Page 3 of Full Tilt
“Hello, may I help you?”
She’s going to hang up!
“Hey, Mom. It’s me. Kacey.”
“Cassandra.”
I hated that name and hadn’t used it for years. But wrapped around those three syllables, I heard the relief in my mother’s voice. Iheardit.
“Yeah, hi!” I said brightly, too loudly. “How uh…How are you guys?”
“We are fine,” she said. Her voice was hushed now, as if she didn’t want to be overheard. “Where are you calling from?”
“Las Vegas,” I said. “Because we’re on tour. Me and my band? Rapid Confession? It’s a sold-out show tonight, our second night in a row. Actually, most of the shows on our tour have beensold out. It’s pretty great. We’re hitting the big time.”
“I am very happy for you, Cassandra.”
I heard my father’s influence behind my mother’s words, turning her into a goddamn robot spouting lines she’d been forced to memorize.
“And our latest single? ‘Talk Me Down’? Well….” I bit my lip. “It’s number six on the Billboard Hot 100. And I…Well, I wrote it, Mom. I mean, my band and I wrote it, but the words…they’re mostly mine. And ‘Wanderlust’? I wrote that one too. It’s number twelve on the charts.”
Nothing.
I swallowed. “How is Dad?”
“He’s fine,” my mother replied, her voice almost a whisper now.
“Is…Is he there?”
My mom sighed, a tiny exhalation. “Cassie… Are you safe? Are you taken care of?”
“I’m doing good, Mom,” I said. “And I’m a success. This band… We’re a hit.”
God, I hated this. The pathetic tone of my voice, the bragging of the band’s accomplishments, begging my mother to feel happy for our success when I hardly felt a thing myself, except the need to be loved. It was like a hunger that was never sated. A desperate starvation twisted and twined into my guts, tangled in ravenous knots I couldn’t unravel.
I could never quell that awful appetite. Only drown it in alcohol for a little while and try to puke it out the next day.
“Mom? Please, just tell Dad…”
“Cassie, I have to go.”
“Wait, can you put him on? Or just…Can you tell him you’re on the phone with me right now? Just do that, Mom. See what he says.”
Silence. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said finally. “He’s been…cheerful lately. No upsets. I don’t want to disturb him.”
“Is he still mad at me?” I asked, my voice wavering. “It was four years ago, Mom. I’m not even with Chett anymore.”
Chett ditched me in Las Vegas four years ago, leaving me broke, heartbroken, and reeling. A cross-country tour, a record deal, countless one-night stands and two new tattoos later and here I was, a wayward kid again, begging her parents to forgive her.
I fought back the tears. “I told you this, Mom. But did you tellhim?Did you ever tell Dad I was homeless and sleeping at the Y when he kicked me out?Homeless, Mom. I was fucking seventeen years old.”
I heard her swallow hard. Forcing down tears and emotions and everything she wanted to say but never would. She hadn’t told Dad anything about me other than I was still alive, that she had heard from me and I was doing well. She kept to her script, no matter how many times I begged her to try out some new material.
“You should have known better than to bring that boy home,” my mother said, mustering a little firmness. “You knew how it would upset your father.”
“Everything I did upset him,” I cried, my voice clanging around the stairwell. “Nothing was ever good enough. Yeah, I knew bringing Chett home was a bad fucking idea, but Iwantedto get caught. Do you know why, Mom? To force Dad to talk to me. And how goddamn sad is that? His own daughter. His ownchild.”
“Cassandra, I have to go now. I’ll tell your father I heard from you, and—”
