Quarantales: The Complete Contemporary Romance Box Set, page 51
I had tried talking to Andy, my counselor, and Luis, my sponsor, about this, but it didn’t bring about any resolution.
Luis just shook his head and said, “Aw, man, that’s crazy. But at least you didn’t drink.”
Yeah, at least there’s that.
“I guess I finally figured this life stuff out,” I answered. “Because I know there’s no drinking away what happened with Reina.”
Andy also seemed more concerned with me not drinking than the relationship I lost. Can’t blame them for their narrow field of view. To them, it looks like I lied my way into a woman’s bed for a few weeks and then regretted it when she found out. Like any non-psychopath would.
What they didn’t understand was that this was a first for me. Never have I lied to get a woman I wanted. Never have I wanted a woman so bad that I do anything to get her. To keep her.
There goes another lyric. I drag out my journal and start to write it down.
But then the same thing that’s been happening for months stops my hand from writing.
There’s her handwriting in my journal with the song I found after she was gone. It’s a short one. Less than four minutes, even with me singing slow.
The first verse is about the mistakes you made in the past.
The second is about beating yourself up.
The third is about finding yourself unexpectedly happy.
And according to her arrows, the same chorus about counting your blessings happens between each verse and ends the song.
She wrote the whole song in pencil like she might need to erase it someday.
I think that’s why I insisted on recording it. So that it’d never go away, even though she had.
I pull out the acoustic I only use for composing and sing the chorus even though we’ve already laid down the track.
I count my blessings…yes, I do.
By the time I’m done, I have tears in my eyes.
And when I look up, Wyatt is standing in the doorway of the music room, along with Carol V.
“Sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I know this ain’t very heavy metal.”
“No, it ain’t,” Wyatt agrees.
I flip him off for still being such a dick. He’s quit smoking and what he calls hound dogging because Carol V refused to date a fuckboy who tasted like an ashtray. But other than that, he hasn’t changed at all.
But then he says, “You know I talked to her the other day. She finally took my call, and I tried another run at getting her to accept the royalty check.”
I immediately set the guitar down. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to get that hopeful puppy dog look in your eyes,” he answers, voice frank. “She’s still not interested in the money or hearing about how sorry you are. She’s living in Missouri with her daughter now, and she’s teaching yoga out in the boonies. She says she’s happy as can be.”
Yeah, I’d seen all of the yoga videos she’d been posting. Not on the HappyReina channel I set up for her, but on a Rise Back Up Yoga channel she put together herself. She wasn’t breaking any internet records with her content, but she already had a couple hundred dedicated subscribers. Including me under a secret account. I was proud of her and relieved to hear that Reina had also got a second chance with her daughter, just like me.
“I’m glad she was able to make amends,” I tell Wyatt. “I’m glad she’s happy.”
I don’t realize that’s true until I say the words out loud. Yeah, I’m sad that Reina doesn’t miss me the way I miss her. She’s not obsessively thinking about those weeks we shared, unlike me. But I’m happy she’s happy.
And I’m telling Wyatt the truth when I say, “Happy is the only place I want for her. Even if it’s not with me.”
Wyatt rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I think you’re full of shit, and so is she. Plus, you don’t know these church gals like I do. They’ll smile and claim they’re warm and toasty while standing outside in a thunderstorm.”
My heart perks up. “So what are you trying to say? You don’t think she’s happy?”
Wyatt twists his lips to the side. “I think anybody that would write a song like ‘Count Your Blessings’ about somebody is deluding themselves if they think those are the kind of feelings you can just walk away from.”
I nod in full agreement. “This is bullshit. Time is supposed to heal all wounds. But it’s been a year, and I still miss her like it’s only been a day.”
Reina’s not the only one rising up. A new determination rears up inside of me as I declare, “I’m sick of waiting to feel better about losing the only woman I ever loved. I’m not John. If there’s a chance—even one sliver of a chance that she’s still feeling me like I’m feeling her, then I’ve got to take it.”
“I hear you, Brother…” Wyatt says with the growly empathy I’m almost getting used to hearing from my still proudly libertarian brother. “And amen to not making the same mistakes Dad did.”
Funnily enough, my serious violation of accidentally meeting our father was exactly what Wyatt needed to finally forgive John. We ended up flying our father out in a private plane for the official recording of “Broken Road,” and we’ve been Zooming him biweekly ever since. Wyatt’s become lighter over the past year. More thoughtful, too.
After my big declaration, he gives me a sympathetic look and says, “She made it very clear to me that she has no intention of talking to you.”
My heart tears at his words, even though she’s made it abundantly clear that she doesn’t want to see me. Reina hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts, and I know she wouldn’t be thanking me for my encouraging comments on her yoga videos if she knew who “SoCalPal” really was.
Nonetheless, I tell Wyatt, “I don’t care whether or not she wants to see me. We were meant to be, and I’ve got to find a way to convince her—”
“Slow down, Brother. Let me finish,” Wyatt grouses, his expression returning to its usual irritated setting. “She said she didn’t want to talk to you the last time I got her on the phone. But she also gave me some intel that you might be able to use. Long as you don’t mind making a fool of yourself in front of thousands—millions if you count the internet.”
