I
โve got about a dozen people in my control room bickering about lyrics while a six-foot-seven dude named Gumby stands over my shoulder.
โYou know what all those buttons do?โ he asks, watching me do a rough mix of the verse Yves St. Germain just laid down.
โNope,โ I tell him as I punch up the sample track of the violins Nice really liked. โNot a clue.โ
โMan, stop pestering the lady,โ Patch tells him. He leans back in the rolling chair beside me, teetering on the edge of falling over. โShe donโt be trying to tell you how to dress like your mama put your school clothes on layaway in the nineties.โ
โYo, for real, though,โ Gumby says. He reaches for one of the faders, and I smack his hand away from my board. โThatโs a lot of buttons. How you even learn to do all this?โ
Narrowing my eyes, I whisper, โDonโt tell anybody, but I donโt even work here.โ
He snorts at me, shaking his head with a smile.
โYโall get away from her and let the woman do her thing.โ Nice, as Yves insists I call him, comes back into the control room from a short break. His rapper name is YSG,
but his nickname growing up was โNice.โ Because he was a nice kid. Itโs disgustingly wholesome and I love it.
โAll good,โ I say. โCome give this a listen.โ
Weโve been at it since about seven this morning. The kidโs only nineteen, but heโs got a serious work ethic. Itโs a big part of the reason we get along so well. Both of us would rather be in the studio, tinkering and experimenting, than just about anywhere else.
I play back what weโve put down so far on this latest track. His entourage goes silent while they listen, bobbing their heads to the beat. Then those violins come in and Nice whistles, a huge grin spreading across his face.
โYeah, Hannah. Thatโs sick right there.โ
โWhat if you lay down some ad libs under it?โ I suggest. โThicken it up a little.โ
โI like that. Letโs try it.โ Then he pulls out a box from the pocket of his bright yellow jacket. โGot you a little something, by the way. For all your hard work.โ
I canโt help but laugh. โI told you to stop giving me gifts!โ
This kid gets me โa little somethingโ just about every time I see him. Nice signed a massive recording contract after his single went viral last year. Now he throws money around exactly the way a teenager does when heโs got more than he knows what to do with.
โBut I gotta let you know I appreciate you.โ His smile is so earnest, I melt in the face of it.
โDude, you need to get yourself a financial advisor,โ I advise. โPut some of that money away for when youโre older.โ
โI keep telling my man to get some of that cryptocurrency,โ Gumby says.
โNah, bruh. You know that shit uses as much electricity as it takes to power a whole country for a year?โ Nice says gravely. โScrew that.โ
Inside my box is a beautiful watch. โThis is gorgeous,โ I tell him. โBut itโs way too expensive. I really shouldnโt.โ
โBut you donโt want to insult me, so you will,โ he says, beaming. โItโs made from recycled ocean plastic. They only produced twenty of these. Elon Musk has three.โ Then he pushes up the sleeve of his jacket to show heโs wearing four of them. Two on each wrist. Take that, Musk. โTheyโre funding the boat thatโs pulling the floating garbage island out of the Pacific.โ
I shake my head in astonishment. โItโs amazing. Thank you.โ
As far as rappers go, Nice is unique. A lot of his lyrics talk about climate change and conservation. Different causes heโs passionate about. Heโs legitimately one of the cleverest teenagers Iโve ever met, which comes through in his music and the way he puts rhymes together.
โHey, yโall know Hannahโs boyfriend won a hockey award last night?โ he says to his friends, who are all crammed on the leather couch with their phones out. The kid travels with an entourage.
โHockey?โ Gumby says, glancing up. โDump him. I can set ya up with my boy on the Celtics.โ
โThank you, but Iโm good.โ โHowโd it go?โ Nice asks.
โIt was great. Iโm pretty proud of him.โ I grin. โEven if his ego is about to become unbearable.โ
โYou tell him I said congrats. And not to get feeling himself too much.โ
Which is a trip coming from Nice. Not that heโs full of himself, but heโs got a lot of diva in him. Some people were just born to be superstars.
We get back to recording, but it isnโt long before Iโm not feeling quite right. I shift in my chair. Itโs getting hot in here, and thereโs a sour taste in my mouth. Oh no. No, no, no. Not here, damn it. But thereโs no stopping it. In the middle of Niceโs chorus, I blurt out, โGotta pee!โ and then
dive off my chair. I sprint out of the room, leaving an embarrassing wave of laughter in my wake and Patch remarking, โLord, these itty-bitty lady bladders, bruh.โ
Luckily thereโs a restroom less than five yards away. I stand over the toilet for a few minutes, breathing hard, gulping through the waves of nausea. But nothing comes up. Itโs been this way for days, and Iโve had about all the fun I can stand.
