Reflection

For my twenty-first birthday, my parents renovated the farmhouse barn into an apartment and studio for me. With an open-concept, I had my own kitchen, living area, small recording studio, and a loft up above with a bed and bathroom for when I wanted my own space and didn't want to stay in the main farmhouse with my parents.

"Let's go buy some things to brighten up this place," my mom said out of the blue one day while glancing around the empty, freshly-rehabbed barn with rustic hardwood planks on the floor.

Even when my mom was sick to point of exhaustion and wearing a silk scarf to cover her bald head, she was always thinking about me.

"Now?" I questioned.

My mother could barely walk ten feet without stopping and taking a breath.

"Well, it's not going to decorate itself," she said as she walked out the door, almost like she had a new spring in her step.

That day, we shopped and shopped and shopped. My mother seemed genuinely happy, flashing a pure smile my way while watching me choose furnishings for my new studio. Deep down, I had a gut feeling my mom's enthusiasm for creating this space for me on their property was to give me an incentive to stick around and not find my own place. I think my mother knew her fiercely-fought battle was coming to an end, and she was trying to make sure I would be there for my father so he wouldn't be alone.

I hoped my mother knew that I would've never left, even if I didn't have a studio.

I still couldn't believe she had been gone for over a year.

After the funeral, and over the course of months, I wondered if I contributed to her illness. I'm not saying I thought I caused the cancer, but I felt guilty I could've been a main factor in delaying the diagnosis. I remember the crazy rush from when I posted the YouTube videos to Walt calling me up and bringing me to Nashville for an impromptu meet and greet. The whirlwind, which became my life, caused an upheaval of our entire family. As a minor, my parents had to come with me and be by my side through the whole process.

Not too long after meeting Walt, my parents and I had a sit-down and realized I would need to move to Nashville to really have a shot at making this work. Without another thought, our house immediately went on the market and the search for another forever home began. My parents decided to split their time, one would be with me, and one would stay back wrapping up our, "old life." My mother quit her job as an insurance agent and took on the duty of traveling with me. During that time, we searched for our perfect home, which the farmhouse ultimately became.

When we were leaving North Carolina on that last day, my mom was frantic at making sure we had all the boxes we needed before we set out on the, "adventure of our lives," as she liked to say.

"I'm going to go drop Jenna's present off at the door, " she said in a hurry, "I just saw them pull out of the driveway."

Like the long friendship Nate and I had, so did our mothers. My mom grew very close to Jenna, Nate's five-year-old sister,  during her mom's bout with postpartum. She practically was Jenna's second mom, and that bond didn't just disappear even when her friendship with Lynn went cold. Our moms grew distant right after Nate and I were no longer attached at the hip.

One of my mistakes, of many, was to trust Nate's promise that things would not change between us.

I felt badly when I saw my mom basically drop the gift bag at the front step and quickly walk back over to our side of the road, hoping Lynn didn't forget something and swing back home to see her in her yard. That would've been an awkward moment.

"It is, what it is," my mom said anytime the subject of Nate's family would come up.

When my mom returned from dropping the gift off, I met up with her at the end of our driveway, while trying to juggle quite a bit of mail my dad failed to get while my mom and I were away for a couple of days.

"You ok?" I asked.

My mom gave me a huge smile, "Of course."

With that, she told me to put the mail in the backseat of the packed car while she double-checked the house for any last-minute things we forgot. As I placed the pile, of mostly junk, on the leather seat, I briefly noticed a letter from her doctor's office.

At the time, I didn't think much of it.

Later, I would find out that the envelope contained a reminder for her yearly mammogram appointment. My mom and I spent so much time looking for a house and making sure I was settled in Nashville she literally put her whole life on hold, including setting up routine checkups for herself.

When I was nineteen, two years after moving, our family seemed finally adjusted to our new lifestyle. We could finally breathe again until one day my mother went into the shower and felt something. I was caught up with the aftermath of the first album, everything was going so well. I vaguely remember my mother driving to her,  "annual checkup."

When she returned home, she seemed more pale than usual. She also seemed slightly off, but I justified her whole demeanor as a result of the warm, humid Nashville air just getting to her that day. Little did I know, she had just received the worst news a person could receive. In mom's nonchalant style, she downplayed her next appointment, but she really was buying time to break the news to me, her only child, she had stage-four breast cancer.

As I continued to sit in the barn reliving the past, somehow my mind always circled back to Nate, and the song I had finally finished recording. As I replayed all of my doubts in my head, I didn't realize Reed had come back from the bathroom and had already sat down. He started to play a few chords on his guitar, startling me for a second until I fully awoke from my daydream.

Reed Davis was a twenty-five-year-old, up and coming, country star, with his own "it" factor.

His fan base was wide and far. He was a talented, young, single guy with an, "understated charisma that could soften the hardest of souls," like one music critic declared.

