Dirty Letters(66)

“To you?”

“Yes. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that speech he gave the night he was here with you. It gave me hope that dreams really can come true, things beyond our wildest imagination. I mean, how does sheltered little Luca living in the boonies of Vermont end up with a superstar? And he turns out to be her childhood pen pal? That is the stuff fairy tales are made of, Luca. And it’s your life. Your freaking life! Please don’t throw this away because of fear. You’ll never get it back. And it’s . . . magic. Pure magic.”

Magic. That was exactly what I needed at this point. I wished I had a magic wand to erase all of my fears.

Doris had stars in her eyes. I didn’t want to burst her bubble any further. At the same time, I couldn’t take her advice seriously. She was too starstruck and blinded by her awe of the whole situation.

“I appreciate the advice, Doris. I promise to take it into consideration.”

“I’ll be pushing for ya. Don’t you let that boy go and make beautiful babies with someone else.”

That comment really hit me where it hurt. It upset me for multiple reasons. The thought of Griffin with anyone else, let alone “making babies” with that person, was a tough pill to swallow. But that would be the reality if I chose to let him go. I’d have to see it all play out in the media, and it would kill me. The other thing was . . . what kind of mother would I make if I couldn’t take my child all the places they wanted to go? What if my kid wanted to see Disney or attend some event held in an arena? I wouldn’t be able to take him. I shook my head to rid myself of the thoughts.

As I helped Doris bag my groceries, my mood lightened, and I took a moment to reflect on Griffin’s declaration of love that had taken place right here at this very register. It had to easily be the most romantic thing ever to happen at a supermarket in the middle of the night.





CHAPTER 27

LUCA


The following day, I went to check my PO box and found the last thing I ever expected: a letter from Griffin.

He wrote me a letter?

To say I was perplexed would be an understatement. I thought the days of receiving his letters were over. He’d called me every day whenever he could from the road, so this was definitely a surprise.

As I held the envelope in my hands, that old familiar excitement ran through me. I’d forgotten how much I missed this feeling of anticipation. It took me aback to realize it was still there. After all, this whole thing with Griffin had been a whirlwind. Everything had happened so fast since California. It still seemed like just yesterday that all we had were the letters.

I raced back to my car to open it.

Dear Luca,

Greetings from a dark tour bus somewhere off I-95 in Bumfuck, Virginia. The guys are off doing what they do, and I’ve locked myself in a bunk for some peace. You’d think it would be miserable in this tiny space, but it’s bigger than you’d think—they call it a “condo” bunk. And it’s nice and quiet in here. It’s perfect for working on new lyrics. The movement of the bus actually rocks me to sleep most nights.

I have a bed and a telly in here and oddly, that’s all I really need. Wait. No. Far from all I need. The one thing I’m missing is you. I know we’ve been talking to each other every day, but those calls are too rushed. And that’s my fault. It’s usually too late to call by the time things have calmed down for me. But such is tour life.

Today’s performance in DC was exhausting. It’s amazing how I can look out into the audience at thousands of adoring faces screaming my name and not have it faze me in the least. I’ve become so jaded in that respect, and it’s a little disappointing. Not to mention, it’s fucking hard to sing “Luca” now. And it’s always the one everyone wants to hear. I keep wanting to change the words. Because there’s just so much more to the story now, isn’t there? If they only knew. Anyway, I need to stop complaining about my job, because I’m really fucking lucky to have it, and I know that. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.

I just wish you were here. That’s all. I told myself this letter was going to be light and fun—bring back the old vibe. Guess I already ruined that one, eh? I miss our pizza nights. I miss food shopping with you. Fuck, I even miss Hortencia. (I refused bacon at breakfast yesterday. Now that’s true love.)

Anyway . . . I miss you.

I heard an ABBA song today and thought of you. It was fucking depressing. “One of Us,” it was called. Listen to the words. You’ll know what I mean.

Also, “Knowing Me, Knowing You,” this letter will hopefully lead to more correspondence. I can only hope that my “Dancing Queen” takes a hint and writes me back. The only question is . . . how the fuck will you get a letter to me? “Mamma Mia,” what a conundrum. Take it as a challenge. How does one receive letters on the road? I don’t care how you do it, just “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” Figure out how to get me your letter. You have my schedule. I challenge you. “I Have a Dream” that you’ll find a way to do it.

Could I BE any more annoying using ABBA songs to communicate with you? (There’s our friend Chandler Bing again.)

God, I’m tired. And wired. And have I mentioned that I miss you?

Later, gator,

Griff

Actually . . .

LOVE,

Griffin