Page 83 of Lies and Lullabies
Ugh. I collapsed into the chair again. “We’re really living the dream now.”
A nurse walked through the open room door, took one look at Nixon and steadied the bed pan.
“I didn’t make a mess,” Nixon said when his stomach’s ugly dance had stopped.
“Congratulations.” The nurse sighed. “Did you get dizzy when the bed was raised?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Rookie move.”
“I’ll get him some ice chips,” the nurse said, leaving again.
“Aurrgh,” Nixon moaned. “Just kill me already.”
“I’m tempted.”
“I’m sure that’s true. I fucking hate summer.”
I studied my friend. There was a hollowness to his face that shouldn’t be there. “Are you ever going to tell me why you hate summertime?”
“Doubt it.”
“Then tell me why you swallowedfentanyl, for fuck’s sake. I’m supposed to be in Boston right now. And you’d be dead if I didn’t screw up and come back to the bus.”
Nixon closed his eyes, and I thought he might have gone back to sleep. But he answered the question eventually. “She called them her party pills. And I know better. I just didn’t care last night. I was drunk and nothing seemed to matter.”
“Well it does,” I snapped. “You can’t take that kind of risk again. Not ever.”
“I know.”
“Is it the tour? Do you hate touring?” I almost wanted him to say yes. If there were some way I could snap my fingers and finish the tour, I would. Even with a new hit single—“Sweetness” entered the chart at number twenty-six last week—I didn’t give two shits about the tour.
“It’s not the tour. Hell. I think I’d be in worse shape if I didn’t have to be sober for three hours every other night. And we can’t quit the tour, Jojo. That’s a dick move.”
He wasn’t wrong. The tour could not be wished away, and neither could Nixon’s issues. “I’ve got to call Kira,” I said. It was seven thirty, so she and Vivi would be awake. They got up early and went to bed early—the exact opposite of my schedule.
Kira had warned me that there were a hundred obstacles to being together, and right this minute every one of them felt insurmountable.
I went out into the hall and rang them. “Is this Daddy?” a little voice answered on the second ring.
The ache in my chest doubled. “Hi, Vivi,” I said, my voice thick. “Happy Birthday.”
“It’s over,” she said. “We had cupcakes.”
“I know. I heard they were pink.”
“With sprinkles. Are you coming over?”
No, and I am an asshole. “Vivi, I couldn’t get on the plane to Boston. I’m going to have to try again soon.”
“Why?”
Because my friend is a world-class dumbass?“My friend needed me. I had to stay with him. He was sick, and it was an emergency.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” I said uselessly. I would have given anything not to be making excuses to my little girl.
“Mommy wants the phone.”
