Page 5 of Reckless and Rooted
“Oh, your dad has some work to do, and I need to head to the school to prep my classroom for the year.” Dad works in construction with his old friend, Henry Blake. He’s worked with him since I could remember without ever complaining or trying to own his own company like so many in construction often do. Henry is a good friend of the family, and I remember going to school with his son, Warren, who was in my grade growing up.
Mom is a schoolteacher at the local middle school and helps out outside of her teaching any way she can. She is a staple in ourlittle town. People will flock to her for her help whenever there are events or crises going on.
When my career took off, I offered numerous times to pay off their house, to buy them a new one, or to get this one renovated. I even offered to take care of their expenses so they could both retire. But they didn’t hear any of that. They wouldn’t take a single dime from me.
I did manage to get them to go on a few vacations, only if I went with them, and those were memories I would cherish for a long time.
“Do you want help?”
Mom eyes me over her paper. “Youwantto help me prep my room?”
I understand her confusion because there was one thing I never wanted to do, and it was to be in a classroom unless it was absolutely necessary for me to do so. Well, mostly. I remember many days when I painstakingly did my hair and makeup, took way too long to pick an outfit, and reveled in the smile Jax Cash would give me the moment he laid eyes on me in those hallways.
“Yeah, why not?”
“I used to have to drag you in to help me. Also…” Mom lays her paper down, her eyes meeting my dad’s before coming back to me. “It may be a be…chaotic for you to be seen in town.”
“Oh, come on.” I wave my hand, wishing I could have some of that coffee that’s smell is wafting my way. I need to look up the rules on that, but I am pretty sure it is a major no-no. “No one cares who I am here.”
“Oh, they care,” Dad says, chuckling to himself. “They have a whole ‘Felicity Vogel Day’ at school every year, where everyone dresses up as you, and they blast your songs in between periods.”
I gape at my father, turning my head to look at Mom for confirmation. She nods. “It’s true.” She lets loose a chuckle. “I become the most popular teacher those days when everyonetakes pictures with me.” Her eyes sparkle in amusement. “It’s quite a hoot.”
“I can’t believe this,” I say, shaking my head. “How come you never told me?”
Mom waves her hand at me. “Oh honey, you have more things to worry about than some school tradition.”
My stomach rolls slightly, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. Not just because of my current predicament, but because I feel like I know nothing about my own hometown—about my parents, their friends, and their traditions that I’m no longer a part of.
It reaffirms everything I thought about coming home. It was the right move.
Isthe right move.
“Well.” I clear my throat as Dad sets a larger than I could ever eat stack of pancakes in front of me. “I think it’s just what I need. To help you, to be around some familiar stuff.”
For a moment, my parents are quiet. It’s not until my second bite that I look up, wondering why they suddenly aren’t talking, and see them staring at me with concern.
“What?” I ask, taking a napkin out of the holder in the middle that’s been there since I was ten, with the light blue swans on the sides, and wipe my mouth.
“We’re just…concerned,” Dad says, taking a seat and leaning on one of his hands. “You came home out of the blue—and we love that you’re here!” he reassures quickly.
“Absolutely adore having you home, honey!” Mom chimes in, overly enthusiastic.
“But we’re just unsure on why you came home. Are you in trouble?”
“No.” Not really. “I just…” I pause, my eyes tracing over the grains of the table and try to think about how to put this without giving everything away. I’m not ready to share my news, despitehow thrilled I’m sure they will be. It is just too much too soon. “I need a break. Hollywood is incredibly draining, and I can’t take that lifestyle anymore.”
“So…” Mom starts, looking at my dad and back to me, her coffee and paper abandoned for this talk. Something I love about both my parents is their attentiveness when you need to talk. No distractions. “You need a break? Or you are done with Hollywood?”
I purse my lips, realizing what I said now. I didn’t even realize how I worded it, but, knowing that’s the way I’ve vented to my parents tells me something I just wasn’t quite sure I was ready to admit to myself. “I need a break…for now.” I lift my head and look at them. “But I may be done.”
Both of my parents take this news seriously, frowning and sitting back in their chairs. “Are you sure, honey? You’ve worked yourself tirelessly to be what you are.”
“I know. Believe me, I know,” I rush to say, wishing I could just eat my pancakes and pretend I was thirteen again and my worst problem was a major crush on the boy who sat next to me in class. “It’s too much. It’s grueling. And I’m not even able to really write the music I want to. It’s all become so…”
“Generic.” My dad fills in, getting a slap from my mom. “Gerald!”
“No, Mom. He’s right.” I nod my head, hating the truth of it, but it’s become bland. Made for market. Horrible.
