Chapter 45: Bad Girls Don't Make A Good Impression

Mac, A Week Later, Nashville Show

"Hey, Leed?" I purr into the microphone from my keyboard stand, interrupting my brother's intimate heart-to-heart with thirty thousand fans.

It's my last chance to get a word in. Leed doesn't break up the sets with conversation the same way every night, but I know him well enough to know this is the last time he will talk to the crowd. We only have three songs left in the set—SunDownDeep, Liars Last, and Seven Minutes—before we go offstage and come back for the encore.

There will be no more talking then, only jam. In the deep South, we let our slip show a little and encore with grunged-up country songs. Tonight, Leed will open the encore with a tribute to Johhny Cash's Ring of Fire, Bodie tightening up the beat like an early Green Day song and Trace blurring down on the sound.

Then, we really have fun. We play a frenetic version of Rocky Top...cause there's no way Trace isn't going to jam on that song in every concert we play in Tennessee. He heard Phish play it once when he was a kid and it's his tribute to his jam-band influences. It's pretty fun actually. I get to lay down dirty on the keys, and it's cool to hear Adam take the lead vocals...being the true Tennessee native, we always give him the honor when we do that one. Once the Rocky Top jam winds down, we'll close out the show with the dark alt rock ballad that made us...Little Sister, of course.

Little Sister is in the house tonight. I know Leed is planning a heart-wrenching performance to honor Kat. But he doesn't know what I'm planning.

"Leed? Leed! Hey!" I repeat again into the mic, but it's all for show. He heard me the first time, but ever the performer, he's pretending to ignore me so I have to fight for the limelight. I already clued Andy in on my plan, so the spotlight dims a little on the Lion and I get a little more shine. Leed swings around to look at me.

"Yeah Mac? What's up?" Leed turns to the crowd. "You guys know my sister, right? MacKenna Lawson," he swings an arm up and the crowd cheers and whistles as I swoop my mic from its stand and hop confidently down from my platform, as I smile at the crowd. "Thanks," I raise my hand to quiet them. "I'm hijacking the show for a second..."

I cast a devil grin sideways at Adam. He's shaking his head at me, swinging around to Bodie as he fingers the opening to a popular 1980's song—Maneater. It's a private joke. Adam or Trace will drop into that groove sometimes when I get pissy in the studio. A few people in the crowd seem to recognize the classic baseline and someone with a seriously decent voice busts out with "Whoa-oh, here she comes. She's a Maneater."

"Fuckin' right," Leed agrees as he points out to the crowd. "Adam...take your shirt off and show these guys how she mauls you on a nightly basis."

The crowd whistles and chants Madam, Madam, Madam. I cringe internally, my eyes going to side-stage. Adam's parents—Peter and Joely Heartley—are there. Joely cuts her eyes to her husband and he pats her on the back, with a tolerant grin, as if to say...Stand down, Mama Bear.

Dammit. I really wish Leed wouldn't make allusions to our sex life tonight. I'm trying to be a good girlfriend right now, but I can never escape the Maneater, it seems.

Adam saves me, swinging his base around to the back and putting an arm around my shoulders, as he leans down to my mic "This Shortcake? Naw, man. She's sweet to me. Real sweet. She saves the claws for you, Leed."

Leed and Adam are grinning tightly and flexin' in that who's-got-a-bigger-dick way guys do. I push them both away from me and say, "Excuse, me this is a rock concert not a pissing contest, boys."

"You're the one that interrupted the show, Mac," Bodie pipes up from his back-up mic. "I know there's a reason..."

"You're right, Bodie. It's Adam's birthday. We planned it like that, remember? It's a big hometown birthday show for Nashville's own Adam Heartley!" I raise my hands as I raise my voice, and the crowd cheers.

"Damn, we forgot," Trace deadpans.

Okay, I may have gone a little over the top decorating the inside of the tour bus this morning. But it's the first time Adam and I have actually been together on his birthday, so I'm making up for five years of not giving him the girlfriend treatment. I know his family has a big bash planned and we will be celebrating all weekend, but I wanted to be the first one to make a big deal.

"Happy Birthday, Brah," a masculine voice yells from down front and I hone in on it. I see all Adam's sisters and brothers-in-law down there with beer cups, along with Mike Rawlins and his obviously pregnant wife. I think maybe it was Mike that yelled. "You feel me down there," I chin at Mike. "We should sing Happy Birthday to him, right?" I raise my hands to the crowd.

