WhenIndustrial November’sname is read off a card announcing the winner in the best album category, it’s Sofia who jumps to her feet first, followed closely by Lola. The guys and I all stand, and we get hugs from the two ladies with us.
When we get on stage, the guys all say short speeches I can’t hear because my heart is pounding loud in my chest.
“Breaking this Way” was the first album I wrote music for. I helped create these songs with the band, and to be up here for an album that Milo had no part in creating is a small form of validation that I’m meant to be here. In this band.
With this woman.
Fritz clasps my shoulder and leads me to the mic when he’s done speaking.
I clear my throat nervously. “I would like to thank Bren, Adrian, and Fritz for giving me a shot. To Ernest, my dearest buddy, for making one fateful guitar so forbidden, I had to have it.” I pause to send a solemn and silent ‘Rest in peace’ to Ernest. When I open my eyes again, I continue. “When I wrote music for this album, I didn’t know Lola.” I pause to find her in the crowd and lock eyes with her. “But if there is any soul or any heart in any of the notes I play on the album, it was a love like hers I was dreaming of—that I was waiting for.” Lola’s hands are fisted over her heart, and even from this distance, I can tell her nose is red and tears trail down her cheeks. The sheer pride in her features plunges my heart into a freefall from my chest. I swallow hard because there’s only one thing I must say, and I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything before. “I love you, doll.”
The crowd cheers as they grace us with a standing ovation. The guys and I line up and hold hands like we do at the end of concerts and take a bow. When we look up again, Sofia has her thumb and forefinger in her mouth, and her whistling is so loud, it reaches us over the applause, making us all laugh.
When I find my seat next to Lola, all cameras, it seems, are on us. Both her hands go to the sides of my face, and her forehead presses to mine. “I’m so damn proud of you,” she says, and I lift her chin to kiss her.
We kiss for the longest time, the applause a sound so far-off into the distance, I hardly notice it.
29
LOLA
There was champagne.
So much champagne.
At the dinner. At the multiple after-parties we attended.
I drank it to steel my spine so I wouldn’t fangirl over my rock heroes and embarrass Karl or the band.
And then I drank it some more. On the shared limousine drive home, there’s more champagne.
I’m not alone. Sofia is red-nosed, half-wrapped around Bren, and we’re both giggling with the excessive tipsiness that is nearly bordering on drunkenness.
Karl asks the driver to stop at In-N-Out for burgers. We go through the drive-thru, and the cashier begs the driver to let him see who’s in the limo. Sofia and I both giggle inside the car. When he finally hands the driver the bags filled with burgers and he’s about to drive away, I yell out the window, “It’sIndustrial November!”
Now this, I’m not proud of. Karl tries to get me to eat so I can sober up, but I’m so petulant, I refuse. Everyone else scarfs down the burgers, and I just roll down my window and rest my head on the window frame, letting the night air cool my face. I watch the night lights of the city whip by, and I smile into the sky. What a perfect night.
Eventually, the lights begin to disappear, and when we pass the gate, I know we’re almost home.
How sad. I was having such a great time.
Adrian left early and didn’t participate in the partying, so I can only imagine he’s already sleeping. As soon as we all get inside, Bren ducks to throw Sofia over his shoulder and takes her upstairs like a sack of potatoes. Fritz shakes his head as he goes to his own bedroom.
“What time is it?” I ask Karl when we’re alone.
“Two-thirty.”
The night seems like a blur now, but it was one of the most fun nights of my life—second only to the taco truck night. Then I feel Karl’s fingers between mine as he leads me toward the kitchen.
“Where are we going?”
“You need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“And I need to get some water in you, or you’ll feel like hell in the morning.”
I stop fighting it. The night is officially over, so I let him lead me to the kitchen. I squeak when he surprises me by holding on to my waist and lifting me onto the kitchen island.