CHAPTER 7
Cappuccino, Anyone?—Nikki
The small crowd of forty clapped after I’d finished my set. I smiled, took a bow, and exited stage left on the platform I was pretty sure the owner’s kid had made in wood shop class.
Being on the makeshift stage wasn’t the same rush that had electrified my bones when I performed onstage with Tattered Souls at the Tabernacle. But Rev and Go had a lot of charm. Hard Rock Café meets crazy corner coffee shop. A mixture of high and low tables, high-back chairs, comfy couches, and framed autographed pictures of musicians, artists, and sports stars. The East Atlanta neighborhood had an eclectic crowd of business professionals, someone’s eccentric aunt or uncle who probably sculpted nude models, and “retired” trust fund kids.
It wasn’t my neighborhood. Don’t shit where you sleep, Daddy used to say. So, I booked a recurring gig thirty miles away from home while Mama stayed with the little ones.
“Woo! You rock!” A deep voice snagged my attention.
I smiled at the silver fox with a salt-and-pepper goatee. “Thanks, man.”
I gave him and his group of coffee buddies a quick wave and weaved through the tables to the front of the house. Slapping my hands on the counter, I leaned over to bug my favorite barista. “Give me your strongest drink, Jonas.”
He was facing away from the stainless-steel cappuccino machine. “Triple shot espresso?”
“Not quite. Hot coffee, a little sugar, fresh creamer, and, oh, whiskey, if you have it.”
He snorted and turned to face me. The lanky recent college grad gave me a smug smile and smoothed over the side part in his chestnut hair. “No alcohol, just the freshest ground coffee you’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting.”
“Joking.” I patted my back pocket with my bedazzled flask. “I’ve got the whiskey.”
Jackie D. Tennessee. The same brand Daddy loved. I didn’t smile at the thought, or at the memories of Daddy’s sweat-soaked clothes smelling of stale cigarettes and rubbing alcohol. He’d squeeze me too tight, but I didn’t complain. I was just happy he was home.
“Love you, baby girl,” he’d say, trying to whisper, but his voice boomed in my ear. His breath was a combination of bile and booze and honey.
Goose bumps darted down my forearms. I’m not like him.
James or my babies would never see me like that. The key was greasy food, like a burger and fries, and hydration. A shot or two never hurt anyone. It was the benders that were dangerous.
Jonas pushed the coffee to the side table and motioned toward a waiting customer. After he gave the customer her beverage, he turned to face me. “You’re gonna get me fired one of these days,” he mumbled as he made my “virgin” Irish coffee. “Eric is gone, but you still need to go out back.”
After six weeks of performing at Rev and Go, Jonas and I had a routine. He’d caught me sneaking booze near the corridor between the bathroom and the employee break room. Whatever I’d concocted had been so terrible, I coughed and sprayed the floor with my failed experiment. He shook his head, made me clean up the mess, and gave me a lecture about alcohol on the premises and how Eric, the owner, would can my ass if he ever found out.
The following week Jonas crooked his finger toward me to follow him to the employee break room, opened his work locker, pulled out a thermos, and gave me the best Irish coffee I’d ever tasted. Since then, he’d told me he’d make the drink, I just needed to bring the whiskey.
“Thanks, Jonas.” I tipped the mug in his direction.
“No problem. You’ve earned it. I’ve noticed we’ve got a bigger crowd since you’ve been playing for us. People are sticking around and ordering food. Eric even mentioned looking into getting a license to sell beer and wine.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah.” Jonas smiled and pointed to the red and white flyers with my picture and name. “You’re our star. I had a few customers mention they’d come from Macon to see you. You’re generating some buzz, Nikki.”
My heart slapped against my chest. This was good, really good. But I didn’t want them to depend on me. What if one of my kids got sick, or if James caught on and wanted me to quit?
“Th-that’s cool. I’ll start the last set after I finish my drink.” I rushed to the back exit and flung open the door. I didn’t realize how hard I’d been breathing until I saw puffs of breath dotting the cold air. Shit. I leaned against the brick wall while my mind raced. Grabbing the flask from my pocket, I dumped the whiskey into the mug.
I felt sick to my stomach. This was getting out of hand. Sooner or later, I’d have to come clean. The lies I’d told my mom and James continued to pile. James thought I was either doing PTA stuff or hanging with the girls. Mama was so happy that I’d invited her to hang with her grandbabies, she hadn’t noticed, which had been surprising. The lady was as sharp as a finely honed tack. Nothing usually got past her.