After Iโve washed my hands and dabbed some cold water on my face, I check my phone to see I have a bunch of missed texts.
ALLIE:ย Donโt leave me hanging. Did you do it??
I sigh. Allie is my best friend and I love her to death, but sheโs starting to drive me nuts. Ever since I told her I was pregnant, sheโs been on me to talk to Garrett. Not that itโs a ludicrous course of action or anything. I mean, of course I need to tell the father of this baby that heโs, well, the father of this baby. But Iโm starting to feel the pressure and that just makes me queasier.
ME: No. We ran into his dad at the awards ceremony. Wasnโt a good time.
Instead of texting back, she immediately calls me.
I answer with, โHey. Iโm still at the studio so I canโt talk for long.โ
โOh, donโt worry, this wonโt take long.โ Her tone becomes part scolding, part pity. โHan-Han. When you start eating pickles and a whole red velvet cake on the couch at two in the morning, heโs going to figure it out. You have to tell him.โ
โUgh, donโt mention food.โ The thought gets my stomach churning again. โIโm currently in the bathroom
trying not to puke.โ
โUh-huh. See? Not drinking and going to the bathroom every ten minutes to pee or vomit is something else heโs going to notice eventually.โ
โI know I need to tell him. But it seems like every time I try, thereโs some reason not to.โ
โAnd there always will be if you want there to be.โ โAllie.โ
โIโm just saying. Maybe you need to ask yourself if youโre stalling for some reason.โ
โWhat do you mean, for โsomeโ reason? Of course Iโm stalling and I know exactly why.โ Hysterical laughter bubbles in my throat. โI mean, gee, itโs not like this is going to completely change our lives forever or anything. Why would that be scary?โ
Garrett and I havenโt even discussed kids in any serious way. Getting pregnant and springing it on him seems like a hell of a way to broach the subject. How could it not feel like a trap?
โCan I ask?โ she says hesitantly. โDo you want to keep it?โ
My teeth dig into my bottom lip. Thatโs the thing. The big question. The one that keeps me up at night staring at Garrett while he sleeps and trying to imagine what our life would look like a year from now.
โIn a perfect world, at the right time? Sure,โ I admit, a slight trembling to my voice. โI always thought having a couple of kids would be nice. A boy and a girl.โ Growing up as an only child, I envied my friends who had siblings. It seemed like so much fun having another kid around.
โBut?โ Allie prompts when I donโt go on.
โBut the realities of being a hockey family donโt make it easy. Heโs on the road for months out of the year, which basically means Iโd be taking care of a baby by myself. Thatโs not exactly ideal.โ
Even without a kid, itโs a tough lifestyle. Between pre- and post-season, the hockey life is travel, long hours, and exhaustion. By the time Garrett walks through the door, he barely has the energy to put down a meal before he collapses into bed. Thereโs hardly enough time for us, much less a child. A crying newborn on top of that?
Panic starts crawling up my throat. I swallow hard, and my voice shakes when I speak again. โI canโt do this by myself, Allie.โ
โAw, babe.โ Her sigh echoes over the line. โIt sucks your family doesnโt live closer. Give you some help, at least.โ
โThatโd be great, but thereโs no way.โ
My parents are stuck in a second mortgage in the crappy small town in Indiana where I grew up. Buried under a mountain of debt thatโll probably keep them in that miserable place for the rest of their lives.
โLook. Whatever happens,โ Allie tells me, โIโm here for you. Anything you need. All you have to do is call, and Iโll be on the next flight or train to Boston. Iโll hitchhike if I need to.โ
โI know and I love you for it. Thank you.โ I blink through my stinging eyes. โI have to go back to work now.โ
After I end the call, I walk back to the mirror to make sure I donโt look like Iโve been crying. In my reflection I see tired green eyes and pale cheeks and a look of pure terror.
When it comes down to it, Iโm scared. Of raising this kid by myself. Of the overwhelming responsibility. Of what Garrett will say when I finally find the right way to tell him. Because Iย amย going to tell him. I just have to find the words.
For the time being, though, there are more pressing issues. Like the exorbitant rate Nice is paying for studio time that is like setting money on fire every minute Iโm having an existential meltdown in the bathroom.
We spend the next several hours in the studio banging out a few more songs. When Nice and I get into a rhythm,
we work quick. The flow is there, that free creative energy that makes the time pass in a blink. Until suddenly we do blink, and discover that his friends are all passed out on the couch and the night janitor is wandering in to empty the trash cans.
We finally call it quits for the night. I gather up my things and accept Patchโs offer to walk me to my car. Canโt be too safe these days.
โGโnite, Hannah baby. Lock your door.โ Patch taps the window frame of my SUV before lumbering back to the building.