They roar. Trace picks the melody of "Happy Birthday" on his guitar. Adam does the very sexy humble thing...rubbing his beard and shaking his head with his heartstopping grin.

Someone yells from the crowd. "He'd rather have head!"

Everyone—including my bastard bandmates—laugh. Adam nods and gives a shrug like an admission of truth, grinning at me. I furrow my eyebrows at him. "Adam..." I growl off mic.

"Hey Shortcake, you're the one that got down on your knees and rubbed your face in my crotch onstage. Now you have to own that shit," he laughs at me off-mic.  He steps up to his mic and says, "Got family here tonight. Parents. Niece and nephew. Probably we should go with the song."

The crowd laughs and cheers. Leed takes the opportunity to get strapped up with an acoustic and he, Bodie and Trace, improvise a little backing sound while I lead thirty thousand Soundcrush fans in singing "Happy Birthday" to Adam. I stand apart from him, wanting to touch him but feeling unusually shy, knowing that his family's eyes are all upon us, from the crowd, and from side-stage.

When the song is over and the crowd cheers, I murmur, "Happy Birthday, Baby," sexily into the mic. To my surprise, Adam swings his bass around and pulls me tightly to him, laying a passionate kiss on me. By the time he's finished, my face is flushed with embarrassment.

I hug him, and scold in his ear, "Your mother is watching." She is. Now she's the one shaking her head in the exasperated way a mother dotes on the shenanigans of her favorite darling.

He slides his hands to the top of my ass. "She is aware that I'm a twenty-four year old man. I can kiss my girlfriend if I want."

"I've never seen you blush like this," he brushes a knuckle down my flaming cheeks and then down my splotchy red chest. "You look fucking adorable."

Bodie counts off for SunDownDeep, as I free myself from Adam's handsy embrace.

He's right. I don't get embarrassed. Enraged, yes. Moved to the point of paling, yes. But flushed with embarrassment? MacKenna Lawson? No. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I cast my eyes to the side-stage and see Joely Heartley's reluctant smile as she catches my eye, and I can't help wishing I hadn't interrupted the show. I just wanted to do something special for Adam, and I got trapped in my badgirl sexpot role. The one I crafted. The one I re-inforce constantly. The one I, for the first time, am slightly ashamed of.

When we walk off for the break before encore, Adam takes my hand and pulls me over to his parents, who have kept Adam's oldest niece and nephew backstage with them so their parents could have fun in down in the pit. I didn't get a chance to say hello before the shoe. I was having a wardrobe malfunction—pants too tight.

"Mom, Dad, you remember MacKenna, right? And Mac, this is my oldest niece Gwin and my oldest nephew Blake." I smile down at the pretty, blonde girl with sparkling brown eyes, and her counterpart, who has the same good-looks—or he would, if he didn't wear an adolescent look of boredom.

Joely Heartley gives me a nod and pleasant-enough smile. "Adam, we've met MacKenna before."

"Things are different now," Adam says. "We're together. Very together," he wraps an arm possessively around my waist. "You need to give her the keeper treatment."

His mother looks surprised. His father chuckles. I search Adam's face. "I don't know what that means."

He smiles down at me. "I know, but they do. I'll explain later."

I look at his parents, feeling distinctly, disadvantaged. "It's good to meet you...again? Under these completely awkward circumstances that Adam is making..." I joke half-heartedly, sticking out my hand. "Mrs. Heartley..."

"Call me Joely," she says, clamping her fingers over my extended hand and pulling me in for a light, uncertain hug. "You look lovely tonight, MacKenna," she gestures at my unusually casual outfit—stonewashed jeans, a tank-top, and a flannel t-shirt triple tied tight around my waist to hide the fact that my jeans don't button. "Very comfortable in your own skin."

"She looks like we could put her to work," Peter Heartley agrees genially as he gives me a two-handed handshake—probably the same one he uses at church. "What do you say MacKenna? Up for a little harvesting this weekend?"

"Dad, she's a city-girl, not a farmer. Grew up in Atlanta, remember?" Adam admonishes.

He raises his eyebrows at his son. "I'm sure she's capable of picking blueberries, Adam."

"Blueberries. Beans. Corn." I assure him as I poke Adam in the ribs. "I did spend summers with my mother, Adam. We gardened." I turn back to his parents. "I'm really looking forward to spending time with your family this weekend, and seeing where Adam grew up. It's really nice of you to have the band and the crew out. I'm sure we can all help if your blueberry bushes are ready to be harvested."