Just last week, I’d written two songs for the band, and somehow they’d convinced me to sing on the tracks. Now there were flyers for Rev and Go.
When I signed the ninety-day contract for the coffee shop gig, Eric had something in there about using my image for advertising, should I gain a following. I quickly signed it, excited that someone wanted to pay me to sing. I should’ve let Sienna review it first. Damn. Just one misstep and everything would be crashing around me like dominoes.
I had to come clean, and I would. Soon. I just needed another week of this to myself. I needed this high, this unfiltered emotion. Something that belonged to me. I didn’t have to run it by Mom for her to shoot me down, or see James’s nervous fidgeting, like I’d leave our family for music. I didn’t have to worry about how I would eventually be a bad mom when this came to a head.
And it would. Sometimes you just know when things are going to happen. The stars were aligning, and I knew it was my time to shine. What I didn’t know was if I was ready for the spotlight.
I chugged the rest of my drink. The liquid stung the back of my throat, the perfect stimulus for me to get out of my head, pull myself together, and sing my heart out on stage.
* * *
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as I waited for the other cars in front of me to pick up their kids. As I finally reached the curb for pickup, my daughter ran to the car, pigtails flying behind her, with a bright orange sheet of paper in her hand. “Mommy, Mommy. Guess what?” She peeked through the passenger-side window.
“Get in the car, precious, then tell me the good news.”
Bria swung open the door and hopped into the SUV. She swallowed, inhaled, and opened her mouth, but then shut it.
I was about to pull away from the curb, but instead I shifted the gearshift back to park. Cars honked behind me, but those impatient fuckers would have to wait. “Spit it out, Bria-bree.”
She leaned over and shoved the paper into my waiting hand. I scanned it. The first ever talent show hosted by the school, at the top of the next school year in the fall. The grand prize was $300. Nothing to sneeze at for elementary school students.
“Very cool.” I arched my brow into the rearview mirror. “You want to do this?”
She bobbed her head. “Yes, Mommy. And I want you to finish teaching me how to play guitar.”
A smile broke free on my face. I’d been teaching her little by little, like Daddy had done. Just a few chords, easy songs to learn on guitar like “Wonderful World” by Sam Cooke and “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley. I needed to figure out an age-appropriate song that didn’t suck. God, I hope she didn’t want to do any bubblegum pop songs that would likely be featured on a Kidz Bop album.
Unbuckling my seat belt, I hopped out of the car to more honks, opened the back seat door, and hugged my baby. “I can definitely do that, sweetness. When we get home, we can make a list of songs you want to learn.”
She squeezed back. “No, Mommy. I want us to make a song together. It’s gonna be epic!”
My baby was full of surprises today. “Sounds like fun! We can brainstorm what type of songs we want. Love songs, a song with a good message, oh, or maybe a song about having fun.”
A long honk broke our Hallmark moment.
“Yeah, yeah. Go around me.” I waved to no one in particular and hustled back to the driver’s seat. I quickly shifted the gears to drive and pulled out when I noticed the volunteer pickup person was striding in our direction.
“Mommy, yuck!” Bria shuddered.
“What are you yucking about?”
“I don’t wanna sing a love song. I want a song that means something. Maybe something with a message about doing good things? Like when you, me, Daddy, and JJ volunteer at the soup kitchen during the holidays.”
God, my daughter was the best. Better than her lying-ass mama. “That’s good, baby. We can talk about it after dinner.”
“What’s for dinner?”
I shrugged. “Your grandma decided to cook a spread for us today and I was shooed out of the kitchen. She’s at the house now.”
“Yay, Grandma! I love it when she cooks.”
“Wait a minute! My spaghetti is pretty darn good.”
“It is, Mommy. But you can’t be great at everything.”
“Oh, yeah? What am I so great at?”
She put up her fingers and ticked off the points. “Singing, piano, guitar. And you’re a great mommy, of course. Much cooler than the other moms. Everyone says so. Even Dina D’Garzo and she hates everybody.”
Her compliments warmed me. I had an awesome family, and I wasn’t quite sure what I did to deserve them.
When we arrived home after the short drive from the school, Southern home cooking greeted us. If my nose served me correctly, I smelled baked chicken, some sort of fried cornbread, and sweet potatoes.
“Hey, baby,” James greeted me, with his namesake cradled in his arm. He leaned down to kiss my cheek and then settled our son on the floor.
“How was your day?” He pulled me close and gave me a better kiss.
“Gross!” JJ yelled.
“Eww!” Bria echoed.
