All That You Can't Leave Behind

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🏹SONG FOR SOMEONESeason one, episode five

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SONG FOR SOMEONE
Season one, episode five. All That You Can't Leave Behind


My eyes are still fixed on Deb Scott, but running through my head are the countless conversations I've had with my mom about this topic, and many others she has never wanted to talk to me about either.

I know that if Deb wants to talk to her, she won't talk to me, but I also know that she cares about me and that, if I ask her, if I tell her that I know nothing about him, she'll do me the favor of being honest, something that apparently isn't in Kelly Durham's dictionary no matter how much that has gotten her in trouble.

Going through life by lying and hiding things that are vitally important to people you love won't make you look like a good person; I don't know how to make her see that, and I think my grandpa has had enough of trying.

"She'll be back soon," I assure Deb, who looks at me, not very convinced. I step back from the doorframe. "Would you reconsider my offer to come in if I showed you pictures of the tour? I just know you'd love to see the details of the outfits."

She lets out one of her characteristic chuckles of surrender as she nods. "Fine," she agrees, walking past me, "but I'll want a couple of them printed to put in the album I made for you and Nathan. I'll put it next to his picture from when he got player of the year prize in his freshman year of high school. That way I'll have both my babies' wins together."

"Deal," I reply, closing the door.

As I show her the photos, we talk about the tour, and she asks me how I'm doing. Fine, I reply, although, deep down, I miss it. Whenever I think about the downside—everything that happened with Chris, the paparazzi, the fatigue—I try to look for something good in it. At least I was on stage. Everything I sacrificed to be there... I can't help but think my mother might be right when she said I'd blown it all, as much as it boils my blood to admit I was wrong.

Deb turns the pages of the album with a care that's very like her, and she doesn't wipe the smile off her face, as I stand beside her with my head resting on her shoulder, pointing at the ones I like the most. I used to like to do this when we would look through Nathan's albums, filled with pictures of his childhood surrounded by basketballs, and I used to tell her that he would be the best player in the world, to which she agreed with me, possibly driven by her motherly love.

"I love this one," she says, stifling an expression of surprise as she runs her fingertips across the plastic that protects the photo. It's a shiny silver cowl neck dress from the Versace Atelier '97 collection. "It's the one you were wearing when I went to see you with Nathan. Very cute."

"My mom freaked out when she saw it," I laugh. "She said it was too short."

"Your mother should relax. It's just clothes."

I sigh, leaning back on the couch, "Everything's too much for her. The clothes too over the top, too much glitter on the microphones, too many lights..."

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