Iโm just pulling out of the lot when I get a call from my agent. Elise usually calls about this time every evening to check on our progress. Sheโs got the record label calling her every ten minutes wanting to make sure their money isnโt being wasted in the studio.
โAre you holding anything hot?โ she asks instead of a hello.
โHuh? Like did we write anything good tonight?โ
โNo, are you literally holding something hot in your hands right now? Coffee? Tea? If so, put it down,โ she orders.
I experience a jolt of alarm. โIโm driving home. Whatโs wrong?โ
โNothing, if you like money.โ Elise sounds too pleased with herself, which makes me nervous.
โI like money,โ I say, albeit warily.
โGood. Because the song you wrote for Delilah took a sledgehammer to the charts last quarter and Iโve just sent you an obscene check. Youโre welcome.โ
โHow obscene is obscene?โ
โItโs a surprise. Congratulations, Hannah. This is what making it feels like.โ
Iโm hesitant to guess at the number. The pop star Iโd written the song for had been all over my social media for months, and I knew the streams and downloads of the
single had done well. Which meant the royalty would be pretty nice. But I make it a habit not to pay too much attention to those things. Better to concentrate on the work ahead than obsess about the last gig. The second we get too far up our own asses, the music suffers.
The truth is, this industry is fickle. Whatโs hot today is hot garbage tomorrow. You just have to rack up the credits and enjoy the ride while it lasts.
 |
At home, I canโt wait to share the news with Garrettโand
then find a way to slip a baby into the conversationโbut when I walk in the door, there are already open beer bottles on the kitchen counter and heโs angrily playing video games in the den.
โFuck,โ he growls, and throws the controller at the coffee table where it lands with a stinging crack.
โHey, there.โ I lean against the doorframe and offer a cautious smile.
Garrett just sighs. Heโs still in the pajamas he was wearing this morning. Which is never a good sign.
โWhatโs up?โ I take a seat on the arm of the sofa to kiss him hello, but our lips barely meet before heโs pulling back with an irritated curse.
โHeโs fucking with me,โ he spits out.
โWho? That same kid with the lisp? Oh no. Heโs back?โ For weeks after last Christmas, Garrett had a ten-year-
old nemesis taunting him on one of his games. I thought I was going to have to get rid of the console, legitimately worried Garrett would find a way to track the kid down and show up at his house carrying his hockey stick. But then the kid and his lisp just up and disappeared in the spring and I thought the ordeal was over.
โMy father,โ he says darkly. โNothing satisfies him, so now heโs got to rub it in.โ
My brain is beginning to hurt. โStart from the beginning. What happened?โ
โLandon calls me this morning. Says a producer from ESPN wants me to do an episode ofย The Legacy. Only itโs not one of their usual career snapshots type of episodesโ itโs some bullshit father-son feel-good story. So my dad can get on there and talk about raising a prodigy while they throw my baby pictures up behind his head.โ Garrettโs eyes flash a stormy gray. โHeโs seriously just being sadistic at this point.โ
โYou think Phil set this up?โ
โLike itโs something novel, going behind my back and trying to interfere in my life?โ Garrett tosses over a knowing look. โDoesnโt sound familiar?โ
He has a point. When we were still in college, Phil Graham all but blackmailed me to break up with Garrett, threatening to cut him off financially if I didnโt.
โYouโre right. Itโs exactly what heโd do.โ
โIโm being punished for something. Or maybe heโs gone mad with power. Whatever it is, Iโm not biting.โ
โGood,โ I say, rubbing his shoulders. Nothing takes a toll on Garrett like his dad. โScrew him. Whatever attention heโs hoping for, donโt give it to him.โ
But my boyfriend is too agitated to sit still. I trail after his broad, muscular body as he goes to the kitchen to grab the last remaining beer bottle from the fridge. He drinks nearly half of it in one gulp, then rummages around for something to eat.
โItโs shit like this that makes me not want to have kids, you know?โ
The bitter reflection comes so far out of left field, Iโm totally and completely blindsided by it.
It smacks me right in the face, a sharp pang radiating through my chest as I absorb what he just said.
โYouโre lucky,โ he says gru๏ฌy, turning to face me. He leans against the fridge door. โYour folks are decent people. Youโve got the good parent genes in your DNA, you know? But what about me? Like, what happens if I turn out just like my dad one day and screw up my kids? Make them grow up to hate me?โ
I gulp down the lump of anxiety choking off my airways. โYouโre not your dad. Youโre nothing like him.โ
But Garrett tends to disappear into himself when Phil gets under his skin. He becomes quiet and withdrawn. And Iโve learned the only cure is time and space. Let him work through the thoughts in his head without pushing him or adding extra pressure.
Which means that once again, we donโt quite make it around to the subject of, hey, Iโve got a kid you most definitely wonโt screw up brewing in my belly.