"You picked more shrooms than berries in Utopia," Leed appears, drapes an arm over me and shakes hands with Peter Heartley. "Hey, good to see you again Reverend, Mrs. Heartley."

They exchange nods, and then Joely looks between Leed and me.

"I didn't realize you grew up there—on the Utopia commune?"

Leed pays me back for hi-jacking the show by hi-jacking the conversation with Adam's parents.

"We lived there more than anywhere else," Leed snorts. "Our mom's been there since Mac was three years old. We spent summers there. Seems like every school year in Atlanta with our dad was a different house, different school, different step-mom. Yep, Mom's a hippie, Dad's a rollin' stone and that makes Mac and me...well, put it this way... we're nothing like you folks." Leed grips me tight and pulls me against him. "So what do you think about these crazy and completely wrong-for-each-other kids making us sin-laws, huh?"

Peter Heartley chuckles. "Sin-laws. I have to admit, that's a new one on me, Leed. Good one."

"Leed, man..." Adam chuckles. "Relax."

"What?" Leed shrugs. "Do I not speak truth? You and Mac are shacking up. Been sharing a suite for more than a month, and you guys spend all day huddled up in the Spunkbunk, too."

I'm completely speechless. Staring at Leed with an open mouth. Is he trying to make me look like the world's most unsuitable girlfriend? "What the fuck?" I say, then I wince as I see Adam's niece Gwinnie's eyes fly wide and Joely's lips tighten. "Sorry," I mutter.

"Spunkbunk?" thirteen year old Blake snickers. "What is that about?"

"You don't want to know, man," Leed waves Blake's question off, then he turns to Adam's parents. "But the point is...these two are co-habitating. I think it's a little too fast, myself. What happened to old-fashioned dating before jumping into suite-sharing and bus-bunking? I mean, two months ago, they were barely speaking. Make-out, Freak-out, Repeat. That's always been their pattern. I don't think it's healthy to move so fast, do you Reverend Heartley? I mean...what's the urgency, guys?" Leed stares down at me.

"Leed, walk the fuck away," I growl at him. Then I realize I dropped the f-bomb again. "Shoot! Sorry!" Blake and Adam laugh. Reverend Heartley rubs away a smile. Joely just looks at me like I'm an alien creature. Confusion, disbelief, and horror waver on her face.

"Actually, we all gotta go, Shortcake," Adam says, holding a hand out to me as he accepts his bass back from one of the crew. Bodie beats his sticks impatiently just off stage as Trace grins and presses kisses and words into Kat's lips. It's really adorable how gone Mr. Cool-As-Fuck is over his KitKat. While still talking to her, he slings up an impatient hand for us. He and Bodie are ready, and so is the crowd. Leed, Adam, and I are holding up the encore.

Leed bounces on his toes and kisses the top of my head, whirling away as he shouts "Alright, let's finish this! C'mon, Macaroni!" Like he hasn't just acted like a traitorous asshat in front of Adam's parents.

Adam jerks me to his side as I try to leap at Leed. "Let me go, I have a murder to commit," I growl.

He laughs. "Chill, Shorty. Leed's just trying to wind you up."

"He's going to wind up—at the bottom of a lake," I hurl.

"Hey," Adam spins me to him, our lips almost touching, our eyes locked. He's completely unbothered by the fact that his parents are watching as he backs me into an equipment case, bringing our bodies as close as our faces are. "Change like Leed is going through is a mind-fuck. Man's on his knees right now. Trying to hang onto you anyway he can. My parents aren't idiots. It's so obvious he's trying to stir shit. Don't take his bait. Don't hate. You got much love, Mac. Let it shine."

"Yeah, well right now your parents think I got much love for shrooms and spunkbunking with you."

"Yep. And they know you gotta mouth like a sailor," he grins as he kisses my nose. "But you also got a secret weapon to wipe out any negatives."

I cock my head. "What's that?"

His hand grips my hip as his gaze travels down my torso. "You got their grandbaby hostage in there." His hand slides around to the top of my butt prodding me toward the stage. "Time to bring down the house, Little Mama. Let's go."

We kill it. We have so much fun free-stylin' Rocky Top, and then Leed is on his knees by the end of Little Sister, with his head bowed toward sidestage. I'm surprised when he changes the final line—You took my soul when I spilled your blood—to You hold my blood while I lose my soul.

When he raises his eyes to sidestage, I see Tamara standing with Kat and Ben, wiping her eyes. Leed gives one wave to the crowd and walks straight off the stage, his earlier shit-stirring completely forgotten as he stalks past Tamara and heads straight to the back exit.

