The Song Remains the Same (44 page)

The new studio wasn’t what the guys had wanted, but it was serving its purpose. Producing bands had become NOLA’s Junk’s passion, and while they were still writing songs for an album, there was no rush to put a new one out. The success of
Homecoming
was still riding high, and it gave them time to turn their attention to other things.

Like letting Phil and I fly to New York almost every weekend. We were finding some serious gems, and we had to knuckle down and choose the cream of the crop so as not to overbook the studio.

Cutting back my hours at the clinic in Lafayette even more so, I was now only working Tuesdays and Wednesdays, using the rest of my time to scope out bands and write reviews for Mike O’Flaherty. I was receiving fantastic feedback from her, and she had given me a challenging assignment—the effect of Hurricane Katrina on the music scene in New Orleans.

Mike and I had been developing a strong friendship, getting together at least one evening every time I was in New York. She and I would head to the rock clubs, throw back a few drinks, and have a great time.

At first, doing so made me feel like I was cheating on Alys and Lili, but they were off doing their own things, enjoying the lives they had been building for themselves and their men.

Alys and X were leading a life that Phil and I, nor the rest of the band, had any part of. They would go off for long stretches, coming back only to work for NOLA Records when it was X’s turn to run the studio and collaborate on writing songs. Alys was able to do her job wherever she was as long as she had her laptop and the numbers to crunch.

Connor was up to his ears with producing, loving every minute of it. He was proving to be the most talented one among them in that respect. He had immersed himself in his passion, so much so that he wasn’t lonely. He hadn’t even had the time to mourn what could have been with Alys. Still, as far as I knew, he, X, and Alys were on great terms.

The Duck Pond was badly damaged by the storm surge, which meant that Lewis had a lot of work to do to get it up and running once more. While he wanted a New Orleans-based restaurant, he and Lili decided to make the move back to his hometown of San Francisco. With all the work they had done for his cookbook on tour, the two of them focused on that, hoping to have it published after the New Year.

It was a very emotional time for Alys, Lili, and me. We’d never been farther from each other than a two-hour drive.

The weekend Lili and Lewis boarded the plane for the West Coast was the weekend we realized that we were truly adults, making life-changing decisions.

“We’ll be back,” Lili tearfully promised, hugging Alys and me hard, at the security checkpoint. “It’s not like this is a permanent move.”

“Of course not.” Alys sniffled, wiping tears off her face.

“It’ll be okay if it is,” I whispered to Lili, choking back my own sobs. “Distance will never keep us apart.”

Hand in hand, Alys and I watched as Lili joined the queue next to Lewis, who had been holding her spot in line to get through security.

“It’s really happening,” whispered Alys. “We’re all going our own ways.”

“Didn’t you say we would?” I asked, squeezing her hand.

“Yes. Doesn’t make it any easier though.”

Just as she picked up her bag from the X-ray machine, Lili looked up at us and waved. Her tiny elfin face quivered as she struggled not to cry, and Lewis put his arm around her shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze.

“Well, at least she snagged a sexy celebrity chef,” I said, giving off a watery laugh.

“Right? In any case, we’ll know she’s well fed.”

Phil and X were waiting for us by the car, and they each held us while Alys and I broke down and wept for the end of an era. We were moving forward, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t mourn the loss of our way of life.

Phil

That night, I took Kenna out to a small family-owned Italian restaurant to try to lift her spirits. We cracked open a bottle of red wine and got buzzed, laughing and having an awesome time, just the two of us.

“Baby Girl, I wanna talk about when we wanna get married,” I told her after the second glass of vintage. It was some pretty powerful stuff.

“Okay.” She smiled, blushing and making my dick twitch. “When do you want to get married?”

“Yesterday.” I laughed.

“I never really imagined myself getting married,” she confessed softly. She’d mentioned this before when we first got together. “So, I guess it really doesn’t matter when or where.”

“Why haven’t you thought about it? I mean, you asked me to marry you…”

She shrugged, and the sight of her black cashmere sweater slipping down over her shoulder, showing off her creamy skin, had my dick swelling.

“I guess…well, we sort of rushed into the engagement. I wanted to make sure it was really what we wanted. And it’s still a little hard for me to believe that I have this.” Her voice barely above a whisper, she added, “That I have you.”

“Kenna…” I said softly, pitching my voice low, seeing her squirm.
Shit, it was only fair.
“You
do
have me. So, think of a weddin’ that you want to have since you
are
marryin’ me.”

Her smile fuckin’ stole my breath.

“How do
you
imagine it?” she asked me.

“I fuckin’ asked you first.”

After laughing, she took a sip of wine. “Yeah, but I have a feeling you’ve given it a lot more thought than I have.”

She was probably right.

“Well,” I said, taking her hand and rubbing my thumb over her wrist, “I imagine you in a beautiful white dress. I see us outside, under the open sky—afternoon or early evenin’—with your skin lookin’ awesome in that light. And your hair—”

“Where? What time of year? Are there tons of people, or is it more intimate?”

