“Blonde. I’d guess twenties or thirties, but maybe not.”
“Well, I can’t help you there.” She shrugs. “The guest list was extensive. Everyone brought dates.”
“Wait. There was a guest list? Do you still have it?”
My mother rolls her eyes. “How do you think I manage my parties without a guest list? Seriously, Leighton. It’s as if you’ve lost everything we ever taught you. One month with this rock business and you’ve turned into a mongrel.”
My patience is thin but I manage to keep my tone even. “The list. Do you have it?”
“I don’t know, dear. I’ll look for it in a little while. Come, we’re having breakfast in the dining room. Unfortunately, your father had to catch a flight up to the San Francisco office and won’t be joining us.”
“I’ll grab something later. If you could get me that list?”
“Breakfast. We’re not animals.” Her glare is hard and she spins on her heels. She stomps away, my argument cut off.
In the dining room there’s an elaborate table setting, along with more food than she and I could eat in one week. Of course, she’s prepared none of it. My heart pangs for Opal. I long for her simple home-cooked meals. I miss everything about her.
Over stilted conversation, I get through the meal with my mother. I’m about to ask about the guest list again, when she clears her throat and speaks first.
She pushes her plate to the side and clasps her hands on her lap. “Leighton. It’s time we discussed your future.” Here we go. The lecture I’ve been expecting and avoiding. “I hope you enjoyed your little adventure, because it’s time you get your life back on track.”
The old me would sit back and smile through her words. Accept my fate, the path of least resistance. But I’m done with that. Straightening my spine, I meet her gaze across the table. Emotion wells in my chest, but I focus on communicating how I feel. “You know I loved every second. That playing in the band made me feel more alive than any other performance.”
“That’s lovely.” She smiles politely. “But you need to resume your practice schedule. Julliard is only one month away.”
I laugh, more from my mother’s total denial of reality, and shake my head. “Only, I’m not going. I delayed my admission. Remember?”
She waves a hand, dismissing my decision and my feelings. “Don’t be ridiculous. Your father called the dean. It wasn’t easy, but our hefty donation did the trick.”
I stare, long and hard because I need her to understand she can’t do this anymore. “I’m not going.”
Her face reddens and her brow creases with lines of displeasure. Her voice is sharp and stern. “Leighton Wellington, you will not throw your life away.”
“My life. Mine. You forget I’m an adult and not your pet. I did everything you asked for eighteen years. I won’t throw away any more.”
“So, what? You’re going to join a band? Live on the streets in LA? I will not support this vagabond lifestyle. You won’t see a penny from your father or me.”
“I don’t expect you to support me financially. I don’t need your money.” My voice is hard, but it’s sadness that fills my soul. “But you know what would’ve been nice? To know your love extends further than your checkbook and social connections.”
“That checkbook afforded you everything.”
“Not everything.” I smile sadly. “Maybe one day you’ll see that before it’s too late.” Pushing my chair back, I rise from my seat, knowing what I have to do next. What I should have done two weeks ago. I walk around the table and give her a hug. Her body stills with the contact. Hell, I’ve likely stunned her, but she doesn’t push me away. “Bye, Mom.”
I’m halfway to the door when she raises her voice. “You’re just going to leave.”
I turn back and nod. “I am.”
“You walk out that door and you are no longer my son. Do you understand that?” The lines she works so hard to hide are prevalent with her scowl. There’s no use in arguing. She doesn’t understand. She won’t even listen.
Though my heart longs for a relationship we’ve never shared, I will be fine without her. The hurt I feel for my mom is minuscule compared to how my heart breaks for Opal.
I go to my room, and taking only a duffle bag of clothes, head for the door. This time I don’t bother with an Uber; I’m on a budget after all, and the walk to the bus stop does me good. Pulling my cell from my back pocket, I do what I’ve been aching to do for weeks.
My finger hovers over her name. I doubt she’ll answer, or talk to me, but I won’t allow that fear to keep me from trying. After one ring it goes straight to voicemail.
“Opal, it’s me. I’m sorry for how things ended. I miss you. I’ve never stopped missing you. I know an apology doesn’t change what I did. But I’d like to talk, if you’ll give me the chance. I did a lot of wrong things. But loving you wasn’t one of them. I should have been honest with you from the start. I also should’ve called sooner, but I was in a bad place. I’m changing that now. I’m going to make you proud. And when you’re ready, even if it’s years from now, call me back. I hope you’re okay. I think of you every day. Thousands of moments. I love you. Bye.”
35
