Adam and Evie (Part 2; ON GALATEA)

part one | 1

When it came to an end, I jumped up and slid my headphones off again. "You don't think I went too high on that last 'you'? It didn't sound too harsh?"

"Not at all." JJ turned to Andre who was fiddling with some dials on the board. "What'd you think?"

Andre laughed and looked up at me through the glass. "I thought we had the right take ten minutes ago."

There was a chorus of agreements from other members of the team who were scattered throughout the studio.

I beamed, forcing myself not to overthink it, and tugged my headset back on. "Okay. Can we go to the bridge now? There's a riff I wanted to try out, and I'm wondering about having more of a build up of the instrumental. I know it's there, but maybe we can pull it back a bit more before the big hit."

"I like how you think." JJ rolled his chair to a different part of the sound board. "We're making some great progress. I think we might be able to wrap this one today."

I picked up my water to take a quick swig from it. "If I can get this part down."

"You've been solid all day. I'm telling you, this is it. If the world thought they knew you before. . . you're gonna change the game, kid. Get ready."

I froze just as the metal of my bottle touched my lips, his words causing my heart to skip a beat. He was working with me, so he basically had to be encouraging, but even if the words were possibly forced, they still didn't fail to be an instant shot of anxiety to my system.

Of course, I wanted to be successful—it was the only way I could guarantee being able to do this music thing for as long as possible. But to be as successful as he was suggesting, to "change the game". . . Just the thought of it was exhilarating and overwhelming enough to stop me in my tracks. Because even if it was aiming extremely high, on the verge of improbable, it also felt like it was an expectation.

I tried to mask the terrified look on my face by taking my drink.

Suddenly, timed perfectly with my sip, the studio door burst open, and I nearly spit the liquid all over my mic.

Standing in the entryway was a petite but intimidating woman, her arms folded and a stern look on her face. I could've sworn I saw a member of the team mouth an "oh shit".

Because standing in the doorway was my mother.

"Hillary—"

Mom took a few steps into the room, heels clicking on the hardwood, and cut JJ off. "That's it for today. Six hours are up. Evie's done."

I had to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. She's not really doing this again, is she?

I got closer to the mic, amplifying my voice more than I'd expected. "I feel fine, Mom. I can go longer."

She met my eyes through the glass. "I don't want to push you, Evie." She turned to JJ again. "We agreed. Build her back up gradually. Next week, she works for eight. If she's up to it."

"But I'm up to it now. Seriously, Mom, I can—"

"Come on, let's go."

I ground my teeth, steeling myself. "But—"

Mom flashed me a look that used to send me running as a kid. "Now, Evelyn."

I cringed.

We'd now reached the point where her tone sounded like that of scolding a child—which, to her, I guess I'd always be, no matter how old I got or what I accomplished. That was the last impression I wanted to leave with the team. Sure, JJ, called me "kid", but that didn't mean I wanted to be known as one. Something about it didn't necessarily scream "professional singer-songwriter" with a (hopefully) chart-topping record on the way.