“Yeah…” I walk to the other side of the room away from Wes so he can’t eavesdrop.
“Do you have what it takes to be the next Nashville Star? Because you’ve made it through the final round. Filming begins next week.”
I drop my phone. I had forgotten all about the audition video Ruby Jane talked me into sending in months ago. Scrambling for my phone, I squeal. On the inside I am scared that Wes won’t support me in this. He thought the whole idea of it was childish.
Wes is staring, shooting daggers at me like I have a second head as I write down the information even though the woman said I would get an email telling me when to come in for paperwork.
“What’s going on, Pey?” Wes crosses the room glancing at my notes.
“I’m gonna be on TV,” I announce with a huge grin, and he frowns, pinching the brow of his nose.
“You’re doing what?” His arms grip my shoulders, not loving and supportive but hard and abrasive.
I remind him about the audition tape and Ruby Jane talking me into it and he’s not happy, as I suspected. How in the hell can I turn this down though? Going on national television and the world hearing me sing, seeing me perform…I feel dizzy with excitement. It has always been a dream of mine.
“You really want this? What about the wedding?” Wes squeezes my arms tighter and kisses the top of my shoulder in a poor attempt at being sweet.
I freeze, the wedding. Damn, I can’t postpone the wedding…can I?
Singing is my dream, but this wedding is Wesley’s.
“I don’t know.” Tears well up in the corners of my eyes. I know we need to talk about us…the wedding…everything.
Wes spins me around, his blue eyes intense and dark, gaping into mine. “You still want to marry me, don’t you, Peyton?” His voice is desperate. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m just stressed out from work. I love you so much. You know that, don’t you?”
I nod because if I speak, I am afraid I will say the words, “I’m sorry Wesley, I don’t think I want to marry you.” To be honest, I never did. Not really. I liked spending time with him, but he was safe. Sure, he’s handsome, and successful, but there’s no spark. I just wanted someone in my life instead of random meaningless sex. I wanted someone to share my life with but the longer I am with him the more I realize we have nothing in common. We both settled. He must know that on a deeper level.
His lips brush against mine, and I feel not
hing. I think deep down I’ve always known I don’t want to marry him. I’m so damn selfish. His lips seek out mine again, trying to garner a response from me. I kiss him back, but I’m not here right now with him. I’m remembering my first kiss with Jameson and wishing I could feel an inkling of what I felt for that boy for Wes.
Flashback
I just got back from vacation with my Dad and Barb. They took me with them to the beach. It was miserable. It was raining most of the time we were there, and they wouldn’t let me do anything on my own. Dad would say, “Petty,” that is what he calls me when he is mad at me. “You’re just fourteen, what if some strange man grabbed you and I never saw you again?”
I said to him, “They’d just bring me back.” He didn’t find it as funny as Barb did.
And Barb, good grief, the woman kept trying to take me shopping, wanting to buy me floral dresses that looked like something one of my Nan’s friends would dress in. Hideous old people looking stuff. This weekend is The Ultimate Horror Survival camp out and I cannot wait. My dad doesn’t want me going but my Nana already ordered my tickets. I reserved four. I hope Jameson was able to get his friends to go with us. I could ask Josh, but he thought it was lame last time I mentioned it to him.
I haven’t had a chance to change out of this dress Barb insisted I wear to lunch before she drove me home, but I did put shorts on under it, so it isn’t so bad. I am scared that my dad will try to make me live with them again. I think that is why they took me on vacation with them — to see how we would get on. Thankfully, not well. It really isn’t my fault. Barb doesn’t get my sense of humor. She hates when I talk about slasher films or dead stuff. Dying is a part of life. I don’t see what the problem is.
I am checking the mail by the end of the driveway for my Pappy when Jameson rolls up on his Uncle Rodney’s riding lawnmower. “Wanna go for a ride?”
He looks so cute with his sleeveless muscle tee on, sunglasses, and a ball cap on his head.
“Let me run this inside.” I wave the mail at him. He gives me a chin lift.
Dashing inside, I nearly topple over my Pappy at the door. “Here,” I say, shoving the mail in his hands frantically.
“Where you off to?” He asks looking startled by the near heart attack I about gave him when I rushed through the door.
“I’m going around the block with Jameson on his mower.” My Pappy shakes his balding head and tells me to have fun.
Running back outside, I try to mask my excitement at seeing him. I was only gone for a week, but I have gotten used to seeing him every day. It’s totally going to suck when he goes home at the end of the summer. Jameson just gets me. He makes me feel okay to be me. He doesn’t get all weird when I talk about death or ask questions like, “How many people do you think have died by some freak accident on a lawnmower?”
He says, “I don’t know, Fancy, but I’ll find out,” as if it is the most natural question on Earth. He whips out his cell phone and looks it up for me. “Seventy-five.”
“Better drive safely, lawn boy,” I tease hoarsely in his ear, and he barks with laughter.