Over the next couple of months, the tour continues. I spend many of my waking hours 30,000 feet in the air. While there, I spend most of those hours writing my next book, taking advantage of the little “free time” I have left. Between the tour, running SeaPaints, and motherhood, I barely have time to myself and yet, I’m too grateful to notice. Too obsessed to notice. But I should have noticed. I should have listened to my body. And yet somehow, I missed the clues. Before I know it, summer has begun. Moments, days, and weeks of my life seem to go missing. With a fury, August rolls in and school begins. How is time flying like this? As I’m settling my daughter into her class room , I glance at her seat number. Seat Number 13. Typical.
Over the next few months as SeaPaint continues to grow, I hire more humans to fulfill the ever flowing stream of orders coming in. I give the in-house crew a 4 day work week, a dream I’d always had as employee. Meanwhile, I continue working 7 days a week because somewhere along the way I went from a flighty dreamer, to an obsessive psycho in love her career. I wouldn’t notice this transition until much later unfortunately.
While obsessively checking my email for the 10th time that day, another notification pop up on my phone from my website. Order number 70,000.
I suck in my breath. It feels surreal. No. It feels completely unreal. How is that possible? Who’s life did I borrow? Because surely this can’t be mine.
CHAPTER 125
A few Mondays later, the dust of the day has settled and I’m doomscrolling in the bath tub, with bubbles stretching across the surface- delicately dwindling away, bit by bit. Typically this is the place where my best marketing ideas come to me. Because of this, it’s not unusual for me to use the tub as my secondary office. My brain just works better when I’m sitting in water. If this isn’t confirmation that I’m a mermaid, then I don’t know what is. Tonight though, I’m skipping my usual marketing routine because tonight, I can’t focus for shit. So for tonight, I’m doomscrolling social media and chatting with my customers like old friends. Bouncing back and forth between Facebook groups, a familiar face pops up.
Wait. When did Kelly Clarkson started her own TV show?
One minute I’m trying to persuade Jose to attend her show and the next thing I know it’s a month later and I’m sitting a few rows deep in Kelly Clarkson’s studio seats. The studio is colorful, trimmed in weathered wood, and smaller than I thought it would be. As my eyes scan the room I notice the director, motioning us, asking us to move to the front. Nervously, I glance at Jose next to me.
Where are they taking us?
I look around at the other guests for reassurance, to see if they are going too.
When most of them don’t move, I start to feel uneasy. Am I being kidnapped? Don’t be ridiculous. The conspiracy theories about Hollywood and human trafficking dance through my head. You need to get a grip.
It’s in this moment though that I realize just how easy I could be kidnapped. All they would have to tell me is “Hey you dirty ho! Kelly Clarkson is in this van” and I’m a goner. Good as dead.
The stage lights flash above, capturing my fragile attention span. My thoughts shatter like glass, bringing me back to the present. My eyes dart over to the director who’s still motioning us to follow him. Reluctantly, I get up from my seat and reach for Jose’s hand. I can tell by his face that he thinks I’m being sweet, but truthfully I’m just trying to cling to the only human GPS I have. Plus, crowds fucking scare me. Especially moving ones.
The director points to the set, motioning for us to stand next to the band on the stage. I recognize some of their faces immediately. Over the next few moments, the director positions us in place and then counts to three.
“One, two, threeeeeee.” What’s happening?
At the end three, the lights go out, submersing me and my anxiety in a crowd of darkness.
Moments later, the spotlight turns on and Kelly’s angelic voice begins to fill the room. As my eyes adjust to the light, it takes me a few seconds to realize she’s standing right next to me.
When I do, a weird noise escapes my mouth and I flap my hands in excitement. It was this excitement that sabotaged the shot though.
“Cut” Someone yells. “Let’s go back to the beginning.” I can feel my face get hot. Mortified, I look at the ground.
If she yells at me for being stupid I will fall over dead. I will pass away beneath these ridiculous lights.
