Page 86 of Two Hit Wonder

"Nervous about what?"

"All the press coverage. The leak. The photos of you and Maeve that are apparently everywhere now." He paused. "They're worried about the optics of having a band that's either sleeping together or falling apart in public all the time. The whole narrative has shifted from 'nostalgic reunion' to 'messy drama' and that's not what they signed up for."

Iona laughed, though nothing was funny. "We're not falling apart in public. We're falling apart in private. Much more dignified."

"I'm fighting for the slot," Shepherd said. "Calling in every favor I've got. But I can't make promises, Iona. If they decide the risk isn't worth it…"

"I know." She didn't have the energy to argue. Didn't have the energy for anything, really. "I know. Just do what you can."

"I will. But I need you to know that this is serious. I've put my reputation on the line for this reunion. If it falls apart now…" He trailed off, which was somehow worse than if he'd finished the sentence.

There was a pause. Then, more quietly: "So, did you have to drag Maeve out of a bar so drunk she couldn’t walk?"

Iona's stomach clenched. "No, of course not." Which was the truth, of course. Except there was more to that truth. Like the fact that Maeve was completely gone. She didn’t mention that part.

"Right."

"She hasn’t been drinking." Iona crossed her fingers as she said it, hoping like hell that it was true. She took a breath. "She's fine. We're all fine. Everyone just needs a break. A few days to cool off."

"A few days." Shepherd sounded skeptical but willing to accept it. "Alright. I'll check in with you next week. In the meantime, try to get everyone on the same page. If there's any chance of saving this, we need to present a united front."

"United front. Got it."

She hung up and let the phone drop onto the table. A united front. That would require having a front at all, united or otherwise. Right now all she had was a cold cup of tea and a daughter who hated her.

Speaking of which.

Mo had emerged from her room and was standing in the kitchen doorway, radiating contempt. She was wearing an oversized hoodie that Iona didn't recognize and had her arms crossed over her chest in the universal posture of someone who found everything and everyone deeply beneath them. Her hair was a mess, she had headphone marks on her cheeks, and she was looking at Iona like Iona had personally invented homework and early bedtimes.

"What do you want for dinner?" Iona asked, trying to keep her voice normal. Pleasant. Motherly.

Mo rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't get stuck. "Whatever."

"That's not an answer."

"Fine. I don't care. Make whatever you want." She was already turning away, already dismissing Iona like she was an inconvenience rather than the person who had raised her and loved her and would cheerfully throw herself in front of a bus for her.

"I'm asking what you want," Iona said, and she could hear the edge creeping into her voice. Could feel the crack spreading.

"And I said I don't care." Mo's voice dripped with disdain. "Why is that so hard to understand? I don't care about dinner. I don't care about anything. Just leave me alone."

Something snapped. It had been cracking for weeks, maybe months, and Iona had kept patching it, sure that things would improve. But things weren't getting better. Things were falling apart, and Mo was looking at her like she was the enemy, and Maeve was gone, and Lakeside was slipping away, and she was so tired. She was so bloody tired of trying to hold everything together when everything kept insisting on coming undone.

"What is wrong with you?" The words came out louder than she meant them to. Almost a shout. "What is actually wrong with you, Mo? We used to have a good relationship. We used to talk to each other. Now it's like we're mortal enemies. Like anything I say or do is wrong, even when I know it's not."

Mo's eyes went wide, then narrowed. "Maybe if you weren't always on my case about everything—"

"I'm not on your case! I asked you what you wanted for dinner!"

"You're always asking me things. What do I want, how was my day, where am I going, who am I texting! It's like living with a detective."

"I'm your mother! I'm supposed to ask you things. That's my job."

"Well maybe you should get a different job," Mo screamed.

"Maybe you should stop acting like a brat," Iona screamed back. "Maybe you should appreciate for once that I feed you, house you, clothe you, that I love you and would do anything for you. Maybe you should try, just try, to love me back." The words came out too fast and left her heaving breaths.

They stared at each other. Mo's face was flushed, her hands balled into fists at her sides. For a second she looked like she might cry. Then her expression hardened into something cold and distant, and she turned and stormed back to her room.