“Settle down, children.” James shook his head. “There is nothing wrong with showing the woman I love affection.”
“Facts,” I told the kids and gave my husband a deeper kiss. Warmth spread throughout my chest as I pulled away. No need to get too hot and heavy in front of the kids and Mama.
“So, how was work? Is that noob pop star still giving you trouble?”
“Nah. She’s good, now that I provided her with a few charities she can cut a check to, to keep her taxes lower.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me up the stairs. “Mom, can you watch out for the kids for a minute?”
“Sure, hon!” my mom yelled back.
“Got a surprise for you,” he whispered.
“If it’s the same surprise you’ve been giving me the past decade, the cat is out of the bag. I got two kids out of your surprises, and I already know you’re packing.”
He stopped on the landing of the stairs, threw his head back, and laughed. “God, I love you.” He bent over and kissed me again. “And no, it’s something else.” He directed us to his home office. In two steps, he reached into his desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and gave it to me. Sheesh. What was it with my family pushing pieces of paper in my hand? I read the slip of paper. It was a travel itinerary to . . . I squealed. “We’re going to St. Lucia?”
“Yep. Just you, me, and the beach. No kids allowed, and a sexy bikini is all you’ll need.”
I jumped him, wrapping my legs around his waist. “We’re going to St. Lucia!” I screamed.
His strong arms wrapped tightly around my waist. He kissed my neck and then trailed kisses along my ear. “Told you I’d always take care of you.”
My heart stuttered as I remembered his promise. We had been happy, in love, but dirt-ass-poor while he was in grad school full-time. I’d just found out I was pregnant, and I’d freaked.
James, however, was typical James. Cool, calm, happy. When I broke the news of our expanding family, a flair of possession lit his dark eyes. He scooped me into his arms and made love to me.
Slowly. Lovingly. He worshiped my body and whispered so many promises that I couldn’t help but believe. One of the promises he’d made was that he would always take care of me: mind, body, and soul.
“What brought on this surprise?” I slid down from his arms, but he still held me close.
“I noticed you’ve been busy with the Mastermind group and the PTA. I know being a stay-at-home mom is tough.” His eyebrows creased. “You’re always Mom, but I get to go to work, talk to my peers, then I crash after dinner. I want us to have time to ourselves, too. I’m sorry if I’ve been neglecting you.”
“Never.” My voice was hoarse, altered by all the damn guilt weighing me down. I’d been sneaking around, playing my gigs, making music, and my husband thought I was tired, unhappy, and ignored. My fingers grazed his face, traced a path from his silken eyebrows down to his thick, full lips to the beard that covered his milk chocolate skin. “You’re perfect, James. Absolutely perfect. Marrying you was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
Worry dropped from his face, replaced by the dangerous smile I fell in love with when I spotted him in the smoky crowd all those years ago.
“All right.” He titled my chin and gave me a quick peck. “Let’s go downstairs before our spawn give your mother a heart attack.”
* * *
“Set the table for me, Nicole. Dinner is almost ready.” Mama continued to stir the pot over the stove.
“Yes, Mama.”
“And don’t forget to wash those babies’ hands.”
I inhaled softly and rolled my eyes.
“Save the ’tude, young lady.” She didn’t look up, and I was still amazed at how she knew when I was rolling my eyes, sucking my teeth, and giving her ’tude, as she liked to call it.
“Fine, Mama.” I hustled out of the kitchen and set about doing what I was told. Sure, I had a sassy attitude when it came to my kids, husband, friends, and frenemies, but I was damn near a pussycat when it came to Mama.
Even before Daddy had passed, she was always the authoritarian figure, while my dad tried to figure out ways to sneak around her to get me what I wanted. After Daddy died, it was hard to joke around with Mama. We were poor and brokenhearted. There wasn’t much to smile about.
“Dinner is ready!” my mom yelled from the kitchen while I arranged the table setting.
A stampede thundered from overhead. Could be the kids or James. They all loved Grandma’s cooking.
Everyone rushed the dining room table, but after Grandma gave them a look, they all slowed. Even JJ. My husband grabbed the booster seat and pushed it up for our son.
Mama settled on the opposite side of me. Her peach blouse fit nicely against her curvy figure and chocolate skin. She was beautiful, but I looked nothing like her. I took after my daddy; my skin tone was on the lighter register since my father was biracial.
“Let us pray.” Mama bowed her head and stretched her hands. I grasped a hand, while James took the other. She squeezed my hand twice as she’d done ever since I could remember. Never with anyone else, just me.
