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The woman’s face falls a bit before she catches it and shoots us a smile, likely calculating a smaller tip because of our cheap drink orders. But she nods and goes off to gather the drinks anyways.
“So where is your other half then while you’ve been here working all day?” I ask, turning in my chair so I’m angled toward her.
Carter does the same as she answers. “He said he had a meeting this morning.”
I blink at her. “And now, it’s already evening?” I ask, dragging out the last few words.
She purses her lips and nods. “Yes, it is. I have no idea where he’s been the rest of the day, just that he sent me a list of edits needing to be made and requesting that I get them done.” She rolls her eyes. “As if this is not also my job and I didn’t already know what needed to be done.”
The bartender sets our drinks on a small napkin in front of us and Carter reaches forward and takes a sip.
“If I would’ve known you were sitting around here doing work by yourself all day, I would’ve tracked you down and dragged you out with me earlier. Naomi, Boone, and I just walked around all day and it would’ve been nice to not be the third wheel again,” I joke.
Carter’s mouth pulls up at that but she shakes her head. “The work needed to get done.”
I bite my tongue, not saying that if the work needed to be done so badly, then maybe her boyfriend and business partner should’ve been here to help her.
“Have you always shot for musicians?”
“No,” she answers, taking another sip and I do the same, enjoying the way the sweetness explodes across my tongue with the bite of carbonation. “I love shooting live bands and artists, but I also love doing portrait photography. I used to set up photoshoots with different friends back home who were willing to pose for me.” She gets a far-off look and I can almost see a portfolio flipping through her mind across her face.
“You miss it,” I say.
“I do,” she confirms. “But I wouldn’t give up this chance for anything. I’ve been having a lot of fun watching you perform every night. Don’t tell Boone or the Whisper Me Nothings guys, but your sets are my favorite to shoot.”
My cheeks heat at her compliment, and I take another drink to distract from my rising blush. “Stop it.”
She sits up straighter. “No, I mean it. It’s mesmerizing watching you bring an audience onto your side when you know that they’re there for the headliners.” As soon as the words leave her lips, Carter’s eyes widen and she slaps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, that totally sounded wrong.”
I let out a small laugh, waving her off. “Don’t worry about it. I know what you mean and you’re right, I know every time I step out on that stage that no one in that audience bought a ticket specifically for me.”
But that only makes me want to work harder every performance. I want those people to have come to see Boone or Whisper Me Nothings but leave thinking about my set, my songs, my performance.
I don’t walk out there knowing anyone is waiting with bated breath for me. I need to prove to them that I deserve to be opening for the acts following me.
Carter’s phone buzzes on the bar and she flips the screen over. Someone is calling but the screen is tilted away so I can’t tell who.
“You can answer it,” I tell her, spinning my chair to angle myself back toward the bar and lean my elbows on it, giving her a little semblance of privacy.
Carter declines the call and then shoots off a quick text before turning her attention back to me. “It’s just my dad, I can call him back later.”
“You sure? I don’t mind.” Although if my father was calling, I most definitely would be declining that call too.
“I talked to him this morning already.” She waves me off. “He’s probably just on his way home from work and wanted to chat while he drove home.”
“Are you two close?” I ask, assuming if she talks to him multiple times a day, they like each other more than my own father and I do.
I bet if I pulled up my call log on my phone right now, I wouldn’t have a single call, in or out, from my father in years. We haven’t spoken since Beth’s wedding and he’s not the type to call just to check in. And I’m not the type to call and try to start up a conversation with him when I wouldn’t even know where to start.
Growing up as a preacher’s daughter, there’s a certain level of expectations of not only myself but our entire family. He was the leader of the flock, and we were the role models. My mother fit in perfectly by his side, organizing the children’s ministry and hosting bible studies for fellow women. As the eldest daughter, I should’ve fallen in line behind my mother, adopting her mannerisms and sweet voice, always looking for ways to be involved in the church.
But I hated bible study. I hated getting dressed up to the nines multiple times a week for service, not being allowed to play sports because they weren’t for little girls and instead forced to babysit in the church nursery.
I hated going to youth groups and sitting there while an adult droned on and on about purity and sin, scaring the hell out of other kids but fueling the anger inside myself toward the whole thing.
I hated the way any questions I asked were silenced. It’s not that I thought everything was a lie, but I had doubts. And you weren’t supposed to have those. Especially not when your father was the mouthpiece of those teachings.
But when my little sister came along and fit in perfectly in the role of a dutiful daughter, a small weight was lifted off my shoulders. Whether she knows it or not, Beth being born and enjoying all of the things I revolted against was one of the luckiest things to happen to me.
