Worry Rock

Rachel and I both sat on the patio next to each other; watching Sydney play with Charlie by the pool. Rachel ran a hand through her hair slowly, taking a sip from the can of soda that rested on the table. She looked over at me, slowly arching an eyebrow. "Where's Billie?"

I looked over at Rachel, eyeing her suspiciously. "He told me he was going out with Mike and Tre today."

The 40-year old woman looked back at me oddly. "I'm not sure what Tre he's speaking about, but my husband is out with Frankito."

"Are you sure he wasn't lying?"

"Yeah," she said softly, "I was there when Frankito showed up." Rachel paused momentarily. "Are you sure Billie wasn't lying?"

"Of course," I answered simply, not looking over at her.

I saw Rachel smirk and stick her tongue out playfully at me, knowing that I was a terrible liar. "I'm sure either one of them is with Mike."

I nodded slowly before turning to look at Rachel, curling my two legs underneath my body. "You know what Billie Joe and I had a fight about the other day?" I asked her.

"The usual shit married couples get into fights about?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

I laughed, nodding. "Well yeah, but that's just about every other day. But he- well, actually, it was sort of my fault, but we had a slight argument over Travis."

"Again?"

"What do you mean again?" I spluttered, "We don't fight about Travis much. That'd be stupid."

Rachel rolled her eyes playfully, deciding not to open a conversation about the good-looking friend of ours. "Hey, you know what?"

I looking down, picking a piece of lint from my sweat pants. "No. Please enlighten me on your knowledge."

She laughed softly, tapping her fingernails on the table. "You said you and Billie Joe are having problems."

"No I didn't-"

"Shut up. Yes you did." She paused as I laughed, grinning. "Maybe it's because you've been married for thirteen years."

I quirked an eyebrow, scraping my thumb against my front teeth. "So what are you telling me?" I asked slowly, "That's our expiration date?"

Rachel grinned once again, shaking her head. "No, but I mean. Thirteen. You know. Lucky number thirteen."

"I thought thirteen was unlucky," I pondered.

The older woman rolled her eyes, sighing. "You're a damn blonde, you know that Mandy?"

I giggled, nodding. "Billie tells me that a lot."

Rachel laughed before continuing. "I'm saying, that maybe you two are arguing over stupid shitty stuff because you've been married for thirteen years."

I groaned, running my hand through my hair. "You're one of those superstitious creeps, aren't you?"

The dirty-blonde haired woman stared at me, her mouth hanging open. "What's so creepy about it? And no, I am not. I'm just saying. Jesus, Mandy, everyone knows about thirteen."

"It's just a number."

Rachel shook her head, sticking up a finger to shut me up. "But an unlucky number, while we're at it."

I just blinked, looking at her is if she were insane making her roll her eyes. "So you're saying," I started, "That because Billie Joe and I have been married for thirteen years, and have had a few arguments this year, we're going to split up?"

"No. But it's bad luck."

"Well when you and Tre have been married for thirteen damn years I'll be sure to remind you of the number thirteen every morning."

Rachel snorted, flicking a strand of hair from her eyes. "You do that, sweetie, but take what I'm saying into consideration."

I just stared at my best friend for a moment, licking my bottom lip slowly. "Okay, Rach."

***

He was in a pissed off mood when he called that evening from wherever him and the boys had gone, so I knew not to poke around for information. To be happy with the detail that I did have. I sat, curled up, listening to my husband swear and insult the poor pedestrians that had crossed his path, walking on the streets in Oakland.

Why the hell does he call me when he's like this?

"So...how's your day?" I asked, trying to start conversation.

"Wonderful."

I rolled my eyes, sighing. "What'd you and the boys do?"

"Tre's not here," he grumbled, "He's out with his son. You know, I wish I could get out of this shit to hang out with Sydney. I try to take a day away from these asswipes to stay home and be with you and Sydney, and it's all 'No no, Billie. You take too many days off.' I haven't taken nearly as many days off as they have."

In my mind I was silently shoving the fact that my husband hadn't lied in Rachel's face. I was quiet for a moment before remembering that he was probably waiting for a response. "...Oh."

"Not that you'd care," I heard him mutter bitterly.

"What?" I asked softly, confused.

"Nothing, nothing."

"Billie, don't you dare start that shit," I warned.

"Start what shit?"

"Where you start to mumble under your breath, and I don't hear you. And then when I ask what you go all fucking snotty on me."

I heard Billie Joe huff angrily to himself as he still decided to be an ass. "I've got to go," he finally muttered, "I'll talk to you later. Don't wait up for me."

***

The oak door to the California house was pulled open quickly as I brushed a loose hair from my eyes. My nail brushed my forehead as I froze, staring at who stood in front of me, a smug smile on their lips. I felt my throat become dry for a moment, only allowing me to blink. "M-mot-"

"Hello to you, too." She spoke in a quiet, yet spiteful tone.

"What are you doing here?" I croaked.

The taller woman smiled in a fake way, inviting herself into the large home. "I don't have reason to come and visit you?" She laughed bitterly. "You move in with your rockstar husband and leave your family behind?"

"I didn't leave anyone behind," I mumbled, avoiding eye contact. "It's just no one decided to follow. Not that I wanted many to do."

My mother's lip curled as she rolled her eyes, shoving her hands in her pocket of her blazer. "Is your darling husband here?" she asked.

I shook my head, wishing he was. "No. He's, uh, he's at the studio with his band mates."

