Book Blitz - Once in a Lifetime by Kathryn R. Biel!

This is my stop during the book blitz for Once in a Lifetime by Kathryn R. Biel. The book blitz runs from 11 till 24 September. See the tour schedule Here. 

Title: Once in a Lifetime

Author: Kathryn R. Biel     

Genre: Women's Fiction/Chick Lit

Release Date: September 5, 2017

Ten years ago, the Sassy Cats were at the top of the charts until Callie Smalls walked away to pursue her career in fashion and television. The other four members Angie, Tabitha, Mandy, and Daphne were left to fend for themselves and continue on with their lives.

That is, until the day when Callie decides to book a gig for the group at a major music festival, without talking to her former band mates. Scattered across the country, at different points in life, can they rekindle the magic in the music?

A soccer mom who's husband doesn't know about her past. A fading star, sacrificing all to stay in the spotlight just one second more. A party girl, challenged with her most important role yet. A tiger mom, fighting for her son. A desperate woman, unhappy and alone.

A lot can change in the course of a decade. Will it be harmony or hatred for the Sassy Cats?

Mandy:  

Every so often I hear one of our songs on the radio. If people are around, I try to keep my face neutral, a skill I perfected way back when. But when I'm alone, or if it's just me and the kids, I've been known to let loose and belt it out. After, I feel like an addict who's relapsed. Both elated and disappointed in myself all at the same time. 

The van's radio is usually playing a "Kool Kidz" CD or is on NPR, so it's not like it happens that often. But when it does, a crushing guilt and sadness wash over me. That's what's going on in this moment, as I'm standing in the middle of the grocery store. 

It's a rare trip on my own. Myles was home, so I begged him to watch the kids while I ran to the store. Tenley is over at a friend's house, so he's only got the twins to keep an eye on. Now that Colin and Madden are in school all day, they're much more manageable.  

That's what Myles says when I tell him I'm drowning. Part of me wanted to go for a pedicure before I went shopping to give him more time to see how manageable they are. 

The last time they were manageable for me, I ended up cleaning slime off the ceiling. The cathedral ceiling. I still don't know how they did it. And by the way, that stuff stains.  

But I really shouldn't stall, because I know the longer I take, the more likely I am to get a frantic call from my frazzled husband. That's the last thing I want. Powering the shopping cart up and down the aisles, I toss one item after another into the basket. 

To an observer, it may look haphazard, but I know exactly what I'm doing. I've got this down to a science. On those rare instances when Myles offers to go to the store for me (okay, that one time when I threw my back out), I can't let him go.  

We've been together for almost nine years. Tenley is seven, and Colin and Madden are almost six. He still doesn't know what any of us like to eat. He doesn't get that I buy food for the kids to take in their lunches, and that a large, thirty-two ounce tub of yogurt isn't the same as the individual cups. It's not like we have to pinch our pennies. 

He simply doesn't get it. No one does. The music has a tin-like sound to it, and I can barely hear over the beeping of the register and the hum of the conveyor belt. My heart stops for a minute, my face flushing. 

I bend my head forward, letting my hair fall over to form a screen. In my head, the choreography runs through, engrained in my brain from thousands of rehearsals and performances. 

 It's all I can do not to dance. There's part of me that wants to bust it out, full on, right here and now. Can you imagine if some dumpy housewife did that in aisle nine?  

Frankly, I don't even understand my life sometimes. This was all I've ever wanted. My life before—I never wanted that. It was thrust upon me in a whirlwind of decisions made by others. I longed for quiet and stability and normalcy.  

I've got that now. So why do I feel like screaming? It's because I'm tired. Tired and worn out and overweight. Frumpy, slovenly, run-down, fatigued—I could go on and on with the synonyms. I'm a mom of three kids. It's part and parcel. And it's all I ever wanted. 

Angie: 

We want you to go on tour. I look at my cuticles, trying to let them know that I'm bored and will need to be seriously convinced. Of course you do. It'll sell more tickets. My season was the highest-rated ever.  

The producer shifts uncomfortably. He doesn't like my attitude.  To be honest, neither do I. I'm channeling my inner Callie. Of course I want to go on tour. 

Inside I'm jumping up and down, clapping like a little schoolgirl. It's a chance to keep performing. To be in front of people, hearing the applause. So what if it's for dancing rather than singing? Dancing was always my strength.  

I was a dancer first. But really, at heart, I'm a performer. The only place I want to be is on stage. A different city every night—yes please.  

I can't let him know how desperate I am for this chance. How much I want it. How much I need it. Instead, I sigh and roll my eyes. I guess. When would it start? I have some commitments coming up.  

That's a lie. Since finishing Hollywood Dance Off!, my calendar has been more open than I'd like. Sure, there were media appearances immediately following, but after about a week, no one cared that I was the winner.  

It was Season Thirteen after all. People are getting bored with the whole premise. But I wasn't lying when I said my season was the most watched.  

It may have had something to do with my competing—and winning—with a torn ACL and cracked rib. More likely it was because I played up the romance angle with my partner.  

He totally wasn't interested in me, but I paid him to pretend he was. Gayle, my manager, thought it up, and dang if she wasn't right about it. She can be pretty ruthless.  

