Page 67 of Sing Your Secrets
“You’re a grown-ass man, who you chose to date is none of my business.”
“Truth. But technically this affects you too. She’s going to be around.”
“She’s my mom. She’s always been around.”
“Yeah, but I’m talking about on Sundays, around the house—”
“And at cheer practice and PTA meetings?” I ask with bright eyes and mock enthusiasm.
“Reese,” he grumbles. “Can you be an adult for half a second, here? Are you okay with this?”
I relax my brows. I know Dad cares about our bond as much as I do. Does he expect me to stand in the way of what he wants? “Be honest—does Mom make you happy? You guys never seemed to have anything in common outside of me. All she’s done for years is nag the shit out of you. Does she even know you’ve bought all this new production equipment?”
Dad flashes me a warm smile. “She’s the one who suggested it.”
“Really?” I ask with a tone full of skepticism.
“She told me my career had nothing to do with the booze and I should trust my creativity…sober. Your mom never had an issue with music, Reese. It was the drinking, the lack of taking responsibility, and running away from growing up. It took three DUIs and getting locked up to realize that floating through life wasn’t good enough. I want to be present. I don’t want to miss out on my family.”
“And you’re sure this isn’t all moving too fast?”
He scoffs. “Fast? You’re twenty-seven. Which means I’ve known your mother for twenty-seven years and about nine months.”
“Geez, Dad.” I shrivel in my seat and scrunch my nose in disgust.
“What?”
“You just admitted to knocking Mom up on your first date.”
He lets out a snarky laugh. “I wouldn’t even call it a date. We were in the back of an old Camry—”
“Oookaaay. Anyway—back to literally any other subject, what did you think of Miles’s demo?” I point over his shoulder to his desk, where his laptop is still open, Miles’s tracks still on the screen.
“The demo is garbage. But the stuff you sent me earlier this week—his YouTube videos, the stuff on social media—that I like.”
“Garbage seems harsh…”
Dad shakes his head. “Not him. The songs. His voice is the only reason that shit is somewhat tolerable. The production was lazy. I could tell you exactly what farm those loops were swiped from. The lyrics are recycled. I bet you anything Miles didn’t write those demos—he just performed them.”
“He said they were professionally produced.”
Dad’s laugh is humorless. “Professional and quality are two different concepts these days. What Miles has is a demo that was basically like buying the rights to a track from Songs-R-Us. There’s nothing unique or compelling about it, but because it’s mastered in a professional studio, I bet you they lured him in and had him pay a hefty up-front fee.”
“Poor Miles.”
Rubbing his eyes, Dad grumbles, “It’s not just music. There are a lot of people making a lot of money because of gatekeeping. It’s not what you do. It’s who you know and who follows you. There’s a lack of authenticity and creativity, everyone is just trying to copycat what they think works. And anyway, there’s no such thing as a fair shot anymore. It’s just those who give in, give up, or somehow hit the lucky lottery.”
“Well,” I say, tilting my head, “on that super positive note, how do you feel about helping Miles beat the odds?”
Dad leans back and crosses his ankle over his knee. His eyes narrow. “What?”
“He has the idea that you have to get a label to sign you before you can make a decent album. It’s why his feet are stuck in the mud. I was thinking if he could get a little traction going the indie route—”
I stop talking the moment Mom’s footsteps are audible on the stairs. Looking over to the basement entrance, she’s wearing a lap apron and carrying a tray of brownies.
“Thank you, honey. That’s mighty sweet of you,” Dad coos. After setting the tray down on the coffee table, Mom plants herself on the loveseat. She sits so close to Dad, she’s practically sitting on him and he takes it as an invitation to wrap his arm around her. “I’m not going to lie, I love your courtroom stories but you’re so sexy all domestic like this too.” Her smile lights her face right up as she wiggles against him like she’s ticklish under his touch.
“You guys see me, right? Sitting…right…here.” I wave my hand in the air. “I don’t need to see all that.”