"Still doing that shit, hmm?"

"Shit? He makes music."

"Of course," she said simply, picking up a framed wedding picture of Billie and I that had rested on the mental piece in the lounge. "Cute."

"I-thanks," I spluttered, confused. She'd never been the one to compliment, nor approve of Billie Joe. I felt her eyes on me as she looked back up, crossing her arms. "Mom," I finally managed, "Mom, why are you here? How do you know where I live?"

"I forgot what you looked like," she said, twisting a strand of hair around her finger, "The last I saw of you was at your brothers house. A picture." She laughed bitterly. "That's a lovely way for a mother to see her daughter."

"You never cared before," I said in a soft voice.
"Of course I did. You're my only daughter." She laughed once again. "It's a shame to see you wasted your life with this man." She motioned to Billie Joe in the picture.

I looked to the door desperately, praying that my husband would step through at anytime, despite the argument we had had earlier. "There's nothing wrong with Billie Joe. He's an amazing man."

"Sweetie, that's what they all say. I bet he's out fucking a twenty-seven blonde bimbo right now."

I winced at her words. I had been cheated on once before, and it was the worst feeling I had ever felt. Heartbreak.

My mother looked over at me, the blue eyes I had inherited from her flickering upon my features. "Couples don't last forever."

"That's not true," I argued.

The older woman just snorted and shook her head, picking up a framed school picture of Sydney now. She turned back around to face me, holding it up. "Who's this?"

I just looked at her for a moment, my mouth becoming dry once again. "Our- Our daughter. Sydney. She's thirteen. Fourteen this August."

The brunette-haired woman stared at me, her fingers curled around the edge of the wooden frame. "Your daughter?"

"Yes."

My mother looked at me, un-impressed. "Lovely. You move out with this son-of-a-gun, and he knocks you up."

"He didn't mean to."

She rolled her eyes. "Right. He didn't mean to stick his dick in you. He just tripped and fell and landed that way."

I cringed at her words, avoiding eye contact. "No. I mean he didn't try as in he didn't mean to get me pregnant. Protection didn't work well."

She laughed bitterly. "No shit, sweetheart." She shook her head slowly. "It's too bad you wasted your life with him. I never liked rockstars," she paused momentarily. "They break their promises like your brother used to break his bones."

My brother, Adam, had been in football for most of his life. Highschool football, and he was a fragile guy. Never big boned; which meant he broke his bones over and over again throughout the years from being tackled.

"Billie's different," I grumbled.

I looked up at her as she arched an eyebrow; a thin smile creeping onto her lips. "He's different? And how is that?"

"He doesn't lie to me. He doesn't cheat. He always wants to be with Sydney and I. He's faithful."

She snorted and shook her head; pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Men are dogs, Amanda. Especially men like him." She pointed to Billie Joe in the picture. "They want what they can have, and they can have anything. They lie. He's probably a better liar than he is a singer."

"We've been together for nearly thirteen years, ma. I'd know if he was lying by now."

The older woman smiled thinly again. "Relationships don't last, Amanda. Look at your father and I."

"Dad and you didn't love each other," I snapped, "You two were bound for divorce."

She sighed, now running a hand through her long hair. "You two won't last. I've seen it plenty of times. You're so damn gullible. You're a pretty girl; and unfortunately that's probably all that man sees. That's all he ever saw."

"Shut up," I snapped, "You don't know, Billie Joe, mother."

"But I do know that men don't change." She laughed harshly. "He's divorced. There was a reason behind the divorce-"

"He was never home," I interrupted.

"That's what they all say. You hear that with every damn divorced celebrity out there. For all anyone knows, he could have been abusive."

"Don't," I spat, "Don't you dare go there, mother."

"I'm stating the facts, dear. You haven't struck gold. You've struck fools gold."

I shook my head slowly. "No I haven't. He's an amazing man."

"He got you pregnant when you were twenty. You two got married after you had your daughter. The man isn't that amazing or he would have watched where his dick went."

"I think it's time you left," I muttered.

She arched an eyebrow, smiling wickedly. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Please. Go."

She just stared at me before nodding. "Fine. But when you file for divorce, know what I told you." She smirked, walking over to the door. "Mother knows best."

***

I shot up on the mattress; my hand pressing it's self on my chest. I looked around the room slowly although my eyes weren't adjusted to the darkness.

It was a dream.

I closed my eyes slowly; breathing deeply. Your mother wasn't here today. It was a dream. It's not true.

I opened my eyes once again; hearing a loud snore shatter the silence in the bedroom. I looked over next to me; barely able to make the outline of my husband in the darkness, the dim glow of the moon being the only source of light.

When had I fallen asleep?

When did he get home?

There was a silence once again except for the sound of Billie Joe's shallow breathing. And I found myself wanting to be near him; to cuddle with him despite the argument we had had that evening. I pushed myself so that my front was pressed against his bare back; my arm slowly wrapping it's self around his waist, somehow waking him up. "Mfhemrm- Wha?" he croaked, looking over his shoulder.

"Ssh," I whispered, "Go to sleep."

For a moment everything became still; until Billie Joe shifted his body so that he lay facing me on his side, his eyes barely open. He placed his cold hand on my arm, pushing me over so that I lay with my back to him; his bare chest now pressed against my back. He snaked his arm around my waist like I had done before to him, tangling his limbs with my own.

Mother knows best.