STAGED

Five

For the past weeks, I've pleaded my case to tour with Asher, but everyone has ignored my arguments. Nicky laughed, and Dad gave me the evil-eye with a firm Ariella. With a tight hug, Nonna spouted a Yoda-esque answer—Understand you do not, but give it time and you will. Even Asher agreed with my dad, saying it would be too tempting to keep me for himself, and he didn't want me to miss out an opportunity to try something new and see the world. God, I wish he was a pessimist.

"What time does your plane leave?" Asher says through the speaker of my iPhone.

"Six tonight. I've four hours to finish packing. This is what I get for waiting until the last minute." I fold another pair of jeans and place them in my suitcase.

"Packing is easy: just take ten pairs of everything, and you will just mix and match stuff."

I roll my eyes. "You're funny, I know you don't do that. You take enormous trunks of clothes with you. I have just this bag and my carry-on."

"Maybe Slone can give up one of his trunks of t-shirts and jeans," he scoffs.

"Don't be judgmental; not everyone can have your impeccable sense of style."

Since becoming famous, Asher's closet is designer everything, right down to his boxer shorts. I'm lucky this is the only thing fame has altered about him...and that he never mocks me for what I wear.

"I hate this. I don't understand why I can't go on the road with you. You're selling out arenas, and your stage is huge." I try to shove the last bit of clothes in my bag and zip it up only to have the zipper get stuck.

"That's not the only thing that is huge," Asher quips.

"Shut up. I'm being serious, you pervert."

"You'll be there for my last show. We're lucky it landed during your break between Europe and North America."

"I guess you're right," I grumble.

"Of course I am. By the way, I saw that you aced your last final."

"Yeah, one year of college down, three more to go." I like school, but it's just another obstacle Asher and I have to work around.

"I'm proud of you, babe," he says before grunting with a yawn.

"Thanks." I sigh, picturing the material of his shirt inching up enough to show the sprinkling of hair under his navel as his body stretches. The mental image makes me smile before it reminds me that he must be exhausted. "Go get some sleep. I'll text you when my plane lands in Dublin."

"Okay. Be safe and don't take any shit from those douchebags." Even if he agrees it's for the best that I tour with The Remnants, it doesn't mean his opinion of them has changed.

"I won't. I love you."

"Love you too."

I disconnect the call and flop on my bed. I hate when our calls end. He's always so exhausted on the road, and our conversations are too short. I miss staying up all night talking until one of us falls asleep with the phone to our ear. Every morning on our way to school, we'd pick up energy drinks to help us stay awake during class. It's memories like this that awake a ping of jealousy towards his career.

I finish packing, drag my bags downstairs, and go in search of Dad. He's sitting on the back porch in one of the two rocking chairs overlooking the woods. A lump forms in my throat. I'm used to going months without seeing him, but there are always things to keep me distracted at home. I don't have to deal with homesickness and trying to connect despite abnormal schedules. My life is about to revolve around my job, and I'm going to sacrifice the things people with regular jobs take for granted.

I step in front of him and take a minute to admire his face. He is never changing to me—the L.A. Lakers snapback he wears backward, his face covered with stubble, and the laugh lines around his mouth and eyes. Dad is the most kind-hearted person I know, and he has such a zeal for life. My mom told me it was the thing that attracted her to him at the beginning of their whirlwind relationship.

"Are you ready to do this, baby girl?" he asks in a lazy, deep voice.

I shake my head and the tears pool in my eyes.

He reaches for my hand and brings me to sit on his lap, and I rest my head on his shoulder.

"I know you don't see it right now, but I promise you that I have your best interest at heart," he says and places a kiss on the top of my head.

There is not a doubt in my mind that his words are true. With my mom not here, Nicky and I have become his life. Everything he does, every step he takes, he considers the outcome for us. The day he left me behind to go on the first tour was the second time I had ever seen him cry. I realized he loved his kids more than anything, and the lengths he would go to for us were endless.

Music fills the air during the forty-five-minute drive to the airport. The cab of Dad's heavy-duty truck resounds with his favorite rock bands from the eighties. I pretend to dread it, but secretly, I love it. Every song fills me with happy memories from my childhood—the soundtrack of my time with Dad.

We pull to the curb designated for the unloading of passengers departing from San Francisco International Airport. Dad removes my luggage from the bed of his truck and joins me on the sidewalk.

"You remembered your passport, right?" He looks over my shoulder while his chin trembles a bit.

"I have it." I tap the purse hanging from my shoulder.

He nods and clears this throat. "Listen to Nicky and keep the fighting to a minimum. Remember this is a job, all right?"

"I will."

He pulls me into a tight bear hug and doesn't let go for a couple of minutes. "I love you, Ariella."

"Love you too, Daddy," I reply into his chest.