I Always Will

Wrap Party

Row, 3 weeks later

I understand now, why Riley subconsciously neglected to promote our social media when he was still running our show.

The man is smooth as butter onstage. And he knows how to run a room. He'll sing for me and talk about me for as many hours as someone will let him, but he's finding it much harder to talk about himself. He's extremely uncomfortable being in front of the camera unless he can lose himself in a musical performance. He dreads being the center of an interviewer's attention.

Makes sense, I guess. All those years behind the scenes, running the show. It feels unpredictable, not knowing the answers because he doesn't know what questions are going to be asked.

Last week, in preparation for an upcoming feature interview, Leander came over to our place and brought footage of the informal interviews we did at the Ryman post-Showcase. There were hours of footage because we killed it, and we were the artist everyone wanted to interview.

As he was opening the cartons of Thai food on our coffee table, he was also casting a compilation video onto our TV. He sat down on the chair beside us, hands on knees, giving Riley an uncomfortable grin. It was the first time he'd provided us with any constructive criticism.

"Now, brother, I'm not going to insult you by saying you need media training. It's more like I'm saying...take a look, critique yourself, and execute the changes I'm sure you'll agree you need to make once you see it from this perspective."

"The old physician heal thyself trick, eh?" Riley said dryly.

"You feel me," Leander grinned.

We watched the tape for about five minutes. During which, Riley reached for his non-existent glasses four times, diverted three-quarters of his questions about the songwriting and performing to me, pretty much said "that's private," anytime anyone asked about our reconciliation and recent remarriage. He had absolutely no answer at all to the question "What's it like to have Matt del Marco as a father-in-law?" Instead, he looked utterly terrified and jerked at his collar. It was somehow reminiscent of a man with a noose around his neck.

Seeing the playback was so much worse than being in the moment. I laughed at that last one until I cried. Riley groaned, throwing himself around me and burying his face into my neck

"Oh, God. I'm bloody awful at this."

"Not that bad," I soothed him, kissing the top of his head, rubbing his back. "Not as bad as I was. Remember?"

"Oh yeah?" Leander asked, sitting back with his pad thai, waiting for the story of my mistakes to unfold, so that it would take the pressure off Riley's deficits.

"I was a spoiled brat," I laughed. "A chip the size of Mount Rushmore on my shoulder. I went off on anyone that asked me about Trace and my dad. Worse than that, I sounded like a truck driver and a sailor had a profane baby.."

Riley kissed my temple. "You always curse when you are under stress. But she's not wrong. When Row's band got their break opening for Soundcrush, we were lucky to get a soundbite's worth of words without the f-bomb in it." Riley had propped his head on my shoulder now, and I was feeding him potstickers. "But whenever she and I were alone together for more than ninety seconds, she was kitten-shy. I almost preferred sailor-Row, because I was beginning to suspect she had a debilitating crush on me."

"I did."

"I realized. Good Christ, she was the most irresistible jailbait I'd ever seen." He squeezed my knee and gave me the indulgent smile that makes my lower belly ache.

"I was eighteen," I remind him.

"By the width of a hair," he held up his fingers to Leander in illustration. "And you were my boss's baby sister. Not to mention that I was twenty-seven. And your father threatened to end the career of anyone on tour who touched you. You were definitely off the table, darling."