“Dear Heavenly Father, thank You for giving me the strength to prepare this food for my family. Thank You for my handsome son-in-law who takes care of his family like a real man should.”
I rolled my eyes. Sounded nice on the surface, but I knew she was throwing shade at Daddy. The man was dead, for God’s sake.
She took a deep breath. “I also want to thank You for my beautiful and smart grandbabies.”
“I not beautiful!” JJ shouted. “I hand-sum.”
“Excuse me, Lord.” Mama giggled. She never giggled with me. “My beautiful granddaughter and handsome grandson. And thank You for my child.”
Not talented, gorgeous, accomplished? She needed to take a page from my child on compliments, but whatever. I decided to give my eyes a rest before they got stuck in the back of my head. The woman was throwing the entire shade tree at me today.
“In the name of Jesus, we pray—”
“Amen!” We all joined in.
After a few minutes of eating, my husband started our usual conversation.
“How was school, baby girl?”
Bria grinned, still chewing her food. “Great, Daddy!”
James motioned her to swallow and she complied. “I’m gonna join the talent show and Mommy is gonna finish showing me how to play the guitar!”
My mother’s fork clattered against the china dinnerware. Her eyes drilled holes into me. “You’re what?”
My heart dropped. I did not want to have this conversation with Mama around. She was like the mom from The Water Boy, but instead of foosball being the devil, it was music.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, Mama, I am. Bria is a natural.”
“Babies, close your ears,” she said to my kids.
Used to our sparring, they ducked their heads and covered their ears. James, however, looked pissed.
“You want her to end up like Stanley? Your father was a natural, too. And so were you.” She waved her fork in my direction. “And look how you ended up.” She then pointed to my wine glass.
“Kids. Leave the table.” James’s voice rang clear. He helped JJ out of the seat.
JJ protested. “But, Daddy, I hungy.”
“I know, son. I’ll come get you in a minute. Count down from one hundred.”
He ushered both kids out of the way and then returned to the dining room table.
Standing by his chair, he pivoted his attention to my mother. “Daniella. You know I love you. I appreciate all that you’ve done for us, especially when we were struggling financially in the early years of our marriage. But I won’t stand for you coming down on Nik. Bria is our daughter. She loves music, and she has always had a curiosity. You remember when Bria hopped in Nikki’s lap whenever she played on the piano or crawled on top of Nikki when she strummed the guitar? If our daughter wants to learn music, then she will learn, and learn from the best.” He turned his attention toward me, his eyes blazing. “My wife.”
James and Mama had a stare down, and neither blinked.
Well, I blinked because I was a softy, and I tried and failed to hold back my tears. I loved this man. I didn’t think I had room in my heart to love him more, but there it was. The proof was in the loud kathump of my heart, the way time had slowed, and swear to God, I heard Minnie Riperton singing the la-la-la-la-la chorus from “Lovin’ You.” If Mama’s stuck-up ass wasn’t sitting there with a just-sucked-a-lemon facial expression, I’d jump across the table, strip James down, and give it to him like the kids were gone on vacation.
“Now,” he continued. “I’m gonna go get our babies, and we are going to have a nice dinner, understood?”
“Understood, James.” Mama’s shoulders stiffened. “I understand my opinion is not welcome.”
“It’s welcome, but you don’t do it in front of our kids. Especially when we’ve had this conversation before.”
I reached for my wine glass, gave my mom a victorious smile, and saluted. This time, she rolled her eyes.
* * *
After James put Mama in her place I was walking on sunshine, so much so that I was humming when I gathered the laundry to fold upstairs in our room before I went to bed.
The lights were out, save the small glow coming from his phone. That was strange; it was only just after nine o’clock at night. James usually didn’t lounge in bed until eleven.
I flipped on the lights. “Are you against light now, Edward Cullen?”
One of his hands braced his forehead as he stared at his cell. He jerked his head up, eyes narrowed to slits. “Nikki Hardt.” He spat out my maiden name. “The newest member of Tattered Souls.”
The laundry basket slipped from my hands. “I-I, that’s not true. I didn’t join the band.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too.” He rose from the foot of the bed. “When someone anonymous, probably from the PTA bunch that you’ve pissed off, sent me this email, I thought surely this is a lie. Surely my wife of ten years wouldn’t sneak around with her old band, old boyfriend,” he spat out the word, “and lie to me.” He slapped his chest.
“But then I heard the leaked song, ‘Yesteryear,’ a song where you literally moon over the old relationship with your ex-boyfriend for two verses.”
