Page 25 of A Tragic Melody

“Yes. Thankfully.”

“Bet you get a lot of tail as the best guitarist on this tour.”

“I don’t fuck around. Need to keep my nose clean.”

“Very smart.” She laughs. “I should’ve done that, then I would’ve been a Hollywood star. I thought it was a good decision then to have a baby, but the girl barely acknowledges me now that she is famous. Forgot where she came from.” She scoffs. “Ungrateful, if you ask me. I did so much for her.”

Suddenly, it all makes sense. Tuesday is a mess because of this woman sitting in front of me. I should’ve known there was a reason she was so cold-hearted. I can’t imagine having a mother like her. I would’ve turned out far worse than Tuesday did.

She goes on and on about Tuesday having an attitude and being a bad child. It makes me sick. No decent parent would talk about their kid like this, to a stranger no less. Nor do I buy any of her talk about having a chance of fame. This woman is horrible.

My mother would lose it on this woman. Defend a girl who is out to get me, simply because someone should. I should. I should defend Tuesday. She may be a mess, but she deserves someone who wouldn’t drag her like this in her life. If that can’t be her mother, then maybe it should be me.

When Tuesday walks in, she glances my way. I only see it out of the corner of my eye, my focus is on her mother. This moment begins to thaw my heart.

Tuesday beelines towards us. I barely let myself look at her as she stares down at her mother. Seeing them so close together is almost scary. This could be Tuesday’s future if someone doesn’t try to save her.

Every instinct tells me to say something to Tuesday. To apologize, to make this situation right. But fear keeps me from saying anything. I’m not fully ready to give up the fight. Too scared that if I don’t fight against Tuesday, she will destroy me and I’ll have nothing.

For that reason, I keep my eyes on Jamie, not Tuesday. If I see any sadness in her, I will break. The illusion of Tuesday will change, and I’ll be forced to give up my plans. To embrace saving her. And I’m not ready to make that decision.

I do my best to stay neutral in the conversation. Ignore the way Jamie makes digs at Tuesday. I’m at war, and if I react to any of this, it will cost me.

But then her mother makes a comment about keeping her boyfriends from Tuesday, and my resolve is broken.

One glance at Tuesday, showing off her pinpoint eyes, swelling with rage and pain, and I can’t keep my mouth shut anymore.

I make one pointed comment, letting the woman before me know I’m not buying her shit story. She wants to make her daughter look bad, but that won’t work on me. I see right through her bullshit.

I make a quick excuse and promptly leave. I don’t want Tuesday to get too excited about me speaking up. That was for my mother more than her.

The fact Tuesday had a bad childhood fills me with guilt. Her drug use is understandable now. It doesn’t take much to make the connection that she was probably abused. How and by whom, who knows, but her childhood clearly wasn’t a safe place like mine was. Her mother clearly doesn’t love her like mine loved me.

It was easy to hate Tuesday when I saw her as a heartless girl with a drug problem, but that has all changed. She is more than that. She has a past, damage that I can’t pretend doesn’t exist now.

It suddenly hits me that I just left her there, sitting beside someone who has hurt her. I groan just outside the fence around the parking lot of the venue.

Abandoning the lamb to be slaughtered in the lion’s den alone is not fair. I circle back. Caring was the last thing I wanted to do, but here we are. I was raised to care, to take care of people, to be the person to defend the underdog.

You don’t get off to emotional intimacy without caring.

When I walk into the venue, Tuesday is still sitting on the couch, but her mother is nowhere to be seen. She radiates sadness. She glares at me when I walk up to her, her gray eyes blinking back tears before she goes back to looking at the floor.

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Like you care,” she snaps.

“I don’t care. Not really.” I shrug. She looks back at me, confusion inked on her face.

“So why are you here then?”

“Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

“Go eat then.”

“Want to come with me?”