Page 12 of Rock the Chardonnay

“We’ve done a lot of work to get it ready,” Zoey says. “Daughtry, I’m honored you are our first guest.”

“The honor is all mine, Zoey.” Is it super awkward talking to my ex-boyfriend’s mom? Less so than I’d expected. So far, it’s also less of a minefield than talking with his gorgeous brother. “You’ve outdone yourself. You should be charging three times what you are.”

The cottage is perfect. Everything is in shades of cream and pale green, but it’s not a sickly, avocado color. More of a ripe Bartlett pear. There are two bedrooms, along with a kitchen and living area, in an open concept floor plan. On the hardwood, there are thick, faux fur rugs that make me want to lounge on them. Electric tea lights glow in votives along the mantle of the wood burning fireplace.

It’s eleven thousand times nicer than my apartment back in the city. Or any placed I’ve lived my entire life.

“There’s a TV.” Zoey picks up one of the three remotes on the glass coffee table and presses a button. The landscape of Lake Michigan at sunrise descends into the wall, revealing a flatscreen. “Ciaran insisted on the size, and Declan found out how to mask it.”

“That’s amazing,” I say. “Are you sure it’s alright that I stay here?”

“Of course!” Zoey opens her arms wide. For a moment, I hesitate, then I step into them, feeling like twelve seconds have passed and not twelve years. She still smells like vanilla and hot morning coffee. Patting me on the back, she pulls me close to her. “It’s just a shame Charlie is at that hotelier’s conference in Portland. I know he’ll be devastated that he didn’t get to see you. He’ll want to gush over your success.”

“Tell him I miss him.” I squeeze her once more before she lets me go. “He was always really nice to me.” Charlie Foster, the patriarch of the family, used to make sure I did my homework at the end of the day, and had gotten me a job at a music shop in town.

What has my mom done for me? Exactly.

“Will do.” Zoey turns her bright gaze toward Louise. “And Ms. Fields, is there anything we can do for you? A friend of Daughtry’s is a friend of ours.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine over at Serenity Bay. It’s a good thing I booked early, the place is packed. Looking around here, you’ll have the same problem. This cottage is gorgeous.” Louise gestures with one smooth brown hand.

“Take this, at least.” Zoey hands Louise a bottle of wine wrapped with a red bow. “We’re proud of our wines here.”

“Thank you.” Louise glances down at the bottle and a shallow furrow forms between her brows. “Dumpster Fire Red Blend? Sounds…delicious.”

“I know, it’s a horrible name. My son names all the wines.” Zoey grimaces. “He was going through a rough time. But give it a try. It’s delightful. Very fruit forward, low tannins.”

“I’ll save it for a special occasion.” Louise slips the bottle into her voluminous leather tote bag. “You all right, Daughtry? Need anything?”

“Nope. I’m all set.” I lift my guitar case to prove it. “I’ll be ready at nine on the dot tomorrow for the interview.”

“Excellent.” Louise flashes me a thumbs up before slinging her tote bag over her shoulder. “The car will be out front.”

“We can drive her,” Zoey says quickly. “If that would help at all. I have two very capable sons.”

Don’t I know that already?

“Up to Daughtry. Text me what you want. I’m off to try some of the local delicacies.” Louise waves goodbye and leaves the cottage.

Like life is that easy. A simple text and all my desires would be delivered. Out here, I can’t even get pizza delivery five days of the week.

Zoey’s pocket chirps, and she removes her phone. “I’ve got to go. I forgot about the floral delivery for the tasting room. Here. Let me send you my number.” Two seconds later and my own phone buzzes in E flat. “You need anything at all, don’t hesitate. When you’re here, you’re family.” She pauses. “I’ll work on that tagline. So happy to have you here, hon.” With a quick squeeze, Zoey leaves, too.

I pause for a good ten seconds. The cottage is so quiet all of a sudden. I sink down onto the plush cream-colored couch.

What the hell do I do now?

This is all too nice, too luxurious. Suffocating, almost. It’s too easy to fall back into the old habits of letting the Fosters take care of me. They aren’t my family. They don’t owe me anything, and yet I keep racking up debts to them.

Like the universe is listening, my phone rings. “One Way or Another,” by Blondie. My stomach sinks. I’ve only labeled one person with that song.

It’s better to answer. If I don’t, she will keep calling or emailing until it’s an endless ring of virtual toxicity. I steel my shoulders and swipe the bar to answer. “Hi, Mom.”

“Daughtry babe! How are you?” Her voice sounds tinny, and there are bells jingling in the background. She is either at a casino or a children’s indoor playground. Neither surprises me.

“Fine.” I pick up one of the remote controls and push a button on it for fun. Smooth jazz plays from invisible speakers. I tap another button and the music shifts to eighties hair metal. That seems an apt accompaniment to this talk with my mom. Both things drive ice picks into my eyeballs.

“I’m in Atlantic City, and it’s amazing. Roger—you remember Roger—took me for the weekend. How’s LA?”

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