On the Edge of Tomorrow

Chapter 37

"You're a groupie." Contempt filled my mom's voice as she poked at her turkey.

My brother and sister let out a laugh, but my dad remained silent. I hated holidays; I hated them more when my life was the focus of the dinner table. 

"No," I immediately corrected, thankful that Billy wasn't present to bear witness. "We're together. We've been over this, Mom." I split my look between my disapproving mother and my father's placid face while ignoring the smirks of my siblings.

"Well, be safe," my dad's tone masked his thoughts.

"Dad, I've been all over the country with Billy. I'm going to meet his mom; I'd classify this as very safe."

Part of me wanted to remind them I wasn't asking for permission. At twenty years old, I could make my own decisions.

"How old is he again?" My mother continued to sputter.

"Twenty-five," I sighed. The five-year gap had never been a thing until this moment.

"Twenty-five! Twenty-five?" Her spiral bounced around the room. "Sounds like he's old enough to have more than a hobby as a profession." My mother's words seeped through my skin, instantly boiling my blood and worsened by the stifled laughs of the peanut gallery.

"It's not a hobby. He's a successful recording artist that just released his third album." My words devolved to a stammer.

"I've never heard of him." My mom tossed out the words as she picked at her plate, consciously passive-aggressive.

"Well, Mom, if I were heading out on the road with Mick Jagger, I think you'd have other concerns."

Finally, my father broke. With a laugh, he added, "I certainly would."

My mom gave a lengthy glare at him before stomping from the room.

"Daddy..." A childish whine escaped from me.

"Give her time." He poked an olive out of his salad. "Why does she insist on putting olives in salads? No one enjoys them." He sighed to himself before lifting his gaze to me. 

"Your mother means well. The worry comes out in different ways. I know he's a good man. You're mom just hasn't had the luxury of meeting him yet."

"Do you think that would change her mind?" I grumbled. 

"Probably not," he conceded. 

A lull in the conversation hung awkwardly in the air. My brother and sister chatted about nothing in particular.

"I have his albums with me," I added to only my dad.

"Albums," my dad chuckled to himself.

"Vinyl." I smiled at him and waited for his eyes to meet mine.

"Really?" A gleam sparkled in his eyes.

"Yeah, Billy prefers vinyl." I had him.

"Well, since your mother is occupied, how about some chess?"

I grabbed my bag and followed him to the clubhouse. The needle dropped on Billy's first album, and we set the chessboard in short order. His music swirled in my head in a dizzying manner. His singing voice stabbed as a distorted version of his familiar tone, but I found plucking out his inflection and cadence came easy. Even easier was hearing Billy when he focused on his guitar. The guitar presented an entirely different plotline. He made concentrating on the chess match difficult, as his music kept distracting me.

"What's him?" My dad broke through my thoughts as he flipped the record.

"Vocals and lead guitar. He writes everything that isn't a cover." I tried to mask my pride, reminding myself it was Billy's talent on display.