As the rest of us leave the stage, Trace gets ensnared by journalists, and motions for Kat to go on ahead to the green room party. Sidestage is no place for guests to hang out after the show, it gets crowded with crew breaking down. Ben moves away with Kat automatically but there's a look of reluctance to leave Tamara . She's waiting on me, to help me because I plan to change out of my sweaty clothes now. Adam greets his family and moves them toward the green room. I'll meet him there in a minute.

As Tamara and I hurry to the small dressing room, I watch Ben's eyes follow her and then snap back to Kat. I wonder how much longer Ben can do this—put his principle above his personal life. Then answer becomes evident almost immediately. As I strip and Tamara hands me a wet towel to wipe down with, she says quietly "We need to find a replacement for me. I'm sorry, Mac. But I can't do this much longer. Neither can Ben. Or Leed. It's too hard."

I pull on a fresh tank top tunic and a pair of stretchier jeans, and then I hug Tam fiercely. "I know. You can go home with Ben when Kat leaves, if you need to. It's okay. We'll fly in a temp for the rest of the tour. You'll still be our stylist when the tour is done, if you want to be."

Tam nods, pushing tears away with the back of her hand.

I bite my lip. I don't know what the right thing is here. If I should tell Tam that Leed knows he's the father of her baby, or if I should maintain loyal to my brother. I ask myself what Adam would do, and I figure honesty is the best policy.

"Tamara...Leed knows. He read about prenatal paternity tests and he asked me straight out if Ben had taken one. I couldn't lie to him. I'm sorry."

She nods, not meeting my eyes. "It's not your fault. It's mine. I shouldn't have lied in the first place. It's still he decision, what he wants. He just needs to decide if he's going to be a part of this child's life or not."

I hug her again. She smiles. "At least Ben is here. Everything is better with Ben here."

I smile. "I know what you mean," thinking of Adam's comforting presence.

After a blot and retouch of my make-up, Tamara and I saunter arm-in-arm to the Green Room. "Look at that fucking army I have to face," I whisper as we approach the throng of family around Adam. Jesus, there's a least a dozen. Good thing I studied his Instagram feed and can identify most of them.

Currently huddled with Adam and preparing to take a shot with him, is his closest-in-age sister Brett,Brett's husband, Tyler, and Mike Rawlins and his wife. I study Brett and Tyler. They look like a fun couple. They have two kids under three, but they look ready to party tonight. Tyler is fireman-hot. He must not only sit behind a desk at his family's construction company. Brett is athletic, fair and lively. Plus,adorably perky in army green shorts, a plain white T-shirt, and lots of woodsy, rustic jewelry. She's an inspirational writer and You-tuber with a decent sized sphere of social media influence. Over the last couple of months I've started to follow all her accounts and she's really uplifting. Currently she's poking Adam in the chest with the same hand holding her shot of whiskey, and he's shaking his head at her and grinning huge as he argues with her, while Mike Rawlins tries to get a word in edge-wise and Tyler tells him not to bother.

Looking on adoringly is Adam's oldest sister Alex. I know Adam is close to her, too, but she's more like a second-mama than a sister, because she's fifteen years older than Adam. Alex is a very youngish, tannish, thinnish 39 year old work-at-home-mom. She's laughing and taking selfies with her daughter Gwinnie and her nephew Blake. Looking at her it's hard to believe she has five kids. Her husband Luke looks a little buttoned-up for an outdoor concert, but he's talking easily with Adam's dad as he nurses a beer. I know Adam really likes Luke, too. Luke is a tax guy...attorney, I think—and he handled alot of Adam's business at first. Maybe he still does, I'm not sure.

Janie and Peyton are engaged in conversation with Joely. I know Peyton is a pastor of a growing contemporary-worship church in Nashville, and Janie is involved in the music program there, but like her sister Alex, she has five kids so she's very busy. They look happy to be here, so even though Adam talks about them less than his other family, I assume it's all good with them. Janie looks a little more made-up than either one of her sisters—longer, sleeker, darker hair and wearing a trendy jumper. I catch myself wondering if she might be a little high-maintenance, when I realize that my "grungy" tank top probably cost more than her entire outfit, I just got a retouch on my stage make-up which is three times thicker than hers, and I have the exact same designer handbag as she does...or at least I think I did, two years ago, because Tamara rotates my arsenal of bags every fashion season.

Yeah, make no mistake, MacKenna Lawson. You are the diva in this situation. But diva doesn't have to mean catty, mean, or bitchy.

I wait until the younger group around Adam takes their shots and I make my way toward him.

"There she is," Adam beams at me as he throws his arm out to envelop me. I slide beside him eagerly. "Mac, tell Brett that I never do my own social media."

"It's true, he never does. Usually Trace's PA does it, or occasionally Bodie or I will hi-jack his phone and make an Instagram post for him," I assure her.

"See? I'm not dodging you. I'm just lazy," he grins.

"Well, we already knew that," Brett agrees.

"Yeah," Mike chimes in. "Remember when we were freshman in high school and he tried to teach Rex to do his laundry?"

"Yes!" Alex and Janie chime in at once.

"He almost had it, except for the sorting. Color-blind, you know," Adams looks down at me as if that explains the story.

"Who's Rex?" I ask confused. I'm certain Rex isn't on any of the Heartley's social media. I've been stalking to learn them all.

"My golden retriever," Adam grins. "Got 'em on my tenth birthday."

"He did not almost have it," Joely shakes her head and looks at me, "Adam nearly poisoned that poor pup with fabric softener sheets. Had to have his stomach pumped."

"I felt terrible. I had no idea he thought they were treats." Adam agrees. "But Rex made it through. He's unstoppable."

Smiles fade across the group. I get a sinking feeling. Adams senses the mood drop and he tenses. "Awww, damn," he murmurs.

Peter reaches out a hand to Adam's shoulder. "I'm sorry son. Rex died in his sleep a few weeks back. Found him curled at the foot of your bed. Just like he'd want to go."

Adam nods stoically. I tighten both my arms around Adam's waist and he smiles down at me. "He was fourteen. A good long life for a big dog like him. I just wish I could have been there for him."

His mother pats him on the arm. "He was well loved and cared for. You have a life to lead, Adam. It's not here with us, right now." Her words are warm, but there's meaning in the way she said right now.

Tyler walks over to the hospitality table and returns with a tray of whiskeys, and two sodas for Gwinnie and Blake. "A toast to Rex," he says. The tray goes around, and I groan inwardly.

No matter how much I try to abstain, these situations keep coming up over and over. What should be a comfort for Adam—his family honoring his poor deceased pup, is now fraught with tension for him because I either have to refuse the shot or pretend to drink it. Refusing is awkward, and yet Adam and I are both beginning to worry at the accumulation of my fake drinking. Are all these tiny sips adding up? Are they negligible or should I be worried about Babycakes' health? Adam has remarked more than once that the solution is quite simple—nobody expects a pregnant lady to drink.

But I'm certainly not announcing Babycakes right now.

I'm sort of surprised that the whole family, including the Reverend, is drinking whiskey in honor of Adam's dead dog, but then again, maybe it's not all that surprising. This family is big on rituals that make them a family. Honoring a fallen family member with a drink seems like an old-fashioned thing to do, now that I think of it.

And I don't want to refuse to participate in the Heartley family ways. I pick up my glass of whiskey.

Peter raises his glass. "To Rex. He was a good dog and he loved his boy," Peter smiles at his son. "Won't be another like him, but may God keep him til his boy goes home to meet him."

A round of Amens follows and the Heartley's all knock back their drinks.I take a sip of mine and wince. I'm a little out of practice with the hard stuff, after two months of mostly avoiding it. "Not a whiskey fan?" Reverend Heartley smiles.

"Not so much," I smile back.

"Come on, Mac, you're in Tennessee now," Mike Rawlins teases me. He certainly knows I'm no stranger to liquor. I was probably wasted every time we had sex back in college. "Tequila and vodka don't get it here, girl."

"You might as well surrender," Janie tells me with a smile. "I don't love it either, but it's sacrilege not to participate in Heartley traditions."

"If you want in, you gotta go all in," Luke jokes. "We all do stuff we don't like. I personally hate the Ugly Sweater thing at Christmas..." he winks.

I smile tightly, all eyes are on me. "Sure, yeah. Of course," I say and prepare to tip the drink back. Hang with me Babycakes. It's just one shot, okay? I put it to my lips, and I just can't. It's probably no big deal, but I just don't want to do something that might hurt my baby. Adam senses my hesitation and swipes the glass, knocking it back with a growl. "Jesus, people. She doesn't like whiskey. Back the fuck off. You guys take this tradition bullshit too far sometimes. "

"Adam!" Alex says sharply tilting her head to the kids, who look confused and saddened by their Uncle's irritated outburst .All laughter has left the group. Luke looks tense, Peyton and Janie look disapproving. Brett, Tyler, Mike and his wife look uncomfortable. Adam's mother is watching me with a look of disapproval, like I caused the discord.