Millions are a whole lot of people to make a fool of yourself in front of, but I don’t even hesitate with my answer.
“Tell me what I’ve got to do.”
Okay now! It looks like West
Is ready to fight for love?
Is Reina ready to receive it?
Find out in the final episode of
Reina and the Heavy Metal Prince
Part Eleven
Final Episode: HOW ‘BOUT IT
Chapter Seventeen
How ‘Bout It?
REINA
I’m happy.
I’m so happy. So, so happy….
I’ve been telling myself that for over a year now. And I’m nothing but smiles on the road to my daughter’s wedding in a giant RV.
Cynda has been thinking about getting a minivan now that she’s pregnant. But until then, the RV she borrowed from a farmer friend she saved from dying of COVID is the only way to accommodate my unexpectedly large new family: me, Cynda, Cynda’s twin step-siblings, and Cynda’s fiancé, Rhys, who’s dressed in a tuxedo while riding in the front passenger seat.
Cynda’s driving the RV, and she’s dressed in a huge white wedding gown to match her groom. It looks too strange if you ask me. There was still enough old-fashioned Missouri left in me to think the man should be the one driving, especially with a vehicle as big as the RV. Too-bad her foreign fiancé doesn’t have an American driver’s license.
But other than his staunch refusal to drive “on the wrong side of the road,” I like most things about my soon-to-be son-in-law.
He’s handsome and smart with a sophisticated British accent. He loves Cynda to death, and according to her, he’s the one who helped her find the courage to give me a call. So, I couldn’t be more grateful for him, even if he doesn’t drive.
I can see how happy he makes her, which makes me happier than happy to be attending their wedding.
But then, “I Count My Blessings,” the latest Death Buddha single, comes on the radio. And, Cynda’s usually reserved fiancé turns it up to full blast and starts singing along.
“Could you shut that noise off?” I shout over the music.
Rhys abruptly stops singing, and Cynda turns down the radio. She glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes full of worry. Probably because I haven’t raised my voice or even acted a little irritated in the whole year I’ve been living with her. “Mom, are you all right?”
Mom….I don’t think hearing her call me that will ever stop touching my heart. And I immediately feel guilty for shouting.
“I’m fine,” I answer, returning my voice to yoga soft. “I just don’t want to hear this song.”
“Sorry,” Rhys says with an apologetic wince over his shoulder. “I suppose not everyone loves Death Buddha.”
“Who’s Death Buddha?” E, the girl twin asks. She’s pretty, with long braids, golden skin, and slightly upturned eyes, thanks to her half-Thai heritage. She’s what people in the biz used to call a triple threat. She sings, dances, and acts well enough to have made it into the prestigious musical theater program at Carnegie Mellon.
“You know that metal band from the nineties with the crazy drummer who wears the alligator head mask whenever he plays?” her brother, A, answers
They’re named kind of the same, Aaron and Erin, but the twins are exact opposites. Dressed in cargo shorts and a blazer, A looks precisely like what he is: a short stubby nerd, studying engineering at Carnegie Mellon.
DNA, the same birthdate, and their choice of university are the only things the twins have in common. And unlike E, who goes out of her way to appear cool at all times, A has no problem doing an impromptu impression of Gator.
He thrashes his head while air drumming with his entire body, just like the Death Buddha drummer.
“Oh yeah,” E says. “I think I saw a t-shirt with their logo on it at Target. I guess they used to be popular or something.”
“If by popular, you mean they’re the best band of all time, then yes, you are absolutely correct,” Rhys answers from the front seat, his posh voice ringing with the authority of a longtime fan.
I just sit there, trying to school my face, so it doesn’t look like this conversation is stabbing me in the heart.
Luckily, the Death Buddha song fades out just as we drive underneath a sign letting us know that we’re getting close to the Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre in Maryland Heights, Missouri. That’s where Cynda and Rhys will be getting married.
I am happy. So, so happy. I wasn’t lying to Wyatt about that when I talked to him a few weeks ago.
But it takes a while for that happiness to settle back in every time I hear that song.
Yes, I signed all the paperwork to let Death Buddha record it. But I hadn’t expected them to release it as their lead single. A move that was being called a “slap in the face” of their longtime fans by some critics and “the best thing they’ve ever done” by others.
Either way, radio and TV have embraced it. And try as I might, I can’t get away from that stupid ballad I wrote.
A singer used it as their audition song for the recently returned American SuperStar. The other day, it was the last song in the final montage of one of the teen shows E has me addicted to. And now it’s playing on seemingly every radio station in Missouri. From country to pop. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if Majic 104.9—the home for Today’s R&B and Throwbacks for St. Louis, decided to put the song in their rotation.
And I didn’t even want to imagine how much more local play it would be getting if the radio stations out here knew the song had been written by a local.
“Mom, seriously, are you all right?”
