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On his main feed, there were photos and videos of the production, rehearsals, and performances. There were also candid snaps of the ports they were stopping at. I braced myself to feel like I was being punched in the gut. After all, my colleagues, some of whom I’d considered good friends at one point, were all partying it up, working on a cruise, and having, from the looks of it, the time of their lives.
At the very least, I expected to have FOMO. But as I sat looking at the evidence of their adventures at sea, I felt the opposite of that. I was relieved that I wasn’t with them. At first, I attributed my reaction to getting to spend so much time with Kane, but after scrolling through photo after photo, the true genesis of my reaction was revealed.
I was relieved because if I were on that boat with my friends, then I would have to be ‘on.’ I would have to be the version of myself that they all knew—the version of myself I thought I was until I came back home.
As I sat in Kane’s truck on a hot summer day in Wishing Well, Texas, I took a fearless inventory of my life, which led to an Oprah-worthy lightbulb moment. When I moved to New York at the tender age of eighteen, I was scared shitless, but I knew that how I felt didn’t matter. Instinctively, I knew I couldn’t show any weakness, or I would be eaten alive. So, I created an alter ego—a persona if you will—of a self-confident person who had her shit together.
For the first five years living in NYC, I worked three jobs, slept in a room the size of a closet that had no windows, and shared a bathroom with eight strangers. But I never complained or said I was scared. I was always positive and never gave in to that voice in my head that said I wasn’t good enough or that my career was never going to take off.
I went all in, and I was the queen of fake-it-till-you-make-it. And it worked. My plan could not have gone any better. Only now did I see the flaw in my strategy—the teeny, tiny problem in my master plan. In all those years, I never allowed myself to be who I really was. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but sometime over the near decade I’d been pursuing my dreams, I lost myself.
Each day, I’d rise and grind—I hustled with a capital H. I had blinders on. Being a lead on Broadway had been my ultimate goal. It consumed me to the point of ignoring everything else, including what would make me happy or even what I wanted out of my life. I’d pushed all that aside to follow the dream I’d had since I was three years old, younger than Harper was now. I attached all my self-worth to that singular goal.
It made sense that I’d taken the crash and burn of that dream so poorly. Some people—most people—would have bounced back from the embarrassment that my fifteen minutes of fame had given me. But I didn’t. I spiraled into a depression.
Until this moment, I thought it was because I’d destroyed the only thing I ever wanted in life. But as I sat here, the thought of auditioning, of rehearsals, of countless rejections—even the thought of performing on stage to a sold-out crowd—didn’t appeal to me at all.
Subconsciously, I think the reason I’d taken my dream going up in smoke so badly was because I didn’t want to face the truth that I was relieved to get off the hamster wheel of my career. What did that say about me? That I’d given everything to something I really didn’t even want?
A horn beeped behind me, causing me to snap out of my inner musings. I moved forward in the line and saw Harper waiting on the curb with her friends. When she clocked me, she started hopping up and down excitedly as I pulled up beside her. She was in mermaid mode and continued to jump with her ankles pressed together up to the truck. I leaned over and opened the door, and she climbed into the back seat.
“How was your day?” I asked as she closed the door behind her.
“Tracy’s mom brought ice cream for everyone, but mine fell on the ground.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Can we go to the Spoon and get banana splits?” She pulled the seatbelt across her body and buckled herself into her booster seat.
“Um…”
I had no problem going to get ice cream, but I also knew my mom worked the lunch shift at the diner. I’d been in town for two months now, and I hadn’t seen her since the first week when I’d been staying at the trailer. I kept planning on stopping by to see her, but days had turned into weeks, and now summer would be over soon.
“Sure.” I agreed and made a U-turn to head into town.
On the way, Harper filled me in on everything that had happened in the four hours she’d been at day camp. Marty Mitchell got his head stuck in the railings on the handicap ramp, and the fire department had to come and cut him out. Stewie Simpson cut Giselle Reynosa’s hair with safety scissors, and when her mom came and picked her up, she said they were going straight to The Best Hairhouse to get her hair fixed. Indigo Jones had to stay inside during outdoor playtime because she put chewing gum in Carson Henley’s ear.
I'd found that working with the kids was never dull, and no two days were the same. Once the camp ended in two weeks, I was really going to miss working with them.
Gravel churned beneath the tires as we pulled into the parking lot of the Spoon. Through the large front window of the diner, I saw my mom standing beside a table, taking an order. Her long blonde hair was pulled back off her face in a French braid. Once again, I was struck by how beautiful she was. I could see why someone my age would want to be with her, but I didn’t have a clue why she would want to be with him. I’d never understood why she put up with men treating her so badly. It broke my heart.
“You ready for some ice cream?” I asked cheerily.
“Yes!” Harper enthused.
As I pushed the glass door open and held it so Harper could walk inside, the bell dinged above our heads. Tami Lynn, who had worked in the diner for as long as I could remember, looked up from the soda fountain where she was filling drinks. From her blonde hair that was teased within an inch of its life and sat on top of her head like a silky bird’s nest to her dramatically long acrylic nails that today were painted a shocking shade of pink, she stood out in any crowd. She’d always reminded me of a modern-day Flo from the ’70s-’80s sitcom Alice.
“Well, look what the cat drug in. I was hopin’ I’d get to see your pretty face. I’ve been askin’ your mama when you were goin’ to come in here.”
Guilt filled my chest, causing it to ache. It made sense that people would assume I’d visit my mom at work. If Remi were back in town, he would have been in there for lunch two to three times a week. But my mom and I had a different relationship than she had with my brother.
“She just headed out back on a break. Grab a booth, and I’ll bring ya some menus.”
I nodded and walked to a booth tucked in the corner. I wanted to be as far away from prying eyes as possible when we had our reunion. Harper slid in before me, and then I sat down across from her.
“It’s good of you to come by and check up on your mama after everything. Bless her heart,” Tami Lynn said as she handed me a plastic tri-fold menu and Harper a paper menu with a tiny box of crayons.
“Everything?” I had no clue what she was talkin’ about.
