“I can’t believe we aren’t sitting in a suite today. Do you think anyone is going to bug Quinn?”
I shake my head. “They haven’t yet,” I point out. “He’s never in a suite when he’s in Portland, neither is Liam. They like to be where the action is.”
“Yeah, true.” Nola sighs. “Truth be told, I don’t want to wait in line for food.”
I laugh at her statement. There are definite perks that come with being who we are or who we are related to. “Tell Peyton, I’m sure she can set something up.”
“You tell her,” Nola says as she bumps her shoulder with mine. “If it comes from you, it won’t seem like I’m looking for handouts.”
“Peyton would never think that of you,” I tell her. “You’re going to be our sister, we love you.”
Nola beams and throws her arms around me. We hug it out for a minute in the middle of the parking lot, with tens of thousands of people surrounding us, and no one knowing who we are. It’s an amazing feeling. I suppose if my hair wasn’t tucked under a ballcap and I had on my Noah Westbury jersey, someone might give us a double take. As is it, everyone is either wearing a Pioneers jersey or one for the other team. It’s nice to blend in.
We make our way to the family entrance and show our passes. Nola grabs my arm and drags me to the family area where there’s food. I lean in and ask in a hushed tone, “Are you pregnant?”
Nola stops dead in her tracks, turns, and looks at me. Her eyes are wide, scared. “Why would you ask such a thing?” she asks in a noticeably clear southern accent. Most of the time, I barely hear it because I’m used to it, and she works hard to speak without a drawl. I actually don’t mind it and think it’s rather cute. It gives her character, and she stands out among the rest of us, which isn’t a bad thing.
“You’re yanking my arm out of the socket for a hotdog.”
“Not just any hotdog, Elle. The hotdog. Ballpark hotdogs are the best.”
“We’re not in a ballpark,” I point out. “We’re in a stadium. What if the hotdog sucks?”
She waves her hand and dismisses me. “Same diff.”
I’m not sure it is, but who am I to argue. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Nola starts to walk, but I stand there. She turns and puts her hands on her hips and juts out her right leg. “I am not pregnant.”
I shrug. “Wouldn’t matter if you were.”
“It would to my parents. Those southern values run deep. My mother harps on me every time we talk about how Quinn and I are living in sin, and how we should be married by now. How no one likes a long engagement. Lord, I could go on and on.”
I close the gap between us and place my hands on her shoulders. For a brief moment I’m about to tell her about Ben, and how he feels the same way, but then I stop, and start to wonder if there’s something wrong with us—Quinn and me—because we’re both engaged but haven’t set wedding dates. Unlike Peyton, who couldn’t walk down the aisle fast enough. I chalk her quickness up to her accident and the fact that she knew she would marry Noah when she was five.
“It’s a new era,” I tell Nola. “We’re allowed to have long engagements.”
“Are we though?”
I honestly don’t know.
After Nola and I stuff ourselves on hotdogs, which I have to admit are pretty damn good, we make our way to our seats. The stands are filling fast now that the opening musical act has finished their melody of hits. As a manager, it troubles me that people opt to forgo opening acts. The artists playing deserve and have earned their time on stage, and it leaves an empty feeling in their stomachs when they look out to the crowd, knowing it’s a sold out showing, and hardly anyone is sitting. You’ll never see it on their faces because they’re grateful for the opportunity to play, but as a manager, it’s irritating.
Nola goes to sit, while I head to the front row and nestle myself between my grandparents. I put my arms around them and pull them to me. Neither protest as I squish them into my sides. When I release them, my grandmother looks at me with a sad smile.
“Why are you sad, Elle?”
How does she know? It’s a stupid question, really, because grandmas know everything. “I’m just tired.” It’s not a lie. Living in a hotel room sucks. I miss my house, my bed, and my Ben. “I’ve been really busy at work. I have two new bands, plus Sinful Distraction is going on tour soon.”
Grandma smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She brushes my hair behind my ear and her fingers rest on my neck for a moment.
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “I promise. It’s exhausting building a business.”
“You need a partner,” Grandpa says loudly. “Tess and I worry about you kids all the time, overextending yourselves. Hire some help.”
“Yes, sir.” I don’t argue with him because there’s no point. Plus, he’s not wrong. I have one assistant, who could probably use an assistant. It’s bad enough I have to replace Ben. In the six weeks we’ve been apart, I’ve gone through two marketing companies and neither of the people they’ve sent over can deliver the way Ben could.
When I hear my mother behind me, I kiss my grandparents on their cheeks and tell them to enjoy the game. It’s not that I don’t want to sit with them, I do, but I want to hold Oliver and if my grandmother gets him first, I won’t stand a chance.
I linger on the steps for a minute because my mom has handed my baby brother to Julius Cunningham’s girlfriend. She bounces Oliver on her legs and makes the same faces I do at him. My mom had a custom jersey made for Oliver, with Westbury on the back. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, aside from Oliver. I can’t take it anymore and head to the aisle where he is and hold my hands out for him. Autumn hands him over and I go sit down.
“I’ve missed you,” I tell him. I rest my feet on the seat in front of me and set Oliver on my legs. He’s wearing shorts and a pair of baby Nikes which match his jersey. “Look at you, being the cutest boy here.”
Oliver coos in response and lets out a small giggle.
I play with his legs, touch his cheek, and love on him until I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look at Oliver and shake my head. “No, we don’t care who’s behind us, do we?”
He smiles. Another tap.
“Who is it, Oliver? Can you tell me?”
When the person behind me clears their throat, I know it’s my sister.
“Oh phooey,” I say to the baby. “Do you want to see that other sister of yours or stay with your favorite.”
“We’re both his favorite,” Peyton says. “Now hand him over.”
I bring him to me and kiss his fat cheeks before handing him to Peyton. I think about joining my mom, but decide to stay where I am. I turn in my seat and touch Oliver’s leg. “Is Noah ready?”
Peyton shrugs. “It’s a big stage. The biggest of his life. He’s as ready as he’s going to be.”
“It’s too bad you can’t sit with us,” Nola says as she leans into my sister and touches Oliver’s cheek.
Peyton smiles and makes some baby noises at Oliver, which earns her a soft coo. “I’m right where I want to be.”