I need her to be, since I'm not by nature. All I want to do is sing and dance. Gayle makes it happen. The acting lessons she made me take have paid off throughout my fake romance with Sergei and in high-stakes negotiations like this.  

Sergei and I "broke up" in a dramatic fashion. We had to, obviously. That cost me extra. By the time that happened, right before the final show, we couldn't stand each other. 

It made me sad though, because in another life, I think Sergei and I could have been great friends. We have similar work ethics and drive for perfection. He's funny and gets my need to be in front of people. 

The pressure of the show, not to mention the pain, did not bring out the best in me, and I took it out on Sergei. Much like I did with Cameron, my ex-husband. He didn't have to stay and love me, so he didn't. Sergei had to stay, and he resented it. And me. 

I don't blame him. The producer looks relieved. That's great. I'm sure we can work around whatever you've got. We'll be in touch about the rehearsal schedule. Sergei will be so happy you're back!  

Why didn't I realize that touring with the Hollywood Dance Off! crew would, of course, mean Sergei and I have to work together again? Because I'm a stupid idiot, that's why. But at least I'll be on stage. It's the only thing that matters. 

Tabitha: 

The nights are the worst. Well, the three nights I've been home. I'd kind of been hoping my mom would stay with me, but she's back to her regular life. When will my life return to normal?  

After nursing her for the billionth time tonight, she's finally asleep. All I want to do is sleep too, but the house looks like a bomb went off. I don't remember the last time I showered, and I feel so yucky. 

I wonder if I can have a small cup of coffee or if that's a no-no. I thought once I gave birth, I'd finally get my body back. But no. I mean I know that I don't technically have to breastfeed, but the internet says that's the best way to get the baby weight off, so I'm all for it.  

What else am I supposed to do? The doctor told me I can't work out for four weeks! It's enough that I had to sacrifice my body for nine months, and now this? 

I need to talk to someone who's been through this before. Too bad I don't have a lot of friends. Not real friends. I haven't been that close to anyone since the group. We used to joke that it was like a sleepover every night. Until we got close to the end.  

But I bet Mandy would still be there for me. She's the loyal sort, and she certainly does know about this kid thing. I should call her and find out what I can and can't do now. 

Although, remembering how she looked on her last Christmas card, I'm not sure I want to take her advice. Maybe, if I'm asking her health and wellness questions, it might inspire her to take a little bit better care of herself.  

See? I'm not just a taker, no matter what my mom says. It takes one to know one, by the way. The scene from the hospital plays over and over in my head. Thank God it didn't end up on the internet. 

For once, I'm happy not to be in the news. So maybe I was a little irritable. I mean, I just made a person and it took a lot out of me. I don't think asking my mother to go get me some actually edible food that isn't all processed and crap was too much of a request. 

You know, Tabitha, it's not always about you. From now on, it's not ever going to be about you. I'm not saying it's always about me. I'm just saying I'm hungry and there's nothing organic vegan raw on this menu that will do.  

I need to keep up my strength to feed Paisley. Who? Paisley. You know, my baby. I remember thinking how could she be so stupid. Like, who else would we be talking about? Duh.  

You named her Paisley? That's not a name, it's a print. As indignantly as I could, I answered, Her full name is Paisley Elvis Clementine. 

Oh for the love of God. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Why don't you just name her Seven or East or Kindle or something as ridiculous? 

I love her name, and that's what it is. You need to stop putting yourself first. Think about the fact that this poor child will have to go through life with this atrocious name. 

How's she going to apply for a job like that? And what's her last name going to be? That's what she was really upset about. From the moment I told her, all she cared about was the baby's father. Stetson, just like mine, obviously.  

So you're not going to tell him then? Why would I tell him? He's not a father. He's just someone I screwed one night. I knew being crass would push her over the edge, but her relentless nagging had pushed me over the edge.  

That's it, Tabitha. I'm done! Good luck raising this child with that attitude. You'll see—and you'll fail. And I'll be waiting. And with that, she stormed out.  

Sitting in the rocking chair in Paisley's nursery, I don't even realize I'm crying. Stupid hormones. They’re the only reason I'm crying. I stopped shedding tears over my mom years ago.  

My mom's right. I am selfish. But I learned it from the best. Paisley lets out a small sigh, and I tiptoe out of her room. That's it. I'm calling Mandy.  

Except Mandy doesn't answer. Who else is there to call? Daphne is the only other one with kids. Well, a kid, I think. Still, maybe she can help a little. 

I settle in with a cup of decaf (ugh) and scroll through my phone looking for Daphne's number.

Telling stories of resilient women, Kathryn R. Biel hails from Upstate New York where her most important role is being mom and wife to an incredibly understanding family who don't mind fetching coffee and living in a dusty house. 

In addition to being Chief Home Officer and Director of Child Development of the Biel household, she works as a school-based physical therapist. She attended Boston University and received her Doctorate in Physical Therapy from The Sage Colleges. 

After years of writing countless letters of medical necessity for wheelchairs, finding increasingly creative ways to encourage insurance companies to fund her client's needs, and writing entertaining annual Christmas letters, she decided to take a shot at writing the kind of novel that she likes to read. 

Kathryn is the author of ten women's fiction, romantic comedy, contemporary romance, and chick lit works, including Live for This and Made for Me.

Sign up for her Newsletter.

Hosted By: