Page 113 of Perfect Composition
“And your father?”
I open and shut my mouth, because there’s no answer.
“Paige, during our sessions you’ve told me all about your past with Beckett, how he dropped everything to be with you and your daughter, and the catastrophe after the Grammys. I did some research, and yes, I’ve seen the photograph in question. But by not letting Beckett explain, whether it’s what you want to hear or not, you won’t ever heal. And you need to.”
Now, it’s time for me to place a phone call I’ve put off making since the last time she called when we did nothing but hurl harsh words at one another. For my own sanity, I’ve kept our conversations to text only since that disastrous conversation. Especially since I admitted to Alice, I overburdened my child with my emotions.
Much like my father did to me.
Pressing Send, I lift the phone up to my ear. Maybe she’ll let it go to voicemail. Maybe she’s preparing to go out. I don’t even know…
“Mama!” she cries immediately upon answering.
The very first thing I do is what I swore I wouldn’t: I burst into tears. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”
And what does my daughter do? She starts laughing.
“This wasn’t how I was predicting this call would go at all,” I declare.
“Oh, Mama, you so should have. How many times growing up did I act like a total bitch when I was having guy troubles?”
“Do you want me to start back in middle school or when they started becoming serious?” I flop down on my couch. Resting my head back, I close my eyes and thank God for small miracles that I took this chance and reached out—that Austyn isn’t going to hold this against me.
Her voice is gentle in my ear. “I just wanted to be there for you, chocolate and tears.”
I blurt out, “I was talking with someone.”
“You were? Who?”
Taking a deep breath, I admit, “A doctor at the hospital. Her name’s Alice Cleary. As much as you wanted to support me, what happened devastated me, Austyn. I could barely function. I needed to speak with a professional.”
There’s a pregnant pause before a choked “Oh, Mama” comes over the line.
“It helped,” I rush in to tell her quickly. “It truly helped. Alice helped me sort through so many different things. Including how to cope and go on.” Because there’s a lifetime of beats the heart has to pound out before the music of the heart is done playing. Even if Beckett’s and mine weren’t meant to be in the same band, there’s still a beauty in the music we did play. I’m grateful for it. After all, we created Austyn from it.
“That’s…amazing.” Austyn’s voice is subdued.
“What is it?” I catch the nuance immediately.
“Nothing. It’s nothing. Say, how would you feel about a visit this weekend? I feel the need to wrap my arms around you.”
The sigh my soul emits is audible. “I think that’s perfect. Do you want for me to arrange for a car?”
“I’ll get it covered,” she assures me. “I’ll be there Saturday. We’ll catch up then.”
“Good. I’ll stock up.”
“Perfect. And Mama?”
“Yes?”
“You need to know something.” Her voice is unusually serious.
“Okay?”
“I’m glad you didn’t go through that pain alone. Trevor—you remember my sound guy you filled in for at Redemption? Well, he kept telling me I was selfish—that I shouldn’t take sides. I’m so sorry because I didn’t just let you be, but I was so worried. And now, I’m so scared I did something to hurt us…” She rambles at the speed she normally reserves for her anxiety before a performance.
And that’s another burden for me to bear: I did this to my daughter. It’s time to set her straight. “Austyn, you are neither the cause for what happened, nor the effect. You…” I try to find the right words.