“You know, I always figured there’d be hundreds of people there, but when you say intimate, I think I like that idea more. Like family and close friends—the guys obviously and Alys, Lili, Sheri, Viv…”

“We should write up a list of people,” she said. “I was thinking…”

“What?”

“The Plantation House. There’s more than enough room, and with the gazebo…”

“Yeah,” I agreed. My heart felt warm and fuzzy, having nothing to do with the wine. “Yeah, I’d like that. How much time do you think it’d take to get somethin’ like that together?”

“Pfft! You’re talking to the wrong girl about that!”

She laughed, and I got so high from listening to the sound of it that I could’ve floated us back to the duplex.

“I guess we could do a spring wedding…” I said cautiously. “Late spring?”

“Yeah, we might be able to swing that,” she replied.

Kenna

Impossible! What was I thinking? I can’t plan for a wedding in less than four months!

The administration for the clinic I worked with had asked me to work more hours due to understaffing. When I’d informed them of my intentions of leaving, they’d begged me to give them some more weeks to train the new staff that would be joining at the end of February. Guilt had won out—Phil had had a mild conniption—and I was back to full-time therapeutic work for the moment.

While I was doing that, Phil was putting in serious hours with production, and the guys all came together to sit and write some new material, too.

So, planning the wedding fell to the weekends, and it was driving me crazy. Phil figured we’d just dump the whole burden on Sheri, which pissed me off to no end.

“It’s what we pay her to do!” he said after breakfast one morning.

I dropped a shit-ton of bridal magazines on the table in front of him. Jabbing my finger at the pile, I snapped, “You pick out what you want to wear! Sheri is not responsible for you getting married, Phil. Now, figure out what sort of suit you want, for fuck’s sake!”

“Damn, Baby Girl,” he said, looking truly terrified at my outburst.

“Damn, nothing! You wanted a spring wedding. Well, it’s nearly spring, and on top of everything I already have to do, you’re leaving me to figure out everything on my own! If it were up to me, we’d just do a courthouse quickie.”

Glaring at me, Phil opened his mouth to unleash unholy hell for that when Sheri poked her head through the kitchen window.

“I don’t mind helping out, you know.”

Phil whipped his arm out and pointed at her. “See?”

“Pick out your own damn suit, Phil!” I snarled before stomping out.

The stress of it was turning me into an emotional wreck. With overworking at the rehab clinic, staying up late to write for Mike, planning this fucking wedding, driving into NOLA at least once a week to try to find information on the music scene post-Katrina, I was losing my shit.

All I want is for Phil to pick out his fucking suit! Why can’t he just say what he likes? Is he so clueless? I need to know what his groomsmen will be wearing, so I can pick out the flowers and find bridesmaid dresses that Lili won’t pitch a hissy fit over…

“Hey, Kenna Baby…” He found me hiding in our bathroom, fully dressed, bawling my eyes out in the tub. “Talk to me.”

Climbing into the tub, too, he pulled me into his arms and let me wail and snot all over his chest.

“I don’t know!” I cried. “It just feels like all of this is too fucking much, and I just want it to be over with. I’m so tired all the time, and I’m sick of being at the clinic anymore. I have no fucking clue as to what I’m doing, and it scares the shit out of me that I’ll end up screwing it up, and you’ll blame me for having the wrong whatever it is, and I—”

“Kenna, the only thing that matters is that we’re gettin’ married, okay? That our friends and family will be there to share it with us. Everythin’ else don’t matter. If it’s all messed up, it’ll still be the most amazin’ day of our lives.”

“Will you pick out your own suit then?”

He sighed. “Can Sheri at least help me? She’s gotten me all my fuckin’ clothes for the last seven years. I don’t think it’d be a great idea to not let her help on the one day I actually gotta look good.”

Asshole. He looks good all the time, no matter what.

Sniffling, I nodded. “Yeah, you got a point.”

“Have you found a dress?”

Douche bag!
“No!” I wailed, proceeding to bawl all over again.

Phil sighed and gently rocked me. “Don’t worry about it, okay? You’re almost finished at the clinic, and then you’ll join us on tour. When we get back, we’ll devote all our time to plannin’ it.”

The following week boded no better. On top of the stress and worrying, I was looking at a whole week and a half sans Phil, and I kept getting the feeling that I was forgetting something. It would creep up on me at weird moments, too, like when I was popping in an IV or applying acupuncture to help curb nausea.

What the fuck am I missing? I’ve forgotten something. I know it! I’m all sorts of out of whack.

But time never slowed down long enough to let me figure it out.

There was good news though. Phil’s dad and sister were back in their homes in the Garden District, and Phil had surprised me, Connor, Da, and Gloria by buying our parents their very own Garden District home, not more than a block from his dad’s. Fully restored and ready to move in, he’d also sprung for any and every piece of furniture they could possibly want.