Page 34 of Part of Forever
“But you want me to come, right?” She asks me, and for the first time, I feel conflicted. Grace has always been one of my best friends, and she has always come first for me, no ifs ands or buts, and I don’t want to become the girl who puts her boyfriend above her best friend. But this, having her tag along today, really isn’t up to me.
“You need to ask him,” I say again, heading toward the frontdoor. I trip over the small dip in her front walk, like I almost always do, but catch myself before I fall completely on my face.
“For a ballerina, you’re pretty clumsy.” I look up at the sound of Tucker’s voice. It’s been an ongoing joke since well, forever, that even though I’m graceful on the dance floor, I’m pretty much a walking disaster anywhere else.
“That’s true,” I say with a smile and give him a big hug. “You ready for today?”
He nods, looking over my head toward Grace. “You can come,” he says and she claps. “But you have to promise to be quiet when we’re at the studio, both of you.”
I nod; I already knew this part. Murphy said I could come as long as I wasn’t in the way or loud.
We climb into his truck, and it’s got a bench seat which means I get to sit right next to him the whole ride up to LA. I pick the music—the playlist of songs that Tucker said reminded him of us—and we settle in for the mostly quiet ride. I can tell that he’s nervous by the way he grips the steering wheel and how he doesn’t try to keep the conversation going when it fades out like he usually does. He keeps one of his hands in mine, though, for the entire ride.
When we pull into the parking lot, Grace hops out of the car, but I tug on Tucker’s hand before he gets out.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“It’s gonna be fine,” I promise him, even though I have no idea how these things work or if it actually will be fine.
“I know,” he replies, but his jaw is tight, like he doesn’t quite believe me. I can’t tell if he’s just nervous or if something else is happening in his head.
Murphy welcomes us into the studio and puts Grace and I in a room with a window facing another part of the studio and tells us to be quiet. We can hear everything that’s happening in the other room.
“This is so exciting,” she whispers, and I nod, not trustingmyself to speak. I’ve still only seen and heard him sing a handful of times, so that’s not why I’m nervous. Some of his nervous energy must be getting to me and I’m on edge, waiting for disaster to strike.
It doesn’t though. Tucker warms up before Peyton gets there, and when she walks in the room, everyone seems to light up. From what I can tell, she’s friendly and excited to hear him in person.
“I saw a video of you a few weeks ago, and I told my manager, ‘He’s the one.’” When she tells him this, he grins and just shakes his head, embarrassed.
Then he plays for her—two covers, and one original. The original isn’t about me, but it’s good.
When he’s finished singing, Grace and I are invited in to meet Peyton. My best friend seems a little awestruck, even though I didn’t know before today that she even liked country music. Maybe it’s just because she’s never really been in the same room as a famous person? I haven’t either, unless you count famous ballerinas—most of the world doesn’t. I know Peyton is talented, but she’s also just a person.
“I’m really looking forward to having you on tour with me,” Peyton tells Tucker as he’s packing up his guitar.
“I’m really excited,” he says, full of enthusiasm.
“Yeah,” she says. “When your dad first suggested it, I wasn’t sure what to think. I’d never even heard of you, ya know?” Peyton doesn’t seem to notice how Tucker freezes at the mention of his dad. “But then I looked you up and just knew that I had to have you on tour with me. It’s gonna be big, for both of us. I won’t be surprised if you have a record deal before the tour even starts.”
“Right,” he says in a stiff voice, but Peyton doesn’t notice.
“Anyway, great to meet you! Can’t wait till rehearsals start,” she says in a way that makes me feel like she’s our age, instead of the same age as our parents.
“Yup,” is all Tucker seems to be able to manage. “See you atrehearsals.” Then Peyton leaves the room and he sinks down onto one of the plush red couches, burying his face in his hands.
“Okay, that went well,” Murphy starts, still looking at her phone—the woman rarely glances up at him—so I’m surprised when she does now. She can tell right away that something is off with Tucker. “What is it?”
He doesn’t reply. I sit beside him and rub his back in a way I hope is comforting. Grace is frozen in the corner.
“What’s going on?” Murphy asks again.
“His dad,” I say at the same time he puts his head in his hands and says, “My dad.”
Murphy looks at us expectantly.
“He’s the whole reason I got this gig,” he mutters, his voice muffled because he hasn’t pulled his head out of his hands.
“Right,” Murphy says tentatively.
