I'm not sure that I'm ready to face everyone. Not only do I have to worry about the tension and awkwardness surrounding Jensen, but I also have to worry about the 20 questions game with everyone else.
What have you been doing? What's L.A. like? How does it feel to be famous? I'm not by the way. Have you met this celebrity? How successful have you been?
And then we have the doozy of them all. Why are you back here?
I don't want to tell everyone that I've been so sad about my life that my work suffered, and I was forced to take a leave of absence or get fired. No, that would be embarrassing, and it would make others think I couldn't cut it out there. Especially the people I left to pursue it.
My stomach is the equivalent of what it feels like to take too many spins in the washing machine. Nerves to face Jensen, the people I left, to feel like I'm under the magnifying glass because I'm one of the few people who actually left this town. Nerves all together. I haven't seen this many people since I've moved back and once I go there today, everyone will know I'm home now. No more hiding.
Am I ready for that? Am I ready to face the music? I guess there's no use in hiding now, especially since I'll be a part of Lorraine's upcoming wedding.
After my little pep talk to myself, I'm feeling a bit better. I'm not even quite sure what to wear. It's a weird time of the year for North Carolina since it's May because it's bordering the summer and spring, so she can't make up her mind whether she wants to be cold, hot, or comfortable.
After sifting through my closet and trying to find something that can balance the change in temperature, I choose to wear a pair of jeans, my Sperry's, and a cute, white flowy top that hangs off the shoulders and has a slit down the middle of the back. It's cute, it's simple, and fitting for a cookout.
During the time it takes me to get ready, apply makeup and straighten my hair, the nerves are back in full force. I know that I'm not gonna get anywhere by hiding out and staying away from things that make me uncomfortable. That's not going to help me better my music or better myself.
I just need to grab my nerves and fears by the balls and send them packing to somewhere they won't come back from.
I finally gather the strength to leave my house and head over to Jensen's, but the sound of my phone ringing stops me in my tracks. I would ignore it if it weren't the ringtone for my boss.
"Hello."
"Baya. Kid. How's it going?"
"Uh, it's going good. I'm just about to head to a party." I'm not trying to rush him off the phone, but man does Brant have crappy timing.
"I am so glad that you're getting out and doing things, Baya. It's exactly what I asked you to do." His tone mirrors that of a fake happy tone, and I get the feeling that he's not calling me with good news. "I'm calling you to talk about the song you sent in yesterday."
"Okay. What about it? I actually felt decent about that one once I got started with it."
"No, no, it's...it's okay. It's just not what we're looking for. I mean I think it has potential, but I'm worried that the bridge doesn't make sense and the chorus is too...generic." He sounds exasperated which only furthers my frustration with him. My lyrics are generic? What the hell is he thinking?
"Is this you talking or is it the board?"
"It's... well, it's all of us. It just needs some work, okay? This seems like 90s Alanis Morissette, and I'm looking for something that's more...in this era. If you change up the bridge chord, switch a few of the lyrics and raise the melody two keys, we might could work with it. Give it a try, will you?"
"Yeah," I say sweetly through gritted teeth. I say a quick goodbye and angrily shove my phone in my back pocket.
And they wonder why I'm not happy. Literally nothing I write is good for them anymore. It's too old school, too fresh, it's generic, it needs work. Why the hell can't they just enjoy me and my writing for what it is? I don't think my writing is shit, I just don't think they have the right artists interested. That, or they need to pull their heads out of their ass.
I'm not conceited by any means; I just know that I'm not getting the credit I deserve. I'm all for doing the work, especially if I agree. I just don't see the issue. But at the same time, maybe I'll like the version they're suggesting better.
But for today, I get to be pissed because I feel like they're taking me for granted. They wouldn't have hired me if I didn't have talent. I just wish they would trust in me more.
I need to get over to the cookout. I was pushing time before Brant called and after hearing that, I know I must be running late. Looking down at my watch, I see that it's a little after 2.
I guess I'll just be fashionably late then. All the best guests are.
I walk the edge of the lake, following the gravel path that breaks off and heads in the direction of Jensen's house. I hope they have alcohol today because I feel like I'm going to need liquid courage to get through this. If not, I already have a chilled bottle of Moscato waiting for me in the refrigerator at home.
I hear the music before I even get to the house. Early 2000s R&B grace my ears as I come close to the house. Jensen is on the deck cooking at the grill while everyone else is mingling out in the yard around the fold-out tables. There's cornhole set up to the other side of the eating area and coolers full of drinks lined underneath the deck.
Everyone is here it seems like. Local business owners, some people we went to high school with, and various other people from around town that I've seen in passing over the years. There are a few faces I don't recognize, but I don't pay too much attention to them.
Jensen looks up from the grill, taking in the crowd. He locks eyes with me, and I freeze up, not sure what to do. He simply furrows his eyebrows and scrunches his nose a bit before turning back to the grill. I'm not sure what to make of it. Lorraine promised that he'd be on his best behavior so I'm trusting in that.
