Page 31 of Beyond the Fame

He needs someone to treat him like he matters. He needs someone to care about him, to care for him.

That could be me.

Before the thought settles and grows, the rehearsal for the ceremony ends and we’re all heading back into the resort for dinner.

“Well, would you look who it is!” a scratchy voice, as thick as molasses, says when I approach the front of the restaurant where everyone gathers waiting for our table. “I didn’t get the chance to say hello before the rehearsal. How are you, honey?”

“Gram,” I smile, hugging Lana’s frail grandmother. She’s wearing a lovely purple dress with sewn in beads in a swirling silver design. Her thinning white hair is braided at the nape of her neck. “I’m doing well. So wonderful to see you. Are you and Pa excited to walk Ginger down the aisle?”

“I'm just tickled pink,” Gram says the same time Pa says, “You’re losing your accent, girly.”

Lana’s grandfather, Pa, stands next to Gram wearing high-waisted blue slacks and a white dress shirt underneath a matching blue suit jacket. He's missing all his teeth and reminds me of Popeye when he grins.

“Nothing worse than a Southerner sounding like a Northerner,” he adds.

I gasp. “I do not! I still have my twang.”

Pa bursts out into a fit of giggles, slapping his leg with one hand and waving the other around my face.

“You always were so easily riled up.”

Gram gives Pa an eye roll before turning back to me.

“How are your parents, honey? I haven’t seen them in a while. They’ve sure been traveling a lot.”

They’re traveling because I paid off all their bills. I bought them an RV so they could take that cross-country road trip they’ve been talking about since Tyler and I were kids. One that we were supposed to go on to celebrate Tyler’s college graduation, but he got sick instead.

“They’re good. They’re spending a week at the Grand Canyon.”

Mom sends me pictures. That is the basis of our communication lately. I’ll call them, but as I told Jensen, they aren’t very chatty on the phone. I just want to hear about their life and if they’re having fun on the trip.

They didn’t even ask if I wanted to come. I would have if they had.

“That’s just wonderful. I wish Pa and I were healthier to travel more. Unfortunately, this will probably be our last big trip.”

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, yes, honey. We’re just old. Time to slow down is all.”

“Table’s ready!” Ginger sings, and Gram squeezes my arm before walking away.

Dinner was uneventful. We mostly talked about the excitement of the wedding tomorrow. Jensen sat far away from me, and I hate how much that hurt. Following dessert, Gram and Pa call it a night after flying all day. Mylan had sent his jet to pick them up in Arkansas, then they boarded a commercial plane in L.A., sitting first class (paid by Lana and Mylan) for the rest of the trek.

I briefly met Bruno’s parents before they also retreated to their rooms with jet lag since they came all the way from Germany. His dad, Karl, could be his twin—tall, bulky, blond. His mother, Sofia, is the opposite: petite with brown hair.

We leave the restaurant. The guys hit up the resort’s casino and poker room for Bruno’s bachelor party and we head to the hotel’s outside bar/pool area for Ginger’s celebration.

The massive patio allows people to spread out, either taking a dip in the pool, soaking in one of the four hot tubs, hanging out at the bar, or dancing on the designated dance floor. The calming music playing over speakers hung around the area soothe my pounding head after drinking too much last night. I'm going easy tonight, only having one glass of wine. Besides, Lana doesn’t drink, and if I remember correctly, Ginger wasn’t much of a drinker either, and she’s definitely not indulging the night before her wedding.

I recognize some of the other people who are here for the wedding but can’t quite remember their names. People Ginger and Lana went to high school and college with and people who they worked with at Lilies Bar & Grill in Silo Springs. Apparently, Lana bought all their plane tickets and paid for their rooms.

I scoff. Everyone else got a room but me. Now I’m stuck in the same suite as an emotionally closed off man who keeps opening the door and letting me peek inside.

“Oh no, why are you pissed?” Lana muses. She looks radiant tonight, wearing a red body-con dress. Her dark red hair, that she’s been dying for almost a decade now, hangs over her shoulder in a perfect French braid.

“Why are men?”

Lana and Ginger burst into laughter, not even needing me to fill in the blank.

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