Page 64 of Silver Sweet

Jesus Christ, I have to get a grip. After washing my body again, I exit the shower, pushing aside the pickle-printed curtain that Steffi bought for the shared bathroom. My feet sink onto the matching pickle rug. The dill spear wears a cowboy hat and bites a toothpick.

Knotting a towel at my waist, I seize my phone quickly from beside the sink basin. It’s buzzing with a call.

Great.

14

PHOENIX ST. PIERRE

“Hey, Mom,” I answer, my temples throbbing from lack of sleep. I don’t want her to think I’m avoiding her, even if I have been skirting aroundthis—another five-minute monologue about focusing my time on the orchestra and not The Carraways.

This career pivot is all her and my dad can talk about, and the last conversation with Philippe St. Pierre took two hours and a Tylenol.

Now my mom is in my ear, cautioning me and saying I should be risk averse. She asks about my debt.

I tell her, “I’m paying it off here and there.”Barely.

“How, Phoenix?” I hear the coffee pot brewing on her end. “You didn’t sign the record deal with The Carraways. You joined after the fact, so you don’t get a cut of their advance.”Accurate.Tom’s old drummer and bassist were paid. Not me. I won’t see a dime unless The Carraways sell through the advance and make royalties.

She knows this.

She knows it’s unlikely I’ll pocket any money. Tom said his advance was half a mil. How many bands actually earn out the six figures they were given?

“You need to be paying off your loans, the interest…”

I let her impart her parental wisdom and worry, but I can’t listen. I’ve heard it ahundredtimes. I’m the one who sees the number increasing, not decreasing.

My credit is shit. I’m doing my best not to charge everything and incur more debt on my Mastercard.

“I hear you,” I tell my mom when she finishes.

“What’s to say Tom won’t drop you in a couple months?”

My stomach knots. “Why would he?”

She tells me she went on a deep-dive internet investigation into Tom Cobalt—something I’ve refused to do—and she didn’t like what she found.

“He’s been throughtendrummers in the past three years.Ten.” My mom’s worry has never been delivered in a pretty package tied with a bow. It’s thrust in my face like a hand grenade.

She says the numbertenlike it’s the amount of murders Tom has committed, and not—you know—just a sign that nepo baby is a pain in the ass to work with.

“I hear you,” I say my favorite reply to her and my dad.I hear youmeans I’ve received their advice loud and clear, but it’s not a promise to take it. They love being heard, which means it’ll buy me some time before they realize I’m not following their guidance.

At my own peril.

I’m their child who takes the ill-advised path and makes too many mistakes because I don’t listen. I can’t even say she’s wrong. My parents have always been right, and still, I can’t do the easy, safe thing.

Even if it’s better for me.

Very deeply, she says, “I love you. I just don’t want to see you do something you’ll regret.”

“I’ll be okay either way, Mom,” I assure her.

“I know you will. I’m just afraid…” She exhales a soft breath. “I know how hard it was for you after Sophomore Summer disbanded. Do you really want to go through this again?”

“Yes,” I tell her what I told my dad. “I made my decision, okay?” My chest is tight just waiting for her response and hearing her tiny, fragile sighs. It makes me feel like shit every time. “Mom, please.”

“I just don’t want to see you living on microwaved ramen and the false hope that you can become the next big thing.”