We can get along for a couple of hours, right?
As if she can sense my uneasiness, Lorraine bounces over to me with a smile beaming on her face and wraps me up in her embrace.
"I'm so glad you could come!" Her grip on me tightens before she lets go, pulling back to look at me. "You look so cute. Come on. Let's get you a drink."
"Please tell me it's stronger than your average soda," I plead.
"Oh, absolutely," she simpers.
We head to the deck and stand beneath at a table with various liquors and mixers. I stand and wait while Lorraine fixes me a margarita—one that's sure to make the hair grow on my chest. Her words, not mine.
Lorraine looks up and a shit-eating grin spreads across her face. She yells at a taller man with red hair and kind eyes. He comes over to us and kisses her on the cheek. The grin somehow grows wider as he takes her in his embrace. She then introduces him as her fiancée, Mason, and we exchange handshakes in return.
"I've heard so much about you, Baya."
"Likewise," I smile. "I hope it's only good things you've heard."
"Some crazy teenage stories, girl talk, typical best friend stuff," he says in a tone that suggests he knows all my dirty secrets. I look towards Lorraine who just smiles at me.
"Hey Lorraine," a young, feminine voice sounds behind me. She starts talking to Lorraine but when I turn around, her sentence falls short.
"Hey Lyla. Long time no see." I smile at her, remembering the little ten-year-old girl who used to follow me around like a lost puppy.
Her expression shifts from shock to pure rage. She shifts her gaze between her sister and me a bunch of times before she looks at me and scowls.
"What the hell is she doing here?" Lyla snaps.
"I invited her, Lyla. I want her here," Lorraine defends.
"Well, I don't."
What the hell? What did I ever do to her? Things were fine between the two of us when I left. The little girl I remember is certainly not the young woman standing in front of me. This version of her is... dark and vile.
"It's not all about you, Lyla," Lorraine sighs. "She's my friend and she has as much of a right to be here as anyone. But you can't tell Nikki who she is. I need you on your best behavior, okay? If it's that much of an issue, just keep your distance."
Lyla looks at her and scoffs. She turns her head to me and rolls her eyes, displacing herself from the situation. Before she turns away, she looks right at me, adding a bit of sting to her words. "Fine. It's not like she'll be around long anyways."
I know what that was. That was a stab at the decision I made seven years ago.
I guess Jensen isn't the only person I hurt by leaving.
It seems like I'm going to have to work for more than one person's forgiveness.
When Lorraine told me that she had invited Baya, I was furious. I felt like I'd been betrayed by my sister for inviting the enemy over here. After a heated conversation, I agreed to play nice—but in my mind, that's simply just avoiding her.
Easier said than done, right?
Because the first time I look up from the grill, I instantly lock eyes with her. She's like a fucking siren, calling me even though I'm desperately trying to decline the call. The pull between us has always been magnetic. I'm just afraid that if we get near each other now, we'll just explode instead.
Something I didn't expect to get hit with is the intense feeling of nostalgia, of a time before all the heartbreak when it was simply the two of us. Looking at her walking tensely into the party, with her hair straight and light makeup on, I'm hit with a vivid memory of the first time I met her.
It was freshman year. There was a football game that night and we were having a pep rally after school that day. We had gone to the same middle school, but I had never truly noticed her until that moment.
She walked onto the football field in a flowy lilac sundress—given that it was late summer/early fall—with her hair pin straight and only the faintest bit of mascara on her lashes. Her lips were plump and covered in gloss, and I had never felt the urge to kiss someone so hard as I had in that moment. I'd never even spoken to her before. She was the epitome of the girl next door.
I caught her before the rally ended, convinced her to come to the game, and the rest was history.
Now look where we are.
Parts of me can still see the innocent girl-next-door with big dreams, the person she was when I met her. But the adult version of me now just sees how rough around the edges she seems now. Her shell is a little harder, her walls impenetrable, and her vibrant aura is now a ghost.
She's definitely not the same girl that broke my heart, and I don't know whether that's a good or bad thing.
I'm still mad at the girl who left me, but I'm not sure I can stay mad at the woman before me because she seems so different now.
I lose her in the crowd for a bit while she mingles with the guests. Nikki has taken to me like a leech because—and in her words exactly—'there is too many pretty girls here today.' It's just her insecurity, and that shit irritates me. If I wanted someone else, I'd end it before I did. I'm not the type to cheat. It's not in my nature.
Glancing up from my place on the deck with my beer in hand, I see Lorraine making her way up the stairs with Baya in tow.
Fuck. So much for avoiding her.
Sisters. I roll my eyes internally at the thought.
"Hey, J," Lorraine smiles.
"Hey, Lo." I put on my best face, trying to keep the promise I made to my sister to be on my best behavior.
"Hey, Baya," I say. My voice still comes out through gritted teeth but it's not as strained as it has been before.
"Hey, Jensen," she says, voice trying to come off as strong, but I still know her so I can sense the weak undertone.
