Tori walks over to the counter and shimmies herself up on top of it. Hugging her knees, she says, “And she thinks that’s supposed to be enough for her brother s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g you over? Dude, you should send that s.h.i.t back and tell her no thanks.”
“I’m cashing it.” Not because I’m money hungry or anything like that but because this money is enough to get me somewhere I need to go.
Tori rolls her dark eyes but says nothing. A few hours later, after I’ve eaten dinner and completed an a.s.s-kicking exercise video with Tori—I’m starting to see crazy definition in my abs—I sneak away to my room. It takes me all of 30 seconds to reactivate all my social media accounts, and while I’m doing this, I dial Kylie’s number.
“And here I was thinking you forgot about me,” she says, the grin in her voice too impossible to hide.
“We’re running away together, remember? And you’re knocking me up with your blue-haired love child.”
†
The next morning, to Tomas’s shock and irritation, I turn in my notice for Echo Falls. He actually places his iPad down on his desk. He glares down at the formal letter I typed up last night after getting off the phone with Kylie. Listening to her enthusiasm about music and the scene in New Orleans where she’s currently living had pretty much solidified my decision to say goodbye to doing wardrobe for the TV show and to California itself.
I could do what I loved anywhere. And the anywhere I wanted to be was Tennessee, more specifically, Nashvegas.
“You’re only giving me two weeks,” Tomas says hotly, his voice bringing me back to the present, and I nod my head slowly.
“That’s usual how it works,” I reply.
“We’re getting into the most complex G.o.dd.a.m.n part of the whole storyline, the most costume changes, and you’re only giving me two weeks.”
“There are costume and wardrobe people willing to give their babies up to work on this show. Trust me, you’ll find someone else.”
I hear him tell me to not return tomorrow, hear him claim that as soon as someone contacts him regarding a reference for me, he’ll tell them what a selfish c.u.n.t I am. How I was incompetent when doing my job. I leave him talking without so much as a backwards glance but I hear everything.
That evening, when I take Tori out to dinner and tell her my plans to move, she cries dramatically. “I’m not mad,” she sniffles. “I just—who’s going to watch me drink peppermint schnapps on Fridays and warn me about sleeping with randoms.”
I laugh so hard I choke on the c.o.ke that I’m drinking. “Stacy’s looking for a place to stay,” I point out, referring to one of our friends she often goes clubbing with. As if she has a cut-off valve, Tori stops crying and frowns.
“Ugh, not a good idea. Stacy has new randoms every other night. Maybe I’ll just get a puppy. Or, you know, a boyfriend, like Micah because he’s got an enormous d.i.c.k. But probably a puppy,” she says, smiling.
I would’ve still moved whether Tori liked it or not, but knowing I have her blessing makes things so much easier.
†
I try several times to give Tori some of the money Kylie sent me but she refuses it. “No, that money covers a lot of blood, sweat, and tears.” When I waggle an eyebrow at her, she rolls her eyes and begrudgingly says, “Okay, a lot of sweat and tears, but you earned it.”
On the day I leave our apartment and California, I’m certain I’ll have full body bruises the next day because Tori can’t get enough of hugging me goodbye. “I’m going to miss you so much,” she mumbles into my chest during the seventh or eighth embrace. I take this opportunity to slip three grand—my share of the bills for two months—into her back pocket.
She pulls away from me and drags the money out of her pocket. Pursing her lips, she puts her hands on her hips and tries to shove it back in my direction. I shake my head. “You agreed to it two nights ago,” I inform her. When she c.o.c.ks her eyebrow, looking at me like I’m telling her the biggest lie ever thought of, I nod. “When we went out to dinner with Micah and you were giving him the eyes. I said—and I quote—I’m paying two months of bills when I leave and you said yes.”
“You sneaky f**king b.i.t.c.h,” she says, laughing and drying tears.
I realize I’m doing the same thing.
“Listening’s a virtue, dear friend. Google it.”
EPILOGUE
My life in Nashville is better than anything I could’ve ever imagined. I live with Gram. I connect with friends I’ve not spoken to since my mother’s arrest. I meet new guys and have the occasional one night stand. None of them are nothing like him, but I’m glad.
There are no physical or emotional binds with the guys I f**k once or twice.
And then I start getting clients. Personal shopper. Wardrobe consultant for music videos—country music but I’ll take it because I absolutely adore my work. And every time someone hires me, I’m told Kylie Wolfe referred them.
I’ve got to give it to her, she’s good for business.
I speak to Tori every day, and I make it a point to contact Kylie at least once a week, either by phone or instant message. She asks me a million questions about work, Gram, and even Seth. I ask her about the guy she’s been seeing—someone she met at an award show after party and why she picked her new hair color. It’s fire engine red and white blonde now and I absolutely loathe it.
She laughs when I tell her outright she looks like a Spice Girl.
Not once does she mention Lucas and I don’t ask.