Page 3 of Rocking the Receiver
“You definitely look more like a model than a guitarist in a country band. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen your videos and TV appearances, and you do fit in with that strange blend of strong personalities, but you’re definitely not your typical American cowboy, which Hardy is.” He’s the larger-than-life lead singer.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover. I have a buzz cut and don’t wear flannel or own a truck, but pretending isn’t my style.” My hearttightens at my own words… I’m so full of shit. I am a pretender for sure. Hiding who I really am from my closest male friend with whom I’ve shared so much. I’m an asshole. “Maybe I should work on my Texan drawl, though.” I catch my breath, bothered by my own cowardice when I’ve been pushing Sally to be brave.
“Don’t even try; you’d look ridiculous. You’ve already acquired a flawless New York accent and vocabulary. I’m baffled,” Tim marvels. “It’s one thing to hear it over the phone or video chat, but it’s just…”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous because your stepmom will peg me for a local while you can’t ditch that hint of an annoying pointy French accent.”
“I don’t have a pointy accent, jackass. Plus, Victoria is from California. It’s a totally different accent. Too bad she knows you’re a Brit. Otherwise, I would have asked her to guess where you were from.”
“Ha-ha!”
With his window rolled down, Tim’s left forearm rests on the edge of the window frame until we approach our destination. The short drive is refreshing and full of banter, jokes, and life stories that we’ve forgotten to share since we last spoke.
“Like I said, it’s been too long, man.” Eyes on the road, he says, “I’m glad you could make it. The fact that you took a leave of absence from your band rehearsals and traveled all this way to be here with us… with me, means the world to me.”
“Anytime. What I wouldn’t do for my best friend?” I squeeze the side of his shoulder, then retrieve my hand. “I’m sorry I can’t stay more than an extended weekend and missed your bachelor party, though.”
“Oh, man, you missed out! You’ll have to come back for a month next year, and we’ll party like the good old days.” He tilts his head, winking at me.
“Why don’t we enjoy this weekend first before getting ahead of ourselves?”
“You got it.” Running his fingers through his dark wavy hair, he drives through the massive iron gates and resumes lip-syncing before releasing an irritated grunt. “Hopefully, by then, our extension will be fully completed, and Claire and I will have our own space. Now that everybody’s moved out, I’m not sure when my siblings are planning to come back here for the holidays… So, basically, it’ll only be my parents and Elliot. You see… you and Sally will have plenty of rooms to choose from. I’m so bummed she couldn’t make it.”
“Same. She’s having a blast in Colorado. There’s an archaeology site she’s been working at for a while.” I rub the back of my neck, wondering how to switch topics because I know where this is going.
“Good for her.”
“I know, right!”
“I used to be so envious of you for finding the right person before me.” Here we go. I should open my big mouth and tell him. I don’t. “But look at us now!”
Bile rises in my mouth, and I offer him a tight smile.
Will I ever be able to come clean?
Forcing myself to focus my attention elsewhere, I look around and take note of festive decorations for tomorrow’s party, including small wrought-iron lanterns, which give a romanticatmosphere to the place. On the drive from the train station, he shared that there’s still a lot to be done before the place looks how it’s supposed to, but they’ve been busy greeting guests and working for the past few days. Lately, he and his fiancée have been in charge of the wine tasting events and vineyard tours. A winery sounds like a demanding business.
And just like that, I blurt out, “I can’t wait to see the place in broad daylight.”
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, he drives around the expansive two-story estate and heads towards the back. Nothing’s changed, except everything feels different from what I recall. I remember how overwhelmed my sixteen-year-old self had been upon my first visit to the Lefevre mansion. Because that’s what it is, and I’m not exaggerating. Even back then, there was no need to compare it to the tiny house where my mom and I lived; at least the Cotswolds are as beautiful as the Rhône Valley. Funny how I met Timothée through my soccer teammate, Dominic, with whom the French teenager stayed over the summer. Our friendship quickly grew into a tight bond, no matter how far apart we’ve lived over the years.
“We redid the pool area and have an actual pool house now.” He points at the area where a few guests are soaking up the last rays of sunshine, as if it wasn’t plain to see. My diversion visibly worked to a T.
With him still mouthing lyrics, we reach the back of the main property. He easily maneuvers to park in a row of vehicles that range from trendy to commercial.
Looks like it’ll be a full house indeed. But then again, what did I expect?
We exit the car. He slams the trunk shut once my duffle bag hits the gravel.
I heave a content sigh, in spite of being far from a melancholic type.
It’s good to be back.
So many things fell into place around the last time I stayed with the Lefevres. I lost my virginity here. I improved my French skills. I landed my first modeling gig, which led to meeting Sally in London shortly after.
Out of reflex, I square my shoulders and stand taller in an attempt to rein in my emotions. I’m about a head taller than my French bestie, but he’s sturdier, which apparently fits his job requirement.
Texting, he doesn’t budge from behind the car, then looks up at me. “Everyone’s really eager to see you. They’ll be hopping in the shower before dinner, so Victoria suggested we get your stuff upstairs through the kitchen door. Come on!” I don’t miss how he doesn’t call VictoriaMomsince she isn’t his biological mom, but the divorced American his French dad remarried shortly after Tim’s mom died. So, the four kids instantly gained two younger siblings, and later came Elliot, the surprise baby, who’s ten years Tim’s junior.