Kelly catches my gaze, gives me a brief smile, but doesn’t say anything.
I can feel my cheeks flush.
“From the top!” the director hollers to the crew.
The spotlight hovers over Kelly once again, basking her in it’s glow. Seconds later, her voice beautiful voice begins to float across the room once more. A few notes in, my eyes are already watering with tears. You’re such a fragile bitch.
This time, they get the scene in one shot. When the scene ends, we head back to our seats to finish watching the show. By the time it ends, I already want to go again.
As we go to leave, I see her vintage bronco driving past us. At the sight of it, I impulsively scream her name.
“Kellllllllyyyyy.”
I know, I know. Fangirl and half. Cringe even, but I’m nothing if not cringe, I promise.
To my surprise though, she puts her hand out of the window and waves.
Day made.
Back in the parking lot, climbing into the low mustang seats, Jose starts the car and looks at me.
“What Next?”
“How about a scenic drive?” I suggest.
“Ok. Want to see Topanga Canyon?” he asks me.
“Sure,” I say shrugging, not really knowing what it is. “But I do require one thing before we can proceed.”
“What’s that? A kiss from me?”
“No. I was talking about a different mouth activity. Specifically tacos.”
If one can look disappointed and hungry at the same time, he did.
“But we can do your mouth thing later,” I say with a suggestive wink.
He beams at me. “Tacos it is.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m devouring tacos like the little beast that I am. It wasn’t pretty, but it was damn near spiritual.
With a blissfully full tummy and salsa stained pants, we head for Topanga.
Whatever that is.
next chapter
Buzzing through LA traffic is a crowded symphony of horns, big towering buildings, and a solid stream of red lights. I’m simultaneously intrigued and overstimulated by it’s chaotic rhythm. Motorcycles zip between lanes, scaring the ever loving shit out of me. I may have even peed my pants a little the first time it happened, but you get used to it, so the locals tell me.
As the highway stretches on, the buildings shrink, the traffic lessens, and the air starts to smell faintly of salt as we drive into Malibu.
The coast is astonishing. Rugged and jagged, I’m mesmerized by the golden mountains that align the shore.
As we glide through the orange Hills of Topanga Canyon, the winding hills seem to stretch for endless miles against the clear blue sky. The sun casts a warm golden glow across the terrane, a glow so magnificent that it is equivalent to that of movie set. As we pull over and stop the car, the silence is wonderfully startling. Such stillness. What bliss.
I think it was in this moment that I fell in love with California, at the top of topanga canyon seemingly without scare in the world. It wasn’t just the way it looked. It was the way it made me feel, like among these rugged hills, I was home. Up here, you can’t hear the roar of the cars below or the buzzing of electricity. It’s the blissful sound of nothing. Back home, this type of silence is impossible. My eyes spot a little cabin perched among wildflowers on the hill side. I’ve never been more jealous of wood in my life. I want to be perched on that hillside with wild flowers in my hair.
I wonder what it’s like to have access to this glorious sight?, And this type of silence?
Along the drive, cascading through the hills, I get lost in a peaceful daydream of living hillside among the silence. I imagine endless rugged hills, lined with trees stretching for miles, with wild flowers curving the highway, and the ocean peaking ever so slightly in the distance.
I dance in this delusion for several miles while soaking in the soft golden glow of those very same hills.
When I fall asleep that night, the peaceful hills of Topanga canyon follow me in my dreams.
A few days later when we leave, it feels far too soon.
On the flight home I swipe through the vacation photos on my phone and contemplate excuses to go back soon. It’s then that I notice the 13 in the address that we had just stayed at. I find the number oddly comforting. Pun intended.
Mid-scroll, a familiar name flashes briefly across my screen,
Holy shit! It’s Tiffany Jenkins! She’s joining the group!
Almost immediately, I send a screenshot to my funny friend. I know she’ll be just as excited as I am. They’re practically the same person.
