Page 130 of Revv

“Sounds like a good problem to have.”

“It is.” Her thumb keeps moving as she scrolls. “People are tagging me in videos from the set, my follower count jumped, there are comments everywhere. Someone posted the drop from the middle of my set and it’s already getting shared like crazy.”

I grin around another bite of breakfast. “Because you fucking killed it.”

“I know.” She says it without trying to downplay it this time, a little smile pulling at her mouth. “It’s just weird. I woke up and suddenly there are all these people who didn’t know who the fuck I was yesterday talking about me.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She looks at the screen again, and her smile gets bigger. “Yeah, it fucking is.”

Another notification comes through before she can finish reading the last one.

“James has been texting me too. He said two promoters asked him for my contact info last night, and some guy from another festival followed me this morning.”

“Well, fuck, Mama.” I reach over and squeeze her thigh. “Look at you go.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m fucking impressed. There’s a difference.”

Her eyes flick up to mine, and for a second that confident little smile softens.

Then she ruins it.

“As you should be.”

I laugh.

“What? You’ve been telling me I’m hot shit all weekend. I’m finally agreeing with you.”

“About fucking time.”

She bumps her foot against my leg and goes back to scrolling, stopping every few seconds to answer something or show me a video somebody posted. One catches her halfway through a transition, the crowd fucking losing it when the beat hits, and watching her face light up while she watches herself is almost better than seeing it happen from backstage.

Then another message appears and her entire expression changes.

“Aww, my baby.”

I don’t even have to ask which baby.

She turns the phone toward me.

Guac is sprawled across her couch back home, wrapped in one of her blankets with his wrinkly little head poking out, staring directly at the camera like he’s been abandoned for several years instead of a weekend.

“Jesus Christ.” I take the phone for a closer look. “He looks pissed at you.”

“That’s his sad face.”

“That naked little fuck has one face.”

She snatches her phone back. “Don’t talk about my son like that.”

“Your son would sell you for a bag of treats.”

“He can be emotionally complex and food motivated, cabrón.”

I laugh as she zooms in on the picture like there’s anything more to see besides seventeen pounds of offended wrinkle tucked into a blanket.