So, where’s the problem?
The problem is that we had no example of love. We had no idea what to look for. Then we found it and BAM! He smacks his palm against his forehead. Hits you like a ton of bricks.
No ton of bricks has hit Sam yet. I told him I love him and he didn’t reciprocate.
Logan winces before he speaks, and I brace myself for what’s coming.
If you don’t feel the same way he does, just tell him. Don’t lead him on. And don’t hurt him. He’s more invested than you think.
Emily pushes the mic back and gets up from her stool. He opens the door to go in to her, closing it softly behind him, leaving me completely alone with my thoughts. But they’re scattered into such disarray that I don’t know how to put them together.
Part of the reason that I’m here instead of at Sam’s apartment is that I needed some space to think. I needed to find out where my head is, and it’s not here in this room. It’s with Sam.
Once, I thought life was all about the music. It filled my soul, opened my mouth, and allowed my sound to come out. It gave me a voice. But now…now I’m not so sure that life is about music. I think it might be about more than that, but I don’t know what that more is.
I let myself out of the studio. My sisters went home a while ago, and I just stayed because I didn’t want to go home yet. Logan and Emily are in the sound booth so Emily can hear the sound track. Her voice wafts over the speakers, and Logan is oblivious to it. It’s like a gift for the ears—for the soul. But he can’t hear it.
They’re so different, but they make it work. Hearing Logan talk about his feelings for Emily, it gives me hope. It makes me think there is more to this life than what I’ve been given. More than what I’ve taken for myself.
***
I get out of the cab at Sam’s apartment. I have worried over it the whole way here. I need to have a talk with Sam and I don’t even know where to start. I need to know how he feels about me. I love him, and I told him so. I thought it was what he wanted to hear.
I’m so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I don’t even see her. But I hear her say my name. Or at least I hear her say the name I used to have.
“Renee!” she calls.
I spin around and look at the bench beside the apartment building. My mother is sitting there with her knees pulled up to her chest, her skinny arms wrapped around them. Her hair is long and dark like mine, but hers is stringy and greasy.
“What do you want?” I ask.
She stubs out her cigarette, her hand shaking all the while. “I just wanted to talk to you. You’re too good for your mama, now?” she asks.
“My mama is Marta Vasquez. She’s the woman who took me in when you gave me away. She raised me. I’ll never be too good for her. You on the other hand…” I let my voice trail off as I drag my eyes up and down her body.
She gets to her feet. “I see. That’s how it is, huh?”
“What do you want? Just say it.” I heave out a sigh. Maybe once she makes her demands, she’ll go away.
“I need some help.”“Of course you do,” I murmur. “You always did."
Her eyes narrow as she gazes at my face. “You finally outgrew that awful stutter.”
No, I didn’t. I’ve been beating a rhythm with my thumb on my pant leg ever since I started talking to her. “There’s nothing wrong with my stutter. There never was.”
She scoffs. “You couldn’t put two words together.”
“I don’t remember you ever wanting to hear two words I had to say.”
She rolls her bloodshot eyes. “I’m in a little bit of trouble,” she suddenly blurts out.
“What kind of trouble?”
“The kind where there are people after me.”
“What did you do?”
“I took something that didn’t belong to me. And I owe some people some money for it.”
Usually, that means she stole something and hocked it to buy drugs, or she just stole money from someone. “How much?”
“Ten thousand,” she says quietly.
“That’s all?”
Her eyes fly wide open. “That’s all?” She sneers. “Sometimes I forget that you’re a superstar now. You’re probably wiping your ass with hundred dollar bills.”
Suddenly, the door of the apartment building opens and Sam walks out. He comes straight to me. “You okay?” he asks, taking my elbows in his hands. He looks into my eyes.
I shrug him off, because I really don’t want to be touched right now. Just being near my mother makes me feel dirty, and I don’t like it. “I’m fine.”
He nods and then turns to my birth mother. “Sam Reed,” he says, and he sticks out his hand like she’s someone he should want to impress. I want to jerk his hand back because I’m afraid he’ll catch something. “Nice to meet you,” he says as he shakes her hand. I’m actually surprised she touched him.
“Who are you?” she asks.
“I’m Peck’s boyfriend.”
She looks at me. “Peck? What kind of a fucked-up name is that?” She glares at Sam. “Her name is Renee.”
Peck is the name that two loving parents gave to me when I desperately needed a new start. Tears burn the backs of my eyelids and I blink hard to push them back. “My name is Peck,” I say, correcting her.
She glowers at me, but she doesn’t argue.