Page 87 of Reverse

“Don’t you have an interview with Chris today?”

“He’s here, on speaker.”

“Hey, man,” he chimes in, “I’m so happy you finally did it, though I kind of hate you right now. But everyone else does too, so take it as a compliment.”

I can’t help the zing that runs through me. “Take some credit. You’re the one who taught me to play the piano.”

“I wish I fucking could,” he says, “but sadly, I won’t. We both know this is all you.”

“Thanks, man. Means a lot. Don’t let Mom talk your ear off.”

“Too late,” Mom chimes in. “Chris is going to sneak into one of your shows.”

“No shit?” Anxiety spikes as I shake my head, imagining one of my heroes watching me perform. Though a family friend he may be, he’s one of my favorite songwriters.

“I would love to catch up, but I have to jump off.”

“The hell you do,” Mom protests, “I want my five minutes.”

“Can’t. We have sound check in twenty, and I’m driving today.”

“Fine. But I’m saving all of these, and we will be reading them together when you get back.”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, by the way, your father is still sick, so I don’t know when he’ll be able to join you.”

“Bad?”

“No, just a really nasty head cold and ear infection, so he shouldn’t fly.”

I bite my lip. “Mom, can I ask a favor?”

I hear it the second she takes me off speaker and tells Chris she’ll be right back before she speaks up. “You know you can ask me anything.”

“Can you hold him back for the next few shows? I do want him here, but I want a little time alone with the band. If it comes from me, he might think—”

“Say no more.” She convincingly fakes a cough. “I’m sick.”

“Really?”

“My sweet boy, I’m a fucking scholar on the subject of Reid Crowne. I’ve so got this.”

I can’t help my chuckle. “Thanks.”

Stopping at the crosswalk with the rest of the pedestrian traffic, I glance over to see a blue-eyed baby girl staring up at me from her stroller as Mom ticks off her regular list of orders. “Remember, no drugs, girls, or bar fights.”

“Gee, thanks. But you do realize you’re about a decade late with this lecture?”

“What!?”

“Kidding.”Partially.

“Easton, you better damn well be wearing your—”

“Gotta run. I’ll call you later. Love you, Mom.”

Mom barks my name, and I hang up, feeling a pride from the call I wasn’t expecting. Especially with a huge nod from two of the people I respect most in the industry.

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