“I’m going to be doing exactly that,” Cash said. “I have a kid now.”
“His mom was kind of a local girl,” Tripp said. “Did you know her before you blew up?”
“I thought so,” Cash heard himself say.
“Youthought so?”Tripp echoed.
Cash blew out a slow breath and weighed whether or not he should, or even could, talk about it.
Honestly, he’d wanted to unburden himself for years. But the story made him seem like a fool. And besides, who wanted to listen to a rich musician feeling sorry for himself?
“You don’t have to tell me,” Tripp said.
“I want to,” Cash heard himself say.
“Yeah?” Tripp asked.
Cash decided to just get it all out before he changed his mind.
“Before I broke out, I was on this indie music forum calledRiffs,” he began. “It was just a place to talk about the indie scene, and there was a section on there for local New England music. Honestly, it was mostly just a ton of people on there complaining about the music scene up here.”
“I hate to break it to you, man,” Tripp said. “But that’s kind of what the internet is.”
“I probably wouldn’t have stuck around for long, but there was this one girl on there,” Cash said, smiling at the memory. “She wasn’t there to tear anything down. You could name any band that played in any hole in the wall within a hundred miles, and she would find something nice to say about them. Me included, even when I was still figuringout my sound.”
“Breath of fresh air,” Tripp said, nodding thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” Cash said. “She really had the best opinions on just about everything. I finally got up the nerve to private message her one night, and we hit it off right away. I was kind of shy about posting a lot of my thoughts in the group, but she was so easy to talk to—never made me feel dumb.”
“Why would you feel dumb?” Tripp asked.
“I don’t know,” Cash said, shrugging, and not wanting to answer.
“Because you were just a dairy farmer, right?” Tripp asked. “I feel like that myself sometimes.”
“No way,” Cash laughed. “You’re the most confident person I know.”
“Until about two minutes ago, I would have said the same thing about you, buddy,” Tripp said, arching an eyebrow.
“Fair enough,” Cash said, nodding.
“So, what happened with the girl?” Tripp asked. “Did you meet up in real life?”
“She didn’t want to exchange real names,” Cash said. “And she didn’t want to meet. Not even when we started to have real feelings for each other.”
Tripp frowned, and Cash figured he was about to ask him if he thought there was some reason for her to be so secretive—like maybe she wasn’t as young as she claimed, or maybe she was embarrassed about her appearance. He’d wondered about that himself. But Cash knew in his heart that he honestly wouldn’t have caredhow old she was or what she looked like. That wasn’t what he loved about her.
“So, you’re just online friends?” Tripp asked.
“We were. My publicist deleted my socials back when I signed on to tour with The Mufflers,” Cash said. “And by the time I made a new account, she was gone already.”
“She liked you too,” Tripp said. “That’s why she left when you ghosted her. I don’t blame her.”
“I didn’t mean to ghost her,” Cash said softly. “I messaged her, told her I was in love with her. And that I’d have tickets waiting for her at every show I ever play.”
“Romantic,” Tripp said appreciatively.
“I guess,” Cash said, smiling. “Anyway, the only clue I had about her real life was that she made the County All-Stars Orchestra in high school. So, when I headlined for the first time that night in Burlington, and I spotted a girl in the crowd screaming and smiling and wearing a County All-Stars Orchestra t-shirt, I knew it was her. It had to be. She had seen my message and come to surprise me.”
