Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Long seconds ticked by, her mother’s expression inscrutable.
Then a laugh started to unfurl from her mouth, building slowly into a jumble of loud, hysterical notes echoing off the walls of the jail cell. “I wouldn’t appear onstage with that judgmental cow if she was the last person on earth.”
Melody already had one foot in the grave, might as well lie down in it and roll around.
“She already agreed to the reunion.”
That marked the first time she’d ever truly shocked her mother—and Melody would be lying if she said that reaction didn’t enliven her. Challenging the status quo of their relationship was one of the reasons she’d agreed to participate in Wreck the Halls, wasn’t it?
Trina pushed off the wall. “You’re telling me that old hag wants to reunite?”
“That’s what I’m telling you,” Melody deadpanned. “Christmas Eve. Are you in?”
“Absolutely not.”
While Melody had been expecting that response, she’d gotten a lot more invested in the outcome of this mission—perhaps unwisely so—and Trina’s definitive answer hit her in the middle of the chest like a hurled dagger. The blade might have lodged in deeper, but then Melody saw something beyond shock on her mother’s face. Something like . . . hope.
She could do this.
She’d found the edge of the tape, now she simply had to pry it up with her fingernail.
“The world is watching, Mom. As if people weren’t already clamoring for this reunion, now ‘Rattle the Cage’ has gone viral after three decades. If Melvin and TripleDCop are an accurate sampling, the viewership is hyped. Think of the fans.”
Trina laughed, but the mirth never reached her eyes. “The fans hate me. And they fucking love her. That’s how it has always been.”
“I . . .” Melody shook herself out of a daze. “I never knew you felt that way.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Trina rushed to add, jabbing the air with her finger. “I don’t give a shit. I’m just stating the facts.”
“Right.”
Trina definitely gave a shit.
“I don’t care if they all condemn me for what they think happened. I’m happy. I’m up here living free in the giddy mountain air while she’s down in New York, in her gilded cage, rolling around in phony frippery.”
Melody started to respond but found herself momentarily overcome.
“What?” Trina spat, folding her arms over her chest.
“Nothing,” Melody managed, after a few moments. “It’s just that sometimes I forget you were the lyricist. That you’re incredible with words.”
Trina turned away. To hide the softening of her eyes? “There’s nothing you’ll say to make me agree to reunite Steel Birds, Melody Anne. Octavia is the one who asked for the breakup in the first place.”
A sharp pang hit Melody just above the collarbone. “She is? I never knew. No one really knows what happened. I mean, speculation about a love triangle has always been there, but I’ve always wondered if the press was sensationalizing.”
“If only.” Trina didn’t say anything for long moments. “Oh, kid. It’s such a cliché. That’s what ticks me off the most, you know?” Trina faced her again, disgust evident in the brackets around her mouth. “We swore from day one, we’ll never be normal. We’ll never be normal. But look what happened. A penis came between us. A human man. Not even a half-decent one.” She appeared lost in thought for a beat. “Maybe I am the villain of her story, but I’m the hero of my own. I’m going to keep on being that for myself, if it’s all right with the world.”
This woman, her mother, had no idea that every sentence out of her mouth was a hit song. God. God, it was so intimidating. Standing in that jail cell, Melody felt like a lackluster teenage girl again, without a single merit that could bring her worldwide fame. The talent hadn’t been passed to the next generation. It ended with Trina. Melody was just a quiet echo of something extraordinary.
Melody reached down deep, trying to tap into all the lessons she’d soaked up over the last decade and a half of therapy, but all she found was a dull, monotone baseline. A dead radio station.
What had she told Beat on the plane? They get to just be people? Maybe it would be easier to remember that later, when she wasn’t staring greatness in the face.
“What’s going on with you and the son?”
She was too winded to lie. “I don’t know.”
Trina shivered. “He is her clone. I can see it. Be wise and be careful.”
“Careful of what?”
“That feeling. The one that says someone is always going to be there. In this life, Melody Anne, you can’t depend on anyone but yourself. Haven’t I told you that before?”
“No. You’ve shown me.”
Trina reared back a touch, expression turning guarded. “I’ve what?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Say it.”
It was getting harder to draw a breath. She’d never, ever been critical of her mother out loud. Who was she to nitpick a lyrical genius? Who was she to try and analyze, pin down, pigeonhole a famously free spirit? Not her. Not the sweaty girl with braces.