Page 30 of Wild Obsession

EVERYONE IN THE BAND knows I hate coming back to Baltimore. We managed to avoid it during our first big tour. Management wasn’t thrilled, but Erin had my back, and when she sets her mind to something, she’s a force to be reckoned with.

We weren’t so lucky this time. Even knowing from day one that we’d pass through here, my stomach tied itself in knots the moment we took the highway exit for the city proper. At one point, Cameron asked in his quiet way if I was okay, and I told him yes convincingly enough that he let the matter drop.

I’m definitely not okay.

I’m so glad this is one of our rest stops, as much as I don’t want to stay here any longer than necessary, becauseI’m so nauseous by the time we get off the bus that I seriously consider barfing up my lunch in the hotel room bathroom. Cameron gives me more concerned looks, but I escape into the shower to avoid having to talk about it. The band knows I don’t like being here and that it has something to do with my family, but that’s all the information I’ve given them. There’s no way I want them knowing the whole story. They’ll think I’m beyond pathetic, and I’m barely hanging on as their drummer as it is.

When I get out of the shower, Cameron says everyone is going to dinner. I reluctantly tag along, as much as I’d like to hide away in my room. About halfway into a meal we share with half the crew at a local Baltimore restaurant serving chunks of fried chicken and greasy, dripping street tacos, I realize my stomach isn’t turning itself inside out anymore. I even laugh at the story one of the crew guys tells about having to fight with some sound guy over whether to connect the amps or not.

“How did they expect the show to go on with no amps?” Kelsey says around a mouthful of chicken.

“No idea,” the crew guy, Max, says. “He swore this was the way they’d always done it. I had to go past him to his boss to get anything done. It put us way behind.”

“Is that why we had to scramble like that in Nashville?” Erin says.

“You guys are lucky you’re too busy to notice most of the time, but we pretty muchalwayshave to scramble,” Maxsays. “That was just the first time it was bad enough to reach you, too.”

I feel a little guilty at that. When we were coming up, we did all this stuff ourselves, hauling our gear to whatever bar was letting us play, setting it up, tearing it down so the next band could get out there. It’s weird having people do so much for us. Most people don’t realize the army it takes to get a band onstage, especially stages of the size we’ve been playing lately.

It’s made the crew feel like family. I know all their names, even if we’ve rarely had a moment to breathe and sit down for a meal like this in the past three weeks. You can’t help getting attached to people you’re with so much for so long. It’s like having a ton of siblings all of a sudden.

A pang strikes my chest. I wonder how my real siblings are doing. I haven’t spoken to Eva or Rachel in years. I haven’t spoken to our parents either. The last time I tried, it didn’t exactly go well. Maybe it’s the homey, cozy meal, maybe it’s being in Baltimore after so long, but something makes me want to reach out and try. Maybe something has changed after this many years of silence.

I resolve to give it a shot before dinner ends. By the time we make it back to the hotel, I’m dead set on making the call. Cameron gives me a look when I don’t follow him back to the room, but I assure him I’m fine, and this time I manage a real smile as I do it.

“Okay, man,” he says. “Just call or text if you needsomething.”

“I will,” I say.

I wait for everyone to head inside, then I find a place off to the side of the main doors of the hotel. It’s not exactly private, but it’s private enough. The lights of the lobby barely reach me out here. I make anxious loops on the sidewalk wrapping around the building as I hit dial and listen to the ringing on the other end of the phone.

“Hello?” my mother says.

She sounds confused, and I suppose that’s only sensible. I haven’t called home in so long I don’t even know if she recognizes my number.

“Hey, Mom,” I say.

“Tim?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I just wanted to call and say hi. I’m actually in Baltimore with the band for the next couple days. We got in tonight. I would have called sooner, but…”

All the usual excuses feel inadequate. It isn’t that I didn’t have time or that I was tired. It’s that I didn’t want to make this call. I was afraid of this call. I could have reached out at any point in the past several years, but I didn’t.

Suddenly, the sound quality changes and my father’s voice rings through the speaker.

“Timothy?” he says. “It’s good to hear from you.”

Is it? I really, really hope it is, but last time I called it wasn’t exactly a heartwarming reunion.

“Yeah,” I say anyway. “Sorry I haven’t reached out. Beenreally busy with the band and all that. We’re on our second tour now, then we plan to get back in the studio and put together a new album.”

“That’s great,” my father says, and it sounds real.

Please let it be real.

“I think I saw something on the news about you,” my mother chimes in.

“That was probably the tour stop,” I say. “They’ve been selling out, so I guess it’s got some buzz.”

---