"Moooom! I'm home!"
It seemed to be that you were calling out into an empty house, a private, but somehow still humble estate tucked into the corner of Santa Barbara, California where you knew your mother had grown up and after the divorce, always wanted to live here. A few years after you were discovered while you were just starting uni, a scrappy band you had started with Atlas, you bought her what she had called her dream home as a thank you for everything she had done. Your dad was already set up in New York with his billion-dollar company – prenups could be a real bitch sometimes – and Tony decided to join the company after he graduated early.
Your mother went into finance because she had been the backbone of the Stark company and then got remarried, changing her last name to Goldman before your stepfather, who was one of the most supportive people in your life when you started out, passed away two summers ago.
She travels a lot now.
So, maybe you wouldn't cross paths with her here the couple of days you spent before dropping by New York to visit your dad and Tony. After that, you set up a private trip to Jamaica to soak up some sun and maybe write a few songs with a couple of musicians you met on the road.
You dropped your bags by the door, too tired from the plane ride to really bother unpacking right now and you went to freshen up before slumping onto the couch. You picked up the remote and started flicking through, trying hard to pick something out, but you rarely had moments to stop and watch a series, so you chose a random movie just to fill the silence of the house.
You scrolled through your social medias mindlessly not ten minutes into the film, liking some posts your bandmates posted and random others, replying to some of the comments that were left under your posts, even if your management mostly ran your account. You didn't love their lack of interaction with the fans, so you always made sure to sign on and say a few words here and there. Mostly just a bit of teasing with love or thanking them – you were forever grateful they even cared enough to follow you or like any of your shit – music included.
You jumped a bit when your phone went off and you saw it was your agent, Johnny, so you picked it up after groaning loudly into the room, praying it wasn't another PR stunt – you were taking a vacation, dammit, "Hello, Johnny Bravo."
"I hate that name."
"Tons of fun, you are." You rolled your eyes.
"Are you in New York?" He ignored you.
You looked around the room, feeling like he might be able to see you even though rationally that wasn't possible, and sat up a little before clearing your throat, "Yes."
"You're a terrible liar," He told you flatly and you cringed, "Doesn't matter. You have a month in South America and then your tour ends, but before you hole up to write me another album," You gritted your teeth, "Remember that movie you did with Winona Ryder and Keanu Reeves a few months back?" A dream come true that was, but you couldn't get a word in before he was continuing, "You've been nominated for an Oscar. Best supporting actress."
You gaped at the news, unwilling to believe it and especially because he had said it so casually – you must've misheard him, "What?"
"And you need a date for it."
"I'm nominated for a fucking Oscar?? You're shitting me, right?" You couldn't comprehend why playing the daughter to two of your favorite actors since you were a kid could get this type of attention – you haven't seen more than a couple movies this year, but there was no way in hell you were winning – didn't matter though, it was so cool to be nominated, "I have to – tell someone."
"Your parents already know," He informed you, "Your father sends his congratulations and I think your mother said something about – doesn't matter. Not why I called, I thought someone would've told you by now."
That'd be your job, my man.
"The date," You realized after a pause, "You want to send me with someone specific you have in mind? Can't I just take Tony or my mom like usual?"
It came out as a plea because you really didn't want people talking about your dating life when this event was much more important – plus, you really didn't want to find out who Johnny had in mind. He's set you up with the most random actors, models, and even a drummer that one time. It was terrible – you're horrible at faking chemistry when it comes to PR, you just hate knowing that people are going to talk about it. Never in a good light either. And it's all lies. You honestly don't get the point.
It's not like the nerves you get when you're releasing an album or going out on stage or even acting in a movie. That's a vulnerability that you control – you don't have to put certain songs you write on the album, but the ones you do are filtered through about a dozen people before it's approved anyway, and when you're on stage, nobody controls you. Not really. And it's the most free you feel in the spotlight. Your music is a glimpse into how you feel, how you handle things – the good, bad, and the heartbreaking. It's your insecurities, your mind, and your heart all on your sleeves. Some of the songs are just upbeat but barely get properly interpretated because they're too specific. Only you know what you mean by things like 'flat apple pop and your side of a cookie crumble' really means and it has nothing to do with cookies or apples. And some things confuse the general public because what you sing about is nothing like the life you portray to them through photos and videos that circulate online thanks to your agent and management.
All part of the job.
You've been to the Grammys, whenever you've been nominated, and you've been invited to the Emmys but never attended because the invite was only due to the fact you were 'rumored' to be dating one of the actors in a nominated series at the time. But the Oscars? Hasn't even dipped into your dreams – so far off the radar that when you were offered a role in a semi-low budget film, you purely did it to meet Winona and Keanu, and it never occurred to you the movie would be nominated for anything. You brought breakfast and coffee every early morning shoot and it was easy to hang out and get to know the crew because you weren't a main character and you had serious, but easy to memorize lines. It was the best time you had outside of touring and meeting fans.
"Y/n? You still there?"
"What? Yeah," You missed whatever he had been going on about, lost in your thoughts, "Sorry."
"So, what do you think?"
"Uh," You grimaced, "About what?"
Dramatic sigh, "About going with someone...less familial."
You shook your head with a frown, conceding because there was no point, but you wanted to compromise for your dignity, "Fine. Can I at least pick someone to ask? So it doesn't feel like a blind date?"
A long pause, "Who did you have in mind?"
Your mind went completely blank, "I um, I'll have to get back to you on that one."
"Fine," He huffed, "The event is a week after you close tour, so have someone by the time you get off stage last show or I'll arrange it."
You opened your mouth to respond, but he had ended the call and you let your phone flop on the couch next to you before you sunk back into the cushion with defeat, the front door clicking open not a few minutes later.
"Darling? I'm guessing you're home by all this in my foyer!"
You smiled before hopping up to greet your mother.
