Page 25 of Rock the Chardonnay

Helena types a few words onto her tablet. Probably “refuses to talk about her mom.” Or maybe, She glances around the room that smells like Christmas morning, one Daughtry never got to have.

Jeez, I’m maudlin today. One night of smoking hot sex with my ex’s brother and I’m an emotional wet blanket.

“That one reminded me of my grandparents, too,” Helena says softly. “We used to sit after dinner and play this ancient Monopoly set. All the cards were faded, but my brothers and I took turns coloring them in. Are you still in touch with your grandparents?”

“No,” I say immediately, then realize it’s the wrong thing to say. If that ends up in the interview, someone—*cough cough* my mom—will interpret that she kept them from me. “Unfortunately, they died about five years ago.”

“Did you go back there for the funeral?”

I laugh, a harsh, brittle sound that reminds me of balloons popping. “No. I mean, I wasn’t able to go. I wanted to. They died within six months of each other.” My mom didn’t tell me until three months after my grandmother had died, and only because I called her frantically, asking why I couldn’t reach them.

“They must have loved each other, and you, a great deal.”

“Yes,” I say tightly.

If my grandparents had loved me, they would have fought harder for me. But that’s the thing about me. No one fights to love me. And it’s better that way. No regrets. Cut ties and move on. That way, I can’t get hurt.

Right?

Helena pauses, as though waiting for me to continue. I merely sip my water, and she glances down at her tablet. She scrolls, as though finding her next question. At this rate, this interview is going to give me a cracked molar. Maybe the emergency dentist looks like Declan and will call me good girl.

I didn’t know that was such a turn on. Maybe it’s just that I’ve absorbed so much bad girl toxicity from my mom and men over the years who have used it to try to control me, being called good girl gives me my power back. I don’t have to be what they say.

Helena clears her throat, drawing me back to the conversation. “‘Chemistry’ is so full of hope and potential. It’s like that feeling of looking across a room at someone you’re attracted to, and you see all the potential for a relationship. Can you talk a little about that song and how you came to write it?”

I swallow twice, but perhaps this is a better topic of conversation than my family or lack thereof. “I wrote that song when I was eighteen, actually. Right here in St. Olaf.” Technically, I wrote it at the Fosters’ kitchen table after I finished my homework. Zoey had made fresh chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

“Is it about a local boy then?” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “I heard you dated Ciaran Foster your senior year. He’s still single, you know, and considered one of town’s most eligible bachelors.”

Yup. I had stepped in it. “Yes. Ciaran and I did date in high school, and he’s a wonderful guy.” It’s incredibly difficult to talk about Ciaran when all I can think about is his brother. Declan’s hands on my body, Declan’s voice in my ear, Declan’s taste in my mouth.

What is he doing right now?

“Was it a difficult breakup?”

I snap back to the conversation and away from all the dirty memories that required an extra layer of concealer this morning. “I think it was fairly amicable. We were both going away to college in different states, and relationships are difficult to maintain when you’re eighteen.” Or at any age, in my case.

“First loves are difficult to get over.” Her expression shifts, like she’s remembering something pleasant. “If we look back over your time since then, you haven’t had a long term relationship since Ciaran.”

Uh oh. This is a quagmire I don’t want to step in. “I don’t really see how this is relevant to my music. I’m so excited to be at the festival this year, especially to be touring with the Vendetta now that they’re back together.”

“Exactly.” She glances down at her notebook, like I just set her off course. Good. I don’t want to delve into the many complicated reasons I stayed with Ciaran for so long, or why I now have a one time only policy. None of that is rock and roll. “Let’s talk about your plans for the festival. You’re singing tonight?”

I slip into the flow of conversation, matching her energy, all the while thinking about a certain high school chemistry teacher and what other secrets lie behind that gruff, sexy-nerdy dad vibe he has going on.

CHAPTER 13

Declan

I’m going to have to rename the Dumpster Fire Red Blend next year. Though most everyone in town knows the story of me and Josie, all the tourists who are here for the festival keep demanding the innermost stories of my former marriage. It’s all way too much.

As the pair of Gen Zers, who spent the entire tasting comparing selfies, leave the tasting table, Alex shows up, face smeared with vanilla cream.

“Another cream puff?” I sigh. “I gave you money for food. Actual food, with nutrients and vitamins and things that won’t get me sent to parent jail.”

“No one believes in parent jail any more.” He taps the face of his Minecraft watch. “It’s noon. Come on.”

“Is it noon already?” I think it’s a decent approximation of surprise. I’ve cut back to checking the time every eight minutes instead of every two. “Wow, look at that.”

---