You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology(4)
He picked up the beer recommended by the waitress and knew he wouldn’t like it. A craft ale from England, served at room temperature. “You went on a tour leg with him…tell me about that.”
Ignoring the handle on the glass mug, she cradled it between her hands, absorbing the warmth. “Private jets, five-star hotels, rock-star husband…what’s there to say? I’m living the dream.”
“And yet here you are, Betty.”
“To have fun, Bob, not to bitch and moan.” Lightly said, yet he flinched. His words. There were so many he wished he could take back. Too many hurts now reliant on being forgiven.
She looked at him over the rim of her glass. He saw a spark of anger, the ash of resignation. “Besides, you wouldn’t find it interesting.”
“I would now,” he said quietly, and she assessed him. He kept himself still, kept himself open, channeled non-threatening Bob, not the guy she expected to see, her ego-driven husband.
A ghost of a smile played at the corner of her mouth, suggesting she was onto him. God, he’d missed her. “How about I talk about what I’ve learned instead, Bob?”
“Sure.” He braced himself.
“I’ve learned how to say diaper in six different languages, including the Queen’s English—nappy, couche, windel, luier, pannolino, panal…” Putting down the glass mug, she smiled at him.
He smiled back.
“I’ve learned that big league rock stars stay in exquisite hotels full of designer pieces that break easily under little hands, and that no hotel room is ever big enough for two pre-schoolers. Nor is a private plane.”
Kayla had a habit of twisting her wedding ring when she was reflecting. She touched her ring finger now and glanced down.
“I have it safe,” he said.
“I’ve learned that little kids never overcome jetlag if they’re constantly traveling and that no tour nanny—however helpful—will be on call at four a.m. when they’re wide awake and ready to start their day.”
Jared been out cold by then, finally released from the post-concert adrenaline of performing in front of fifty thousand screaming Rage fans. Kayla glanced over, checking his interest levels, and he nodded encouragement.
“I’ve learned to travel with home-brand milk formula and cereals so that when they’re starving at four a.m. I have something they’ll actually eat, and that no matter how good a party is, it’s no substitute for getting two hours extra sleep.
“I’ve learned that when it rains every day for two weeks, a hotel bathtub provides more hours of entertainment than any museum or coffee shop.”
She picked up her mulled wine and sipped it, the words flowing easily now.
“I’ve learned that London parks are full of dog poop and to carry extra kids’ shoes. I’ve learned that ten minutes of Daddy being fun—because that’s all he’s got to spare—will result in exactly two hours of follow-up whining.” She looked into her mug, frowning. “Which is weird, because an equal amount of Skype time at home while Daddy is away leaves them perfectly happy.”
Jared had forgotten the endless wet weather in Great Britain because it hadn’t mattered. To him. The same way that it hadn’t mattered that he’d revved up the kids with wild play and sugar rushes to appease his guilt at not being able to spend much time with them.
She seemed to realize who she was really talking to, because she smiled again, too brightly.
“I’ve learned that little kids and rock tours don’t mix, no matter how much you want them to. And some people would say, ‘You’re crazy to have even tried,’ but what did I know? I’d never traveled out of the States before.”
He put down his untouched beer. “You left out that you’ve learned not to count on your husband.”
“He was there to be a rock star, not a family man.” She reached for her non-existent ring again. “In retrospect, I feel like all I did was complain. Neither of us knew how crazy the demands on his time would be.”
“Maybe he did,” he said. “Maybe he wanted his family with him so badly, that he figured ten minutes here, thirty minutes there, a coffee or meal snatched together with the kids, was better than nothing—for him.”
He’d wanted to wallow in glory and adulation, not return to his hotel room to see Kayla barely coping. After concerts, he’d wanted her waiting up for him, all starry-eyed at his awesomeness, not asleep and mumbling, “Okay but it’s a quickie. Our kids will be up in a few hours.”
And when he did spend time with them? Damn, but they’d better be cheery and smiling and as delighted to see him as everyone else. “C’mon family, I’ve got five minutes, make it good.”
He’d been a prick.
“Even if he couldn’t give you any more time, he should have given you a lot more understanding.” He waited until she looked at him. “Maybe he’s desperately sorry for being such a selfish ass.”
“And maybe she knows that. Anyway, enough about me.” She steered the conversation into safer waters. “What’s your story, Bob?”
“I grew up in a small town, a nerd in an athletic family. Three sisters, all older. As a kid I spent most weekends at their sports meets, sitting in my parents’ car listening to music. One of our neighbors was a bass guitarist and something about the sound…dispossessed and dark…called to me. Bass has got shivers, layers, sediment. I have two passions in my life, and music is one of them.”