Page 182 of Reverse

“Ever the Same”

Rob Thomas

Natalie

The heart-stopping melody of “Hypnotised” gets cut abruptly from where it plays on my nightstand, adding to the tally that now totals four missed calls. It doesn’t include the dozens of others from Holly, Damon, and Rosie, who’ve also sent me a slew of furious texts that I’ve left unanswered for now. The overwhelming domino effect that started in Sedona is still scattering around me, even a thousand miles away. Seconds later, a text message pops up on display, and I grab my phone and strain to read it, my eyes swollen.

EC: Damnit, Beauty, answer me.

I haven’t heard a word from either parent since I got home yesterday, not that I expected to. With Dad’s ban fromSpeak, and the knowledge I’d be working for my mother at Hearst Media, it’s up to me to be a responsible adult and figure out the when, where andwhoto report to, but I haven’t been able to leave my bed since I got back to my apartment. Easton flew out of Seattle this morning, meeting the band on the road due to his rapidly filling concert schedule. While he has some semblance of normalcy to immerse himself back into, I feel as paralyzed as I was in Arizona.

Opening my laptop had proven to be a mistake. The headlines and social media kickback is a mix of support and condemnation, the latter from women who seem to have banded together and deemed me unworthy of Easton. My initial search led me toward a rabbit hole I quickly opted out of and refuse to feed into. Because I’ve seen so much internet evil over the years, I’ve developed a healthy immunity to it. Regardless of the tolerance I’ve built, it still stings being scrutinized and judged. What confidence I have for the moment has nothing to do with the headlines, but it’s being stripped away by the complete lack of communication with my parents—the current state oftheirmarriage unknown. The isolation I feel in their silence is both uncomfortable and foreign. It’s as if I’ve cracked vital pieces of a foundation I thought impenetrable. Every step I take moving forward in either direction feels damning, like it could be the misstep that costs me everything.

Even if Easton and I wait for the initial shock to wear off, it seems we’ve alienated our parents in a way that feels irreparable. Because of that, we may never get an invitation, let alone an open door for conversation.

Reid’s scathing glare yesterday continues to haunt me. Upon first sight, it was undeniable just how much of Easton’s looks are inherited from his father. Reid’s eyes, like my husband’s, are both capable of the same type of injury without a spoken word. Like my own father’s.

In many respects, so much of our lives mirror the others. Despite the toll, it still seems like kismet.

Not once had I added ‘wreaking havoc on my own parents’ marriage’ into the number of scenarios I’d come up with when picturing this fallout.

What baffles me the most is how the incredible, colorful world Easton and I created together has been muted to a lifeless shade of unknown grey.

Love is meant to be celebrated, not mourned, and it seems mourning has been all I’ve done—to some degree or another—since I found it with Easton. My cowardice in answering my husband’s call is because he wants me to fight. It’s a fight I agreed to. A fight I intend on seeing through. But a fight I feel was ripped from me the second I witnessed the detrimental difference between what I imagined the battle with our consequences would be, to the war I fear it will become. It was made abundantly clear to us both in that villa.

Our fathers hate each other.

Maybe to the point our love for the other won’t ever matter.

Whatever lies ahead, Easton’s worth it. We’re worth it, but I don’t want him to know just how shaken I am or that he unknowingly broke promises he had no grounds to make.

Loving him, marrying him, cost me everything he assured me it wouldn’t—my relationship with my fatherand mother. As well as my desk at the paper and the possibility of losing my future atSpeakaltogether. The question now is the permanence of the damage. Damage I refuse to guilt him for.

My phone vibrates again with an incoming call fromEC, the song taking me right back to that beautiful place and time I first heard it, stirring some strength from within me. Other than changing my ringtone, I have yet to program his name to something more, to clarify his significance in my life and the happiness it brought me before it was ripped away. Holding the phone in my hand, I take a calming breath before sliding it to answer.

“Beauty?” he gasps, before I get a chance to get a word in.

“I’m here,” I murmur.

“Jesus. I’m so fucking pissed at you. How could you not answer my calls?”

“I texted you,” I mumble. “It’s, it’s been a day. I’m sorry,” I wipe at my stinging cheek.

“Okay. It’s okay,” he exhales harshly. “What’s happening?”

“How is your mother?” I fire back.

“She’s fine,” he replies quickly, too quickly.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not, but fine is a stretch. She was still somewhere between furious and devastated when I left this morning, which was an improvement from when I got there. Dad isn’t speaking to me.”

“Same,” I say. “But her health?”

“She’s fine, baby. I’m not stretching that truth at all. She didn’t stroke and was only sedated as a precaution.”

“Jesus, Easton. You never told me about that.”

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