He was right.
Pressing the flashing button, he was greeted with his mother’s sickly sweet voice. “Hi, Nicky, it’s Mom. I haven’t heard from you in weeks, darling, and I was just wondering how things were going. Call me back when you get a chance.”
Nick gazed sadly at the machine as it played his mother’s message. He almost wished she were here with him now... almost wished she were there to tuck him into bed and bring him chicken noodle soup and 7up like she had when he was little and sick. But he was an adult now, and his sickness was not just a simple cold or the flu. It was not something a little motherly TLC could fix.
These days, he doubted his mother had any TLC left in her. The only thing she had any tender loving care for was money. Money and fame. He wondered what her reaction would be when she found out he had cancer – would she be sad for him or pissed off that this very well could hinder his career?
Another message had begun to play, and this, too, was from Jane Carter. “Nick, I left you a message two days ago, and you haven’t called back yet. Please just give me a call, honey. I miss you.”
“Yeah right,” Nick muttered, rolling his eyes.
The next message began with a different voice. “Hey, Nick, it’s me, Bri. It’s Saturday night, about... 7:00 pm, and I was just calling to find out how your doctor’s appointment went today – I know you told me you had one. So, they got you all strapped up in a brace or cast or what? Well, call me back when you get home. Later, bro.”
A mix of sadness and guilt tugged at Nick’s heart at the sound of his best friend’s familiar voice. Poor Brian, like everyone else, was still completely in the dark about this whole thing... he still thought it was just a simple fracture. How wrong they both had been.
In between a few messages from reporters, his manager, and people like that, there were more messages from his mother, Brian, and eventually, the other Backstreet Boys. The messages got firmer, more frantic, as they went along.
“Nickolas Gene Carter, this is not funny! I’m worried sick about you; you stop ignoring my calls and call me back right this instant!” his mother practically screamed over the phone.
“Nick, it’s Howie. Please give me or one of the guys a call soon; Brian said you haven’t been answering your phone in over a week, and he and Kevin are freaking out worrying about you – you know what Kevin’s like – and AJ and I have tried to call too, and you’re still not answering, so please, call one of us back and let us know you’re okay,” came Howie’s rambling message.
“Hey, it’s Brian again. Nick, please, please, please call me back when you get this. I’m really worried about you. Did I do something to piss you off? Please, call back.”
Finally, the seemingly endless strain of messages came to an end. Feeling overwhelmed, Nick flopped back onto the couch and buried his head in his hands. He knew he needed to call everyone... knew he should tell them the truth... but the thought of actually doing that was extremely depressing. Maybe he was still in denial, but he didn’t want them to know. Not yet. It was too soon – he was still trying to accept it himself, and he wanted to hold off their reactions as long as possible.
Still, when he heard the final message, his mother’s voice begging him to pick up the phone, he couldn’t help but obey. When the message ended, he picked up the cordless phone and turned it on. Bringing it slowly up to his ear, he listened to the dial tone for a few blank seconds before reluctantly punching in the number to his parents’ house in Los Angeles.
“Hello,” came his mother’s hassled sounding voice.
“Mom?” His voice sounded raspy, and he swallowed hard.
“Nick! Nick, is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” Nick was not sure what to expect next – a sigh of relief, tears maybe? What he got instead was a screamfest.
“Well, it’s about time! Nickolas Gene Carter, where the hell have you been?! I’ve been trying to get a hold of your for almost two weeks! I’ve tried all your houses, and all I get is the answering machine, and your cell phone is never turned on! What the hell is going on?!”
Nick sighed, stalling, trying to figure out what to say, what to tell her. “I’ve been... busy...” he replied lamely.
“With that stripper whore of yours, no doubt!” Jane spat condescendingly.
Leah. Oh God, why did she have to bring up Leah? Didn’t he have enough other shit to think about?
But he didn’t say that. In fact, he didn’t even tell her he and Leah were ancient history. Instead, he followed his mother’s lead and replied flatly, “Yup.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that, like you don’t even care! Don’t you realize how worried we’ve all been about you? How could you be so thoughtless and irresponsible?!”
“Sorry.”
“That’s not an apology! You’re not being sincere at all! I want an explanation for your behavior, young man!”
“Don’t ‘young man’ me,” Nick muttered. “I’m not a child anymore, and you can’t keep trying to control my life! It’s not your job to freaking parent me anymore, Mom, not like you ever did before anyway.”
It was a low blow, but his leg was throbbing, his ears were ringing from her shrill, screaming voice, and he was slowly losing control of his emotions. He knew if he didn’t join in the fight, he would probably end up spilling his guts about what had really been going on, and he was not ready to do that. She didn’t deserve the truth anyway, as far as he was concerned.
“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Jane hissed. “You should be damn grateful to have me as your mother! Who took you to all those auditions, came to your talent shows, paid for your singing lessons, your acting classes, supported you in every way imaginable? Huh? That was me, and don’t you ever forget it!”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s all about all the time, all the money, you put into me. Well, I’ve more than made up for that by now, Mom. Whose money paid for the house y’all are living in now, huh?”
“This isn’t about the money, Nick, this-“
“Yes, it is about the money! That’s all you fucking care about, and it’s all you ever cared about! That’s why you dragged me to all that crap when I was little – you were hoping I’d become a star and make you money someday!”
“Don’t you dare say that! That’s not true! I never cared about the money!” Jane protested.
“Well you sure as hell never cared about me either!” Nick fired back.
“Shut up! Shut the hell up! I will not stand here and take this from you!” screamed Jane.
“Fine, then don’t. Bye, Mom.” Nick had pressed the End button on his phone before she could get another word out, terminating the conversation. Letting the phone drop to his lap, he sank back against the couch, breathing heavily, shaking with a mix of frustration, misery, and rage. Nothing like a phone conversation with his dysfunctional, insane mother to get his blood pressure up.
The phone in his lap suddenly began to ring, startling him. He picked it up and looked in the little window that showed the caller ID. Just as he had suspected, it was his mother.
“You blew it, you damn bitch,” he muttered through gritted teeth – he had always had a habit of talking to himself, especially when he was angry. “See if I ever pick up the phone for you again.”
And he hurled the phone across the couch, where it bounced off one arm and came to rest on the cushion next to him, still ringing.
***
