men cracked up over a new find and I slunk off to find someplace to hide out until they were gone, cursing myself—and my mother—every step of the way.