I swallowed. That song, that fucking song. I knew it would get me into trouble. And I hadn’t even written it. Trent and someone else from the label had penned the tune. They swore it would be a hit. It was a damn good song, but not worth my marriage.
“I didn’t write that song, James. And I didn’t mean any of the words. It’s just a song.”
“But you’re recording with them. Hell, I saw a fucking video with you and Trent singing to each other from a few months ago. Fuck! Nikki . . .” His voice grew hoarse. “All this time. All this time, I’m thinking you’re tired and drifting away from me, but it’s not me. It’s you.” He jabbed a finger toward me. “You and the music and that damn band.”
“Baby.” I strode to him, made him sit down on the leather footstool near the bed. My hands cupped his face. I touched my forehead to rest against his. “I’m sorry. I was scared and stupid. I didn’t think you’d approve of my joining the band. I haven’t . . . I just cut a few tracks. And, well, since I’m putting it all out there, I have a coffee shop gig.”
At the news, his head jerked away from my hands. “Damn, Nik. More lies?”
“That’s all, handsome man, I swear.”
He snorted. “It’s e-fucking-nough.” He stood again and paced the floor. “Stop with this hiding shit.”
“I-I promise not to sneak around. I’ll never lie to you again.”
“The coffee gig is fine, but . . . but you can’t see Trent again. The other dudes are fine, but Trent has never respected our relationship. He’s always tried to get in your pants.”
I slumped on the seat, my heart dropping to the floor. I’d been teetering on what to do about the band, but now that James was taking it away from me, I wanted them. I had to try. “Babe, the coffee gig is sweet, but the big money will come from the band.”
“You don’t need the band, Nik. You never did.”
“Yes, I do. And now with the track leaking, it’s a matter of time before buzz starts. I can’t leave them hanging.”
“Can’t leave them hanging?” His deep voice somehow squeaked. “What about your family? Are you gonna leave us hanging?”
“No, don’t do that.” I shook my head. “I’ve always sacrificed for this family, from day one.”
“And I haven’t? I don’t love my job, and still I knock out the mortgage, utilities, the car note for your fly-ass Range Rover, private school, clothes. All with a smile on my face because that’s what adults do.”
Firewater burned my chest. How dare he? Yes, he was the breadwinner, but I sacrificed my body, my dreams, for our family. “We’ve both sacrificed, and I refuse to go back and forth with you on who does more, but I need . . .” I raked my hands through my hair. “Something that’s just for me. I need to be more than a mom and a wife. I need the music.”
“It’s a fine time to have a revelation.” His hands clenched at his sides. “When we have a mortgage, small kids and one barely potty-trained, and we’re in our fucking thirties!”
“Stop using our kids and my age against me.”
“I’m telling you—”
“And I’m telling you that I’m dying!” I shouted over him.
He stopped pacing and jerked as if he’d been shot.
I pressed forward but didn’t step closer. “I need this, James. And you owe me. I love them, God, do I love our kids. I love you. Nothing is sweeter than a smile and a kiss from you, handsome man. I love the life that we’ve built together, but, still, I . . . I need more. I’m not running away, I’m just asking for more time.”
“So, what?” he whispered. “You want to go on the road? Leave us? You hated touring when you were younger.”
“Just a few months, tops. We’ll start in the top of summer, be back by fall. I need to try, just to see—”
“You’ve made up your mind already, Hardt.” His words sliced at me more finely than a block of Calphalon knives. He used to call me “Hardt,” my maiden name, before we got married. He jerked open the door and slammed it shut.
Not how I’d planned it. No, that’s not true. I didn’t have a plan, other than to keep up the lie. Now I was paying the price. I was suffocating and bleeding and scared.
I shook, like a junkie needing a fix.
Like Daddy.
I thought I’d scraped the bottom of the barrel of pain when Daddy died, but I was wrong. To numb the pain, it was either play my guitar and sing my heart out or . . . or numb it with something stronger. A shot or maybe a few. I wouldn’t get sloppy drunk like Daddy. Drunks were the worst. I loved Daddy, but I could hold my liquor much better than he did.
Walking to my closet, I rummaged through my purse for my flask.
The red-hot whiskey burned my throat but soothed my nerves. The warm liquid stung but then loosened my chest. I could breathe again, and the bleeding from my heart clotted. Gripping the flask, I had no fear. I could do this. There were plenty of musicians who were parents.
“He’ll come around,” I whispered, then took another deep gulp. James loved me. Our love would never die. With those comforting thoughts, I curled up in the corner of the closet and drifted away.