Walt also represented Reed, and that's how I first met him. We encountered one another at Walt's office one day, and as we chatted, we realized we had much in common. His fame skyrocketed after his first album, similar to mine, but he was too busy to really understand the magnitude of his popularity. As we stood talking, Walt flew out of his office, practically beaming, and informed Reed his song had just claimed the number-one spot on the charts.

Reed's face almost looked like a deer in headlights, I could tell he was slightly overwhelmed.

"You should celebrate," I said, trying to encourage him to embrace the moment.

Reed immediately thought I meant we should celebrate, as in, the two of us, which was fine until I saw panic in Walt's face.

Signing with the best agent in Nashville was a chance of a lifetime but there were some fundamental rules, the first being, your image came first. Walt had seen way too many careers begin and end on gossip and innuendo. If you were to have longevity as an artist, your life would have to be about the music and not who you were dating or rumored to be with. If two of his most successful artists were seen with one another, the tabloids would've had a field day. In Walt's eyes, that would've been a complete disaster.

After our first meeting, Reed and I exchanged numbers and decided what Walt didn't know wouldn't hurt him. We developed a plan to only see one another at my barn, which was secluded, and he could come and go without getting noticed.

Reed was just easy all around, which led us to hang out more, which led us to casually date with no strings attached. It all seemed to work.

"Whatcha thinking about," Reed said, sweeping his longer, blonde locks away from his face.

He usually wore his hair back in a tight ponytail or man bun, but around me, he always looked more like a surfer than a cowboy.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Nothing, what's going on with you?"

Reed always got annoyed when I wouldn't answer his question, and then I would follow up with my own question for him.

"You're a piece of work," he said, smiling as he picked up his own guitar and strummed a few chords.

"If you weren't so damn cute, I probably would call BS on your evasive tone," he joked with a perfect smile.

"Evasive? Now, that's not a word you hear in country music every day. Maybe you should write a song about it?" I joked as I picked up my guitar and strummed a few chords of my own.

"Maybe I will do just that," he said, laughing as he placed his guitar down on the floor.

"But first, " he stood up, "let's go outside."

Reed held his hand out for mine as I placed my guitar on my stand.

"What's going on?" I stood up and took his hand.

"You'll see."

His blue eyes sparkled from the sun shining through the window as he led me to the door.

As we walked outside, I could hear the chickens cackling off in the distance in their coop.

Reed let go of my hand and walked over to his red pick-up parked outside the barn. He reached into the bed of his truck and retrieved a vintage barn beam, which looked heavy, but he easily swung the board around, like nothing, and revealed the other side of the beam.

Painted on the beam, in bold, white letters, the word, HONESTLY.

"Do you like it?" Reed said with pride as he continued, "I thought you could hang it in your barn. You know, for inspiration for the next album."

He walked closer so I could take a look at the one-of-a-kind masterpiece.

"I don't know what to say. This is amazing," I said looking over the sweet gift.

He shrugged his shoulders, "I wanted to get you something, but wasn't sure. I went back and forth..."

"It really is perfect," I interrupted.

I kissed him on his soft cheek and simply added, "Thank you."

"I'll help you hang it."

Reed walked back into the barn as I followed behind until I stopped for a second, soaking in my beautiful surroundings, so peaceful and tranquil.

At that moment, I forgot what the song, "Honestly," represented, and instead focused on what the album, HONESTLY, represented.

Reed's sign put everything into perspective. This second album was a big deal. My parents gave up so much for me to have this opportunity, I needed to embrace the experience and hope the album blew up the charts like the last time.

I would not let one song ruin this for me.

I walked back into the barn and found poor Reed trying to hold the beam up against a bare wall, while he was "trying out" potential spots for the new addition.

"Let me help you," I rushed over, but before I could help, Reed placed the beam on the ground.

"What am I doing? You're the one who should be finding the spot, and if you don't want to hang it, I understand, I just thought..."

I interrupted.

"Are you kidding me? I really do love it."

"I'm sorry, I was worried you'd think this was weird. You know, me giving you a gift. I know we have this thing going on, but not going on," his voice trailed off.

"I know, confusing sometimes," I said agreeing.

"It could be not so confusing if you wanted it to be?" he said out of the blue, catching me off guard.

He moved closer to me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

"I'm not saying, let's be some kind of spectacle. I mean, Walt would kill us. But between you and me, we could try to make something work," he then continued with, "If it's ok with you, it's ok with me. That's all I'm saying."

I slowly gulped, this is what I was afraid of when we began to be more than friends. Random thoughts overtook my brain, my silence killed any type of mood Reed was hoping for. His chiseled face was wilting before my eyes which made me feel horrible.

"I really like you, too..." my words trailed off when I saw his face perk up, relieved the dead air had disappeared.

I didn't have the heart to admit to him I was apprehensive about taking the next step in our relationship.

"You are so damn cute," he said again, less playful this time and more romantic.

As he leaned in to kiss me, his soft lips were always irresistible. We ended up on the couch, my body on top of his, like we had done a few times before. As he touched me, there was no mistake about it, I felt something for Reed.

The problem was I just didn't know what that, "something," was.