I probably look pale as shit. I think I might puke, and it has nothing to do with the barest taste of whiskey on my tongue.

The Reverend meets Adam's eyes in a wordless exchange. Adam's shoulders slump. "I'm sorry, Dad. That was way over the top." Peter nods, but he tilts his head toward Adam's mother and sisters. "I'm sorry. I..." Adam looks down at his niece and nephew. "Kids...the family stuff isn't BS at all. I'm just...I'm out of practice being a good family member. Sorry for the way I spoke. For the disrespect..." He's looking at his mother, and his sisters and shaking his head in apology.

"Well, you must tired," Joely says dismissively. "You'll get a good night's sleep at home tonight and get up on the right side of the bed. Your bed. And we'll have our old Adam back," her tone is light, but again, I feel like there is more behind her words.

I look up at Adam, slightly confused. Going to the Heartly family farm isn't in our plan tonight.

"Mom, I thought I told you, we are coming over with the rest of the band tomorrow afternoon."

"Well, I don't understand why you can't all come on out tonight," Joely said. "The house is ready for you all, and when I was talking with Trace earlier, he said that you all are on a mini-vacation for four days, as of now."

I tense, lowering my gaze to the floor, waiting for Adam to choose. He can go home with his parents if he wants, but I can't. I have important business tomorrow, and it can't wait any longer.

"Well, Trace can do what he wants," Adam says wearily. "But Mac and I have obligations he doesn't know anything about. Mac and I blew off an interview last week. With the bad press I made in LA for us, the label wants us to redirect with a Madam exclusive."

Adam is completely lying right now, and I feel bad about it. He shouldn't have to lie to his mother's face for me. Fortunately, Gwinnie redirects the conversation for us.

"Ooooh, Madam," she says dreamily. "I ship you guys. Everybody does."

"I really don't understand this Madam and shipping stuff," Joely says.

Brett giggles. " Madam is their ship name. A ship name is the name of the couple."

"Why do they even need that?" she asks.

"Good question," Adam says. "Better question is why are we Madam and not Adamac?" he teases me, trying to get me to smile.

"I didn't name us," I protest. "Hell, I didn't even ship us, until recently," I tease back.

He laughs. "That's true." His mom still looks confused. "The "ship" comes from relationship," he explains. "When you ship a couple, it just means you support their relationship. You like them together, you want them to be together."

"I see," Joely says, and I get the distinct impression that she is not shipping Madam.

I think Adam senses it too. He squeezes my shoulder. "So, listen Mac and I have an early morning. We need to get back to the hotel..."

The brothers-in-law begin their casual hand-clap-back-slap-leave takings, and Adam hugs his sisters and his mother. He picks Gwinnie up off her feet in a giant bear hug and fist bumps Blake. He shakes hands in the old-fashioned way with his dad. I get polite nods and smiles, from all except Brett who hugs me, and from Mike, who tries to hug me. He doesn't mean a thing by it, he's just a hugger, but I cut him off and stick out my hand, pumping his voraciously. Adam has to look away to keep from laughing, but I'm determined not to break any more goddamn rules in our code of conduct. We said people we've slept with get handshakes, not hugs. So by god, Mike Rawlins gets a handshake.

After the Heartley's leave, Adam and I waste no time getting to our car. It's not a limo, merely a nice Mercedes rental for Adam to drive. We aren't going to the hotel tonight.

We are headed to the Utopia commune. It's time that Babycakes and I have a check-up. At this point, the mid-wives at Utopia have become my best option.

Utopia. What a place. What a name.

Ironic, because although I feel comfortable with my mother and her colleagues as midwives, being Samantha Adair's daughter has hardly ever been a Utopian experience for me.

Then again, it probably won't be much worse than my relationship with Adam's mom.

"That pretty much sucked," I say to Adam quietly as the car slides down the quiet country road, tunneled in night and dark foliage.

He squeezes my knee. "It did suck. I'm sorry. Not on you. Most of it on me. I should have smoothed the way better. The good news is...the first awkward meeting is out of the way."

"Well, now we have to do it all over again, with my mom."

"Well, at least we don't have to hide Babycakes from her," he says softly. He doesn't mean for what he says to sound resentful, but  he can hardly help it.

Fuck.

It's going to be a long four days.