I don’t realize the horrible feelings roiling my mind have made it out to my face until Cynda asks about me again. She looks even more worried about me than she did before.
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Just nervous about you standing on top of the RV. It’s really high.”
“Yes, it is,” her fiancé answers pointedly. “Perhaps we should stand in front of the vehicle.”
“Fine, I’ll think about it,” Cynda says with a roll of her eyes. But I know deep down inside she appreciates the fuss. Cynda’s been taking care of others all her life. I’m glad she’s finally letting herself be taken care of.
“No, no thinking. I insist—” Rhys starts to say.
“We’re here! We’re here!” A calls out, interrupting him.
My heart lifts with anticipation when I see the amphitheater’s enormous green lawn. I never played this venue when I was in my girl group, but I came out for a few concerts and summer festivals, back when it was newly opened and called the Riverport Amphitheater.
We’re not the only ones who decided to come in an RV either. I can see a whole row of them parking toward the back of the green for our state’s “Corona Wedding” event.
The Corona Weddings are basically a series of drive-in concerts held every weekend at amphitheaters, arenas, and stadiums across the nation. Sets by some of the biggest names in music were followed by a colossal group wedding ceremony for the people who got engaged during the pandemic.
Music mogul Geoff Latham had set up the whole crazy thing. He was the former head of Big Hill Records, the country label a ton of huge music acts, like Colin Fairgood, called home. And now he was the acting CEO of AudioNation. So he knew just about everybody in the business and had been able to call in a ton of favors to get this unorthodox concert series off the ground.
I figure we’ll have to park at the back of the venue too, but Cynda and Rhys must have been one of the first couples to sign up for the event. Her siblings whoop when the attendant in front directs us to a spot right in front of the stage.
From the trailer’s window, I watch thousands of cars with brides and grooms pull into chalk rectangles all spaced at least six feet apart.
I was a little bemused when Cynda told me this was how she and her fiancé had decided to get married. But I get it now. This lively group event is the perfect way to celebrate all the people who got engaged while under quarantine.
“I wonder who they got for our concert?” E says. “I heard Beyonce’s the secret performer for Houston.”
“Then it will probably be Nelly for us,” Cynda guesses.
“Or maybe Sheryl Crow,” I suggest. “I used to love her back in the day.”
“No, it’s Death Buddha,” Rhys says.
My heart stops. At the same time, A asks, “How do you know that?”
“Look, there’s Gator’s drum set,” Rhys answers, pointing toward the stage.
My eyes go to the stage, and sure enough, there’s a drum set covered in iridescent green scales instead of the usual black metal.
“Yes!” Rhys yells, throwing devil horns. “I can’t believe our luck.”
“But wait, they’re not from St. Louis, are they?” E asks, her pretty face scrunching with confusion.
“Mom, where are you going?” Cynda asks.
The need to run is so instinctual that I don’t realize I’ve already started heading toward the RV door until she asks that question.
“Restroom,” I mumble before dashing out the door.
Not a lie exactly. I spend the next twenty minutes hyperventilating in the portapotty. Luckily it’s one of the fancy concert ones that looks and smells almost like a real bathroom
Eventually, my breath starts to calm, and I begin to put together a plan. Obviously, this is a coincidence. And no, I have no desire to watch an entire show starring the man who broke my heart, but it’s my daughter’s wedding day. I’ve got to go back out there.
Knowing what I have to do, I finally leave the bathroom and return to the RV.
Cynda’s waiting outside the trailer when I come back. Like a lot of people, she’s still in the habit of wearing a mask in huge crowds, even though as essential workers, she and her doctor husband were some of the first people to receive a vaccine. But unlike the surgical masks she usually wears, this one is white with the word “BRIDE” written across it in elegant cursive.
“There you are! I was just about to come looking for you,” she says, eyeing me worriedly over her mask. “Seriously, Mom, you seem off. Can you please tell me what’s wrong?”
Guilt pierces my heart. “It’s your wedding day.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going to be able to enjoy myself anyway if I’m worried about you,” she answers in that super direct former ER nurse way of hers.
In the year since I’ve been living in Cynda’s backhouse, we’ve had a lot of conversations about old patterns. Mine was never believing in myself, and Cynda’s was pushing people away.
I appreciate that she’s not pushing me away. Given our past, I wouldn’t have blamed her at all for shutting me out. But for once, I got the timing right when it came to my daughter. I came into her life just when she was ready for me. And our relationship has done nothing but bloom like an apple tree over the past year.
But my daughter can be stubborn as all get out, and I know she won’t stop asking me about this until I tell her about what’s so obviously bothering me.
“Cynda, there’s something I should have told you a while ago. About why I left South Dakota when I did…”
The sudden scream of the crowd cuts me off. And we both turn away from each other to look toward the stage just in time to see Gator, Wyatt, and Carol V walk out.
West is pulling up the rear, and for some reason, he’s holding a mic stand, even though there’s already one on stage.
“Hello, Missouri!” he yells out, after plopping his second mic stand down.
The crowd screams back in approval, even though not even one member of Death Buddha hails from St. Louis.