As if Nikki can sense people around, she comes out from behind me and reaches her hand out towards Baya. She goes to speak but then laughs a bit.
"I know you," Nikki acknowledges. "You're the girl from the coffee shop."
"That's me," she admits, eyes glancing briefly to the side at Lorraine, seemingly pleading for my sister to save her. "Baya Mikaels."
"I'm so sorry I was mean to you that day. I was having a tough morning. My name is Nikki Campbell. I'm Jensen's girlfriend." She reaches out to shake Baya's hand, who accepts hesitantly. She can't pull her hand from Nikki's fast enough.
"You were mean to her?" I ask, not pausing to think about my words.
"Nice to meet you," Baya says. She didn't hear what I just said, but Nikki just gives me the side eye and focuses back on Baya.
"Are you from around here or are you new to town?" Nikki asks.
Baya opens her mouth to speak but before she can, I intervene. I'm not ready for Nikki to know who she is yet, especially since she doesn't know everything about my past. Only what I want to tell her.
"Baya's just an old friend of Lorraine's. She grew up in the house across the lake and left after graduation. She just moved back." Nikki pays no attention to me as she continues to analyze the woman standing in front of her. I slip my gaze back to Baya's for only a second, but in that time, I know that there's been a shift.
When she first came up here, she was timid, uncomfortable, and probably feeling like a fish out of water here given that I'm the host. But now... now she just looks angry. As if my dissing her affects her in some way.
It fucking shouldn't. She left me. She shouldn't be angry that I'm not acknowledging our past. It's not like I don't remember what we were or what he had. Trust me, I fucking remember. I just don't feel like announcing it to my girlfriend.
It's not like it matters. She'll eventually leave again, and the problem of her presence will be solved. Nikki doesn't need to know my history when the only reason it's brought up is due to the guilty party and her temporary presence in this town.
"What'd you do after graduation?" Nikki asks another question and I look back to Baya—fully expecting her to explode—but she seemingly flips a mental switch and becomes obnoxiously nice.
"I moved to L.A. to become a songwriter. Made a decent career of it so far." Her answer is vague, and it only makes me want to ask more questions.
Why did she leave? Why didn't she talk to me about it? Was I not enough? Was her dream always more important than I was? Did losing me hurt as much as losing her? Did she even care what it did to me?
I shouldn't be thinking of these things. I haven't questioned it in a long time. But her being here is beckoning every repressed feeling that I shoved down when she left, threatening to expose me in more ways than one.
Lorraine tries to break the tension by switching subjects. "Hey J, did you invite Della over here? Is she coming?"
"I did. She said she didn't feel like getting out today, but I promised to bring her a plate later."
"Good," Lorraine responds.
Baya's shifting back and forth uneasily on her feet, glancing up at the sky as if she's begging it to just fall and crush her. Anything to put an end to this forced conversation. As if she can't handle it anymore, she lets out a deep sigh and turns to Lorraine.
"Lorraine, I see a few people I want to talk to. I'm gonna make the rounds, grab a plate and leave, okay?" Her eyebrows creep up her forehead, silently speaking to my sister words that aren't the ones coming out of her mouth. Being here is hard, and she's trying to make any excuse to get out of here. She came for Lorraine, now all she wants to do is leave.
Good. Maybe if she leaves, I can breathe. Thinking about her is fucking overwhelming. It's different to think about the idea of a person than to actually think about them when they're near you.
She always used to smile, always saw the good in everyone and was the first person to offer a different perspective.
This isn't her. I'm not sure what L.A. done to her, but this version of her is pointy and painful like a cactus. She's hardened around the edges, only a faint resemblance to the girl I fell in love with. Seeing her now and watching how she acts, the question now sits freely in my mind, making me rethink everything.
What the hell did L.A. do to Baya?
I know something is bothering her even hours later. I can just tell.
Everyone here is gone and the party leftovers are all put away and clean. It's just me and a whiskey on the deck, staring at the scene playing out in front of me.
Baya storms out of her house, walking straight out onto the dock. I can hear her music blasting from over here—something angsty and depressing. She's got a bottle of wine in her hand. Baya twists the top, forgoing a glass and turning the bottle straight up, letting the contents stream down her throat. A bit leaks from the side and she breaks only long enough to wipe at her mouth.
That's exactly how I know something is wrong. No one turns to the bottle like that unless something is bothering them.
And how do I know that?
Because it's the same thing I do.
So much has changed between the two of us, and yet we both managed to pick up the same bad habit.
It's funny how things work out.
Maybe we're both more alike now than we ever were back then.
Now wouldn't that just be fucking hilarious.
Yikes! That was...interesting. And tense.
I could say a few things about my personal thoughts on the chapter, but I would rather know yours instead!
Tell me here what your thoughts on this chapter were...I'll wait.
Happy Thursday <3
P.S.--- If you thought this chapter was a bit tense, then just wait for the next one (;
Might surprise you and post over the weekend...we shall see. But let's take a consensus. Who votes for chapter 10 to be posted over the weekend? Probably Saturday?
Have a good day (: