Usually, I’d talk to Ben about it and get his take because he is the one who will do all their marketing. “I’ll ask Ben when he gets here; see what he thinks.”
Debra nods and tells me breakfast will be on the table. After she leaves, I finish cleaning my face and reapply my make-up. I take my hair and pull it into a high ponytail. It’s messy and yet perfect for this business.
When I enter the small conference room, the lead singer of Plum stands up. “Good morning, Justine, Wynonna, and Priscilla.” They echo my sentiment and sit down at the table. I first met Justine Floyd at Trixie’s. Quinn and I had gone to check out a new band, and Justine put on an acoustic set. That night, we spoke, and she told me she usually performs with sisters Wynonna and Priscilla but that they had the flu, and they didn’t want to lose their gig at Trixie’s. I brought them into the studio and fell in love with their sound, and I quickly offered to represent them. They have quite the backstory. Justine ran away from home at fourteen and somehow managed to escape the horrors of living on the streets. Wynonna and Priscilla, aptly named after Wynonna Judd and Priscilla Presley, are upper class and privileged. The three of them met at Trixie’s during an open mic night and decided to play together.
We start the meeting even though Ben’s late. It’ll be easy for him to catch up, plus he needs to show the girls their mock-ups. After an hour, I text him and ask him if he’s planning to show up, and of course, he doesn’t respond. Now, I’ve gone from hurt to pissed because he’s messing with my business. I tell the girls the logos will be emailed, and I’ll see them tomorrow for recording. Once they’re gone, I ask Debra to cancel the rest of my day and order an Uber to drive me out to Malibu.
I’m on edge the entire drive, and my anxiety increases tenfold when the driver pulls into my driveway. When I get into the house, I notice the amount of trash piled up. “What the fuck,” I mutter before yelling Ben’s name and storming through the house.
I find him in his office with his headphones on. I tap him on the shoulder, scaring the crap out of him. He glares at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Working. What does it look like?”
“Did you want to answer any of my texts? My calls? Or show up for the fucking meeting this morning?”
He frowns and rolls his eyes. He goes to put his headphones back on, but I yank them away. “Answer me!” I scream.
Ben stands and towers over me. His eyes seek something in mine, but I have no idea what he’s looking for. “What part of ‘I’m done’ wasn’t clear to you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m done, Elle. That means I’m not going to answer your calls. I’m not going to reply to your texts, and I’m not going to work. I. Am. Done!”
I blanch at his words and step back. It takes me a moment to realize the finality in his voice, but once I do, I nod. “Right.” I leave him in his office and head into our bedroom. It’s a mess. Clothes, food boxes, and beer bottles cover the floor, much like the rest of the house. I pull as much as I can from my closet, carry it out to my car, and pack up the stuff I’ll need in my office. I stop by the room where Ben’s working, but his back is to me. He’s angry, all because we haven’t set a wedding date.
“Ben,” I say his name loud enough for him to hear. He stops typing and turns slowly in his chair. His eyes are red and puffy, and there’s a sadness there, mixed with anger. “I’m going to head back into the city.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “There’s a good chance Noah’s heading to the Superbowl.”
“I don’t care,” he says.
“It’s Noah,” I point out. “You’re not going to be there for him?”
Ben hangs his head. “Don’t make this harder than it already is, Elle.”
“I’m not doing anything, Ben. You are. I spent my entire vacation trying to get you to talk to me so we can figure this out, and you’ve ignored me.”
“It’s the only way.”
“No, it’s not,” I tell him. “We can fix this.”
“There’s nothing to fix.”
“So that’s it, huh? You’re just going to toss the only family you have aside because I haven’t settled on a wedding date?”
Ben doesn’t say anything for a long time. “I’m going to look for an apartment or something. I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.”
I shake my head and place my hand over my stomach to curb the tremendous ache I feel. Our life together isn’t supposed to be this way. I pack as much as I can, and tiptoe back to Ben’s office. His head is down and the urge to go to him is great. I yearn to touch him, to soothe him, to fix what is happening, but I don’t know how. There is something else going on, something more than not setting a date, but he won’t talk to me. He leaves me no choice but to walk away for now.
3
ELLE
6 Weeks Later
The fanfare at the stadium is something I’ve never seen before. People tailgate. They’re throwing parties in the parking lot, with food, music, and games. Some have televisions set up and they’re watching the pregame. Each time I hear Noah’s name, I block out what the announcer says. I don’t care to hear whether or not they think the Pioneers should be in the Super Bowl or not. They’re here, and that is the only thing that matters. Win or lose, Noah’s dreams of making it to the big game have finally come true.
Nola and I walk around the parking lot, taking in the energetic atmosphere. I’ve been to concerts where the tailgating is a giant party, but not to this extent. Venues normally open the parking lot two, maybe three hours before a concert starts, unless it’s a festival. Still, I’d love to see 4225 West or Sinful Distraction have something like this.
“I’m hungry,” Nola says. My stomach growls loud enough for her to hear. She covers her mouth and cackles. I roll my eyes and pray no one else heard it.
“Thanks.” It’s her fault. Lately, food doesn’t interest me. My mother has picked up on the fact I’ve lost weight and barely eat. I don’t have the heart to tell her or anyone in my family about Ben and what we’re going through. How do I tell my loved ones when I don’t understand myself?
“We can head into the stadium and get something,” I tell her.
“Or we can introduce you to people, tell them who you are, and see what they give us.” Nola waggle’s her eyebrows and she smiles like the Cheshire cat. Nola doesn’t care that she’s intermingled with a famous family, and rarely tells people who she’s engaged to, until she wants something. Even then, she’s joking. She’s never used Quinn’s name to get anything from anyone. She likes to tease though.
“Or we go find my dad and drag him around the parking lot with us.”
Nola’s mouth drops open and she gasps. “Oh my, can you even imagine? We wouldn’t make it past the first row. Of course, if we did this, I’d have to get a bullhorn to let everyone know Harrison James walks among us.”
This time, I laugh. More times than not, my dad and uncles can mingle without anyone realizing who they are, until it’s too late. Of course, there are those super fans who recognize them immediately and alert everyone else to their presence.