Page 166 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
I follow onto the second-floor landing, and to my dismay, she leads me to the narrow stairwell that leads to the third floor.
“Umm, is this about…” I can’t finish the sentence. I’ve been terrified of the repercussions of stepping foot in her office without her permission.
Miranda paces the small hallway, but doesn’t go to her office. Instead, she pushes open the door to her bedroom. I stand by the threshold, feeling too awkward to step inside. Miranda pulls a large, slim rectangle from a shelf. Once it’s in her hands, I recognize that it’s a worn cover of a vinyl record.
She removes the record from its sleeve and walks over to the record player in the corner.
“Your mother and I would play this almost every night,” Miranda says, setting the record on the player. “I think the word ‘obsessed’ is too lightweight to describe our love for the lead singer.”
The music plays, and I’m transported to my old living room. I’m twelve-years-old, and the song is streaming through the Bluetooth speakers mounted on the walls.
“I know this song,” I utter.
Miranda brightens. “You do?”
I nod. “I remember Mom playing it.”
Miranda smiles. “She still played it?”
I shrug. “It was on a playlist. That’s all I remember.”
Miranda gazes at the spinning record in wonder. “Maybe she didn’t hate me that much after all.”
“Mom didn’t hate you.” I step into the room. “You should’ve seen the pain on her face anytime I had the courage to bring you up.”
“Why would you talk about me?”
“I dunno. You were my aunt, and you weren’t around anymore. It was weird, and I wanted to know why.”
Miranda pulls the needle off the record, and the music stops. “Well, your mother put it all down on paper, didn’t she?”
“Do you regret how it all went down?”
“I wouldn’t be here today if I hadn’t taken action.”
“But, like you said earlier, you’re alone.”
Miranda taps the record player, indecision on her face. “But I have you now.”
“You didn’t even want me here.”
Miranda picks up the record sleeve, smoothing her fingers over the worn edges. “Because I didn’t want to dredge up the past. I’ve spent so long pretending I didn’t have a family, and that it didn’t hurt. Then you come back into my life with your need for family. It’s been a lot.”
I cross my arms and huff. “It’s no picnic for me either.”
“Do I regret making choices that left our relationship so broken?” Miranda says, leaving the question dangling for a beat. “Yes, I wish this wasn’t so hard.”
I let my arms fall and exhale hard. “Me too.”
Miranda sets the sleeve down and quietly says, “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I wasn’t at the funeral.”
It hits me right in the chest, and I almost stumble backward. “Really?”
Miranda swallows hard, meeting my eyes. “Yes, I am sorry I wasn’t there.”
My eyes well up, but the tears don’t break. “Thank you for saying that.”
“Mostly for you,” she admits. “I had my sister at both my parents’ funerals. You didn’t have anyone by your side. That’s what I regret the most.”
