Page 89 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

The door opens.

“Nathan...”

My mother’s voice hasn’t changed. Still, that same soft lilt that used to sing Stevie Nicks in our tiny living room back in Florida. But she has changed—silver threading through her dark hair, fine lines around her blue eyes. She’s smaller than I remember, or maybe I’ve just grown.

“Hi, Mom.”

The words feel strange in my mouth, rusty from disuse. I watch emotions flash across her face—shock, joy, fear—before she steps forward and wraps me tightly in her arms.

My mother smells like lavender and something familiar—like old memories I didn’t think I still had. There’s a slight tremor in her touch as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.

For a heartbeat, I’m frozen. Then something breaks loose in my chest, and I’m hugging her back, careful not to hold on too tight even though my arms are shaking.

“Oh, my boy.” Her voice cracks. “My beautiful boy.”

Over her shoulder, I see movement inside the house. Richard appears in the doorway, older but still wearing glasses. Only now are they a different kind—wire-rimmed—but still with that kind smile that had once made me think maybe this guy would be different.

“Nate.” He nods, giving us space. “It’s good to see you.”

Mom pulls back, wiping her eyes, but keeps hold of my arms like she’s afraid I’ll vanish. “Come in, please. I just made coffee, and—“ She stops, noticing my glance toward the car. “Is that... is she...?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “That’s Lacey.”

“The movie star?” Her eyes light up. “I saw the engagement announcement. I’ve been following all the articles, and—“ She catches herself, blushing. “I mean... would she like to come in?”

I hesitate, then nod. Because somehow, having Lacey here makes this feel less like drowning.

When I wave Lacey over, she emerges from the car gracefully, and I watch my mother’s expression soften as she approaches, discreetly wiping away her tears.

“Mrs. Henderson?” Lacey’s smile is genuine and warm. “I’m Lacey.”

“Call me Nancy.” Mom’s eyes are wet again. “Come in, both of you. Please.”

The house is warm, filled with the smell of coffee and fresh flowers. Family photos line the walls, and I catch glimpses of myself in them—younger, angrier, but still there. She kept them all.

Richard moves toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the coffee.”

“Cream and sugar?” Mom asks Lacey, but her eyes keep darting back to me like she’s afraid I’m a mirage.

“Black is fine,” Lacey answers softly, her hand finding mine.

We settle in the living room, my mother perching on the edge of her armchair like she’s afraid to get too comfortable. There’s an old record player in the corner, and I spot familiar albums lined up nearby. Some things never change.

“I’ve seen all your shows,” she says suddenly. “Well, the ones that stream online. The band—you’re incredible, Nathan. The way you play...” Her voice catches. “It’s everything you ever dreamed of.”

Richard returns with coffee, and the domestic normalcy of it all makes my chest tight. This could have been my life—Sunday coffees, family dinners, a mother who didn’t have to struggle alone.

“Thank you,” I manage. “For the birthday cards. And Christmas...”

“You never answered.” It’s not an accusation, just a quiet truth.

“I know.” I stare into my coffee. “I couldn’t...”

“I understand.” Her hands twist in her lap. “After what I did—leaving you there—“

“Mom—“

“No, let me say this.” She straightens, and I see a flash of the woman who used to dance in our living room, who worked three jobs to keep us fed. “I was wrong. I thought... I thought I wasdoing what was best. Richard offered stability, a real home. But I should have seen that you needed something else. You needed to chase your dreams. I should have found a way to support both.”

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