Page 126 of ClickBack

“Without you.”

I put down the fork.

“I’ve apologized. I sent her the names and numbers. She asked for room, so I’m giving her room.”

“How are you doing that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you giving it to her, or are you asking every few hours whether she’s finished with it?”

I have sent one message asking whether she got through the day and another telling her I am here. I have drafted enough others to understand the question.

“I’m trying, Mom.”

“I can hear that.” She looks at my plate, then back at me. “You came all this way. You can also say you’re having a hard time.”

That gets closer than I want it to. I lean forward, forearms on the table.

“I miss her. I’m pissed off at people she hasn’t even heard yet. I keep thinking if I could just see her, we could talk without a phone between us.”

“Has she asked you to come?”

“No.”

“Then don’t go there to make yourself feel better.”

I look at her. She lets me look.

Outside, the boy on the bicycle passes again. His chain clicks, then he calls for somebody I can’t see. For a little while Mom and I sit without talking. She doesn’t tell me Giselle will come around. I appreciate that, though I came here wanting somebody to say it.

When we finish eating, I carry both plates to the kitchen. Mom returns to her seating chart. One of the names has been crossed out so hard the paper is almost torn.

“What did she do?” I ask.

“Asked if we could make it a surprise.”

“For the woman who picked the band?”

“Now you see what I’m dealing with.”

I stay while she calls her friend back. They settle on the band, unsettle it, then settle it again. I take a photograph of the crossed-out name and send it to Von with Mom’s enemies list. He calls immediately.

For twenty minutes we talk about nothing useful. He tells Mom the hat is staying out. She tells him she has pictures of him in worse things. By the time I leave, he has made her promise not to send any to the family chat.

On the drive north, Cam calls.

“You called Martin Broderick last night.”

I change lanes before answering. “He tell you that?”

“His producer did. What did you say?”

“That if he had questions about my relationship, he could call me.”

“And?”

“To keep her name out of his fucking mouth.”