Happily Ever After

Cadeau strode up the cement walkway to her parent’s small home, eyeing the imperfections marring the outside. The porch needed to be rebuilt, the shutters repainted, and a few shingles were still missing from the roof from the last major storm. But it was still her childhood home, the modest surroundings she grew up in, and the experiences there fueled her desire to give her daughter a little more than what she had. Not at the fault of her parents’, never at the fault of her parents. Her daughter just didn’t deserve to get made fun of for not having the things other kids had, or for only having two pairs of pants in her whole wardrobe, or for not living in a large home. For not having enough money.

Like she did.

Her parents tried. They did. And Cadeau was trying as hard as she could to give Jolie everything she deserved. She hoped Jolie realized that when she got older, that she didn’t come to resent her for not being able to provide for her the way she was supposed to.

Well, if she got the spot in Say Goodbye, she wouldn’t have to worry about being able to provide for her daughter.

Cadeau entered her parents’ home, didn’t bother knocking, didn’t need to pull out her copy of their house key to open their door. She just walked in, and the quiet door alerted no one of her entrance. She really needed to talk to her parents about their habit of leaving the door unlocked while they were home. It was hardly safe, even in the decent neighborhood that surrounded their home. She didn’t want them getting hurt. She didn’t want her daughter hurt. The very thought made her anxiety spike.

She walked through the front hallway and into the kitchen, where her mother stood at the stove, cooking who-knew-what.

“Hey, mom,” Cadeau said.

Her mother looked up from the dish, smiled warmly, and left her spot at the stove to cross the kitchen and hug Cadeau. “Hi, honey,” she mumbled against her hair. When she pulled away, she asked, “How was work?”

Work. The word prompted one image, and it wasn’t of the annoying teenage customer who thought he knew more about guitars than she did or the four customers who played Stairway to Heaven and thought they were guitar gods. No, Sage flitted through her mind. More so, the olive branch she seemed to offer by acknowledging Cadeau could be on tour and the submission that resulted in her handing over her guitar. Progress. Amazing, wonderful progress. Though it wasn’t much and Cadeau wasn’t quite sure what prompted it, it meant a lot.

And she hadn’t stopped thinking about it, replaying the scene in her head at any free moment.

She couldn’t help herself.

But she didn’t reveal the major leap to her mother, because she hadn’t told her mother about the minor—major—conflict that threatened her opportunity to join a successful band. Instead, she said, “Good. More repairs, a couple sales, Lee goes on vacation in a week.” She nodded to the stove, where steam raised from the pot in heavy streams. “What are you making?”

“Spaghetti,” her mother responded. “Jolie was hungry. I figured you could take whatever’s left home with you.”

Subtle attempts at helping ease Cadeau’s situation. Her mother did that. Frequently. Cadeau didn’t think she could help it. Her mother was trying to give her what she couldn’t give her as a kid and trying to lessen the strain of having a child on Cadeau. Because her mother felt she owed her, though Cadeau didn’t see it that way. Still, she accepted the little things her mother did for her—like sending home food and candies and other treats, or buying new toys and crayons for Jolie, or doing her laundry on a particularly busy day.

Because she knew she’d never have gotten as far as she had without the help of both her parents.

Cadeau smiled gratefully. “Thanks, mom.”

***

“She fixes guitars.”

Laying on Blake and Saylor’s bed, fingers mindless brushing over their dog Sebastian’s fur, Sage stared up at the ceiling, still trying to wrap her mind around the new bit of information. Cadeau, that pretty thing that was becoming their drummer, could fix instruments. And she worked at a music store. And she played the drums.

But she looked so normal.

Saylor’s voice drifted from the walk-in closet. “You didn’t know that?”

Sage lifted herself on her elbows, eyes on the agape closet door. “She looks like a Barbie doll. Was I supposed to assume Barbie fixed guitars?”

“Barbie’s in a band. It’s only a matter of time before they make Guitar Tech Barbie.” Saylor stepped out of the closet, clad in jeans and a black lace bra, a shirt in each hand. She held one up to her body. “This one?” She held the other up. “Or this one.”

Saylor repeated the motions twice, allowing Sage to mull over which of her two shirts would be better suited for the abuse victims’ meeting they were to attend. Nothing heavy today, they’d just grab coffee and chat in the calming atmosphere of a café. About the good things, the accomplishments they’d all made in the past week.

“Barbie does do everything,” Sage remarked absentmindedly. “I like the white one.”

“She’s not a prostitute. Yet.” Saylor held the white shirt at eye level. Light fabric, long sleeves, flowing, perfect for their meeting. Nodding, she strolled back into the walk-in closet.

“You knew she could fix guitars?” Sage asked, continuing on her topic of interest.

Could she help being interested? Cadeau was actually good for something. Aside from playing the role of Say Goodbye’s new drummer, and if Sage had to begrudgingly admit under the threat of execution, she was pretty good at drums, too.

Their brief meeting at Charlie’s made her reconsider disliking—not hating, she never did hate her—Cadeau. Only enough to give her a chance. One chance. She deserved that much.

And Sage wasn’t looking for any excuse she could use to hate her, despite what Cadeau thought.

“Reese told us.”

“Not Cadeau?”

Saylor emerged from the closet, donning the shirt Sage picked. “Nope,” she said and sat next to Sage on the bed.

“Weird.”

Cadeau should have been marketing herself, telling the band about everything she could do. Regardless of how relevant it was to the position she was trying to get. Besides, Sage assumed what she did for a living would have come up in “bonding” conversations.

“She doesn’t really say much at practice,” Saylor shrugged. “Shows up, plays the drums, and leaves. No one can get her to stay after.”

“But you still approve of her.”

The deadpan statement was more to clarify Saylor’s blind acceptance of Cadeau’s character. She didn’t know Cadeau. At all. Aside from the small things Reese, and perhaps Cadeau, told the band. And she decided she was a good enough person to defend against Sage’s anger.

Sage had been under the impression they had a heart-to-heart, that Saylor and Cadeau bonded over some topic she wasn’t privy to knowing.

“Well, yeah. She’s a sweetheart.”

“But you don’t know anything about her. She could be a serial killer. Or a crazy fan plotting to kidnap your wife.”

Saylor sighed. “And here I thought you were done disliking her.”

This wasn’t about disliking her.

“I’m trying to prove a point.”

Cadeau was a stranger. They let a stranger into the band. Did they even do a background check? She could be a danger to them. She could hurt them. Because no one took the chance to make sure she was right for the band.

Except Reese.

Who was Cadeau’s friend.

And Sage’s friend.

She was supposed to trust his judgment.

Sage sighed. “I’m just… I don’t know…”

Saylor seemed to understand. She covered her hand with her own, a comforting gesture to handle the conflicting thoughts thrashing around Sage’s head.

“How about we have a Say Goodbye pool party here, force Cadeau to show up. That way, you’re in the territory you feel comfortable and we can get to know her. All of us, not just you.”

Having Cadeau in her house, in her backyard, in her pool, eating her food, enjoying herself. She couldn’t handle that. She could barely hand over her guitar to Cadeau and inviting her to her house was pushing her limits. Couldn’t she just interact with her at practice? Minimal interaction. Smile at her. Stop picking on her. Talk about the weather. Baby steps. Saylor was trying to make her jump into freezing cold water.

Or however the saying went.

“I’ll think about it,” Sage mumbled.

Saylor was pushing her for a reason, she supposed, and she could humor her friend by taking a few days to consider having a party.

“That’s all I’m asking.”