What was surprising was how I found out that the song had been nominated. On the first Saturday of April, I got a big, thick package in the mail. Inside was an invitation to attend the Billboard Music Award show in Vegas in May. And a letter congratulating me on my song’s nomination. Not Ash’s song. My Song.
Because I was the songwriter. Ash had given me full songwriting credit. For his smash mega hit song “Undone.”
I stood there sporting a giant sweatshirt and jeans, package at my feet, letter in my shaking hands, mouth open in shock. There were a whole bunch of things I couldn’t process. First, what? Ash had made me the songwriter? He’d come up with the original melody. Sure, I’d helped it along, but I really thought he’d written that song.
Second, what? I was the songwriter of a smash song? And I was only finding out about it now? Didn’t there have to be lawyers involved? Documents signed, that type of thing? I remembered the NDA Ash’s attorney Nelson had given me in multiple forms. How had this managed to escape my notice over the past month?
I dug back into the package and that’s when I saw the note. A blank card in an envelope with my name scrawled across it. I knew in an instant, it was from Ash. I didn’t even know when I’d seen his handwriting in our time together, or how I remembered it from when I had, but there it was. My hands trembling, I opened it up.
Please come.
This is your song. If it wins, it will be your award.
I’ll stay away from you if it’s what you want.
Don’t skip this because of me.
Hope to see you there.
-Ash
I stood there trembling, staring at the note. Thankfully, my roommate Liv was home. I’m not sure how long I would have stood there otherwise.
“What’s that?” Liv asked, coming to take the note out of my hands. “Are you all right?”
I managed to explain what was happening, or what I thought was happening. Liv could read better than I could at the moment and verified that, yes, I had received an invitation to the BMA show in Vegas in May because, yes, I was identified as the songwriter to the current number one international hit “Undone.”
The passing of days didn’t make the news any less shocking. If anything, my surprise grew as I started receiving paperwork and tax forms and all sorts of legal documents explaining royalty rates. Apparently, I was going to start earning quite a nice chunk of money off of the song. A song I’d co-written at best, but Ash had chosen to give me full credit.
I thought of calling him a million times. I held my phone in my hand and imagined pressing call. I still had his number in it, even though I’d blocked any calls I may or may not have received from him. But I didn’t do it.
If his note had been warmer, I would have. If he’d said he missed me, or if he’d sounded less businesslike, or even if he’d signed it ‘sincerely’ instead of just using a dash, I would have. But he’d spoken only of the song. And he seemed to assume that the next time we spoke would be at the awards show.
Which I decided I would attend. Why not? How many chances in life did you get to attend a huge, celebrity-studded awards show? And to attend it as one of the nominees? Not often.
Which was why I invited my parents to come with me. At first they were not overly enthusiastic about heading to Vegas, or Sin City as my mother insisted on calling it. But then my father pointed out that if they didn’t come, I’d be there on my own. They bought plane tickets the next day, and I booked us rooms in the reserved block at the MGM where the show would be held. I hadn’t become a classical pianist, but I had been nominated for a songwriting award. That was something!
Days before the show, I was still deliberating over the right dress to wear. Without a full team of stylists, I was finding it a bit more challenging to clothe myself. I’d rented a couple of gowns from an online service, the kind where if I returned them in good condition within the week I only had to pay $50. But I couldn’t decide what look I wanted to go with.
Time to enlist Jillian and Liv. I’d choose whichever dress neither of them liked. I came upon them whispering to each other in our kitchenette.
“We have to tell her,” Jillian insisted.
“Do we? I’m not sure.” Liv looked grim.
“Tell me what?”
They startled like two kids cheating on a test in school. After sharing a resigned look, Jillian started in.
“We have something to tell you.” She cleared her throat and tapped her fingers together nervously. “There was a letter.”
“A letter?”
“A letter from Ash,” she continued, looking ashen.
“Where is it?” I exploded.
“I, um, I burned it.” Now Liv spoke, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant.
“You what?” I couldn’t have heard that right.
“Burned it.”
“Like set fire to it?” Who did that? Then again, my roommate had also sewn herself a shirt out of raw meat. She did out-of-the ordinary things.
She nodded. Apparently burning my mail was one of those things.
“What the hell?” I slammed my palm down on the countertop. I didn’t have much of a temper, but this sure flared what I did have right up.
“You were so depressed!” Jillian interjected. “It just seemed like—”
“Seemed like what? It was a good idea to steal my property and burn it?”
“Do you remember the ugly crying?” Liv asked.
Hmm. That gave me a moment of pause. I did remember the ugly crying. But, wait, the letter had come that long ago? “When did I get it?”
“Oh, like, late sheme-dmn.” Jillian mumbled her response.
“What was that now?”
“January.” Liv confirmed. “You got the letter in January.”
“January!” I could feel cartoon steam coming out of my ears.
“Seriously, Ana, that was back when you couldn’t stop crying.”
“But—” I spluttered.
“You were such a mess!” Jillian added. “I’m sorry we did it, but we were just worried about you.”
“I wasn’t that bad,” I protested.
“You wore your pants backwards one day,” Liv corrected me.
“I did?”
“Yeah. But I made you turn them around.”
She had? When had that happened? “I don’t even remember that.”
“It happened,” Jillian confirmed.
“You were really far gone,” Liv agreed.
“He seems like such bad news,” Jillian added. “And we thought a letter from him might really send you over the edge.”
“So you burned it?” I still couldn’t get on board with their logic.
“We burned it. And that might not have been the best idea, so I’m sorry,” Jillian apologized.
“I’m sorry,” Liv added.
I exhaled, fuming. “I’m still mad,” I insisted.