It’s more than pride. It’s about reclaiming my sense of self after being used as fodder for someone else’s benefit.
Joplin pushes off the table, approaching me. “You know I’m all for holding on to grudges, but Misty does have a point. Maybe you can make someconnections while you’re out there.” Her eyes are soft. A dark-green forest of empathy and encouragement. “Get a jump start on your dreams.”
I sigh.
Lex’s agent has tried calling me three more times. Two voicemails pleading his case. But I refuse to show up at that gala, grinning for the cameras, while Lex sits back and basks in the glory of his so-called redemption.
I’m done being part of his narrative. I’m done letting him dictate my story. If he wants to make amends, he’ll have to find another way.
Still, I throw them a bone to end the interrogation. “I’ll think about it,” I lie.
The three of us gather our purses and belongings, and an hour later, I’m in my happy place.
Mr. Hamlin greets me with a warm smile, his silver hair catching the low amber light as he hands me a glass of water. “Stevie!”
“Hey, Mr. Hamlin.” I take a sip of water, and it feels like a boulder slogging down my throat.
“What will it take to get you to call me Henry after all these years?”
I chuckle. “My parents would never approve.”
“I do appreciate good manners.” He swivels away from me in his lime-green suspenders, readjusting a pair of wire-framed glasses. “Very lively crowd tonight. It’s extra packed.”
My eyes dart around the bustling space. It is busier, and I can’t help but wonder if the added turnout has something to do with my sudden notoriety. I take another drink of water, forcing my nerves to settle into something quieter, warmer. “Is it weird that I’m nervous?”
“Not at all.” He shuffles behind the bar, assisting his wife with an order on the register. His glasses dip down his nose as he squints at the screen. “Nerves are the heart’s way of reminding you that you care. If you weren’t nervous, then we’d have something to worry about.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, pursing my lips. “Tonight just feels…different. Like something is about to change.”
He peers up at me. “I suppose this may have something to do with Lexington’s television show, yes?”
My stomach pitches. “Perchance.”
“Take it as a compliment, my dear. Let it roll off you. Clearly, you made an impact on his life, and he turned that connection into a story that touched the world. He immortalized you with art.”
“Did you see the ending?”
“I did,” he says. “I thought it was beautiful and poetic.”
“It was dark and depressing.”
“Perhaps he was projecting, Stevie. I saw it as his way of telling the world he doesn’t think he deserves you.”
My jaw clamps, an emotion-fueled response fizzling out on my tongue. I know Mr. Hamlin means well, but we will never see eye to eye on this.
I glance down at my red-tipped fingernails. “Sure.”
Mr. Hamlin goes quiet, finishing the transaction with a pleasant nod to the customer before turning toward me and pressing forward on the bar top. “You don’t agree.”
A shrug.
“Well, what are you going to do about it then?”
“Keep going, I guess. Move on.”
“Precisely.”
“Make music.” The glimmer of a smile returns. “Make my own kind of music.”
