“The first half of the impression was great. The second half…yeah, that was a little weird, but I’d like a do-over if you’re up for it.”
I smiled, latching on to the sudden ray of sunshine he was offering. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”
“Any chance you’re free tonight? Or maybe lunch? We could grab fast food for all I care.”
“Um.” It was eleven in the morning. I was in last night’s clothes and half an hour from home. “How about tonight? I don’t know if I could get my act together in time for lunch.”
“Yes, that’s great. I’ll text you details?”
“Yeah. And thanks, you know, for not writing me off as a total flake.” You wonderful, wonderful man.
“I have to respect someone who drops everything to go help a friend.”
My heart squeezed at those words, but not in a good way. It should have made me warm and fuzzy, him praising me like that. Instead I just felt trapped, and angry, and hurt.
“So, tonight then?” I asked, trying to shake Sean out of my thoughts.
“Yes. Tonight,” he affirmed. “See you then.”
The Uber pulled up in front of my building and I paid him with the card that Randy had given me more than a year ago. I wouldn’t let them hire me officially. I wouldn’t let Sean pay for my apartment or anything like that. But paying someone to drive me into NYC and back each time Sean hit the sauce too hard was out of my budget. I let Sean pay for that.
When I walked into my place, I should have gotten straight into the shower, but the past twenty-four hours required something stronger than water to purge my demons. I slipped my shoes off, letting them clatter to the floor as I crossed to my piano. It was an old upright‚ scratched and dented and well loved by me. It was one of the first pieces of furniture I’d bought when I moved into this apartment. Most people would think a couch would take precedence, but a piano had always been at the top of my list.
I slid onto the bench and leaned my head from side to side, trying to loosen my neck a little before resting my fingers on the keys.
Then I closed my eyes and let my fingers do their thing. I started off with a Beethoven piece, which morphed into my own rendition and then a different melody before going into something more upbeat, reminiscent of the 1950’s, and then back to a classical piece that I knew by heart. Music and I—we had chemistry.
The reason I had pushed Sean so hard was because I understood good music. I may not have had the raw vocal talent that Sean had, but music sang through my blood and strummed through my bones. Singing had brought us together. We’d been seated next to each other on the first day of choir. It was my freshman year of high school and I’d been positioned on the edge of the altos, butting up next to the tenors, and my awkward first-day-of-high-school inner turmoil was only added to when I ended up next to a sophomore guy. There were no desks to act as natural buffers on those choir risers, so I felt more exposed. But by the end of that first day, I was totally at ease. Sean bubbled over with effervescent joy. I loved singing, but Sean breathed it.
The next three years I helped him write songs. We built a sound booth so he could record his first songs. I uploaded them to YouTube myself. We worked together to find other musicians so he could perform live. I schlepped sound equipment to gigs. I told him when it was time to find a new bass player.
My musical know-how told me he was good enough. I pushed him when he didn’t want to do the work or make the effort. He wouldn’t be where he was now if not for me.
I’d never been less proud of anything in my life.
♪♫♪
Jonas and I confirmed plans that afternoon and I had the annoying job of finding something to wear. I couldn’t wear the same dress again— the dress that had been chosen specifically for this first getting-to-know-you date—but I didn’t have time to shop for something else, so I dug through my closet and made it work. Jonas had chosen a more casual restaurant, so I decided to go with skinny jeans and a flowy top. I curled my light auburn hair into soft waves and hoped they would hold.
Tara had texted me, asking how it went last night, and it was a relief to tell her that we were meeting again. I left out the part where I ditched out in the middle of our first date.
I headed downtown but had trouble finding a parking spot that I’d be comfortable returning to after dark, so I was just a couple minutes late when I walked into the restaurant. I looked around, hoping he would be there and that I wouldn’t have to sit and wonder if he was going to stand me up as penance. But I spotted him when he stood and held up a hand in greeting. A thrill raced through me at the sight of him. He was average height and fit, with a military-short haircut.
I walked over, my hands absently running down the sides of my jeans to fend off the nervousness. “Hi,” I said as I stopped in front of him.
“Hi,” he said with a smile that might have made lesser women cry. Then he reached for a hug and I did my best to return it, unused to people randomly hugging me. “I’m glad you could make it.” He swept a hand toward the table. “Is this okay?”
“Yes. It’s perfect. Thank you,” I said, scooting into the booth and shoving my purse into the corner. I tucked my hair then looked up. I still felt terrible about the way I’d left last night, so I pressed my hands together and sandwiched them between my knees in an effort to get them to stop shaking. “I think I owe you an apology.”
His left eyebrow and the left corner of his mouth curled up in an open, curious expression. “Why’s that?”
“Last night I was rude.”
“But you already apologized for that.”
“Right, but—”
“No buts,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just glad you were willing to come out with me tonight.”
That was really nice of him, but I wanted him to understand what had happened. “Can I explain?”
“I’d love to hear anything you have to say.” He sat back and sipped his water, giving the appearance that he had all the time in the world for me.
Here went nothing. “My friend drinks too much.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Sometimes he drinks way too much, and for some reason when he gets that way, I’m the only one he’ll listen to.”
“So you go take care of him?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded, seeming to accept my words at face value. “Does he have a name?”
“Sean.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Since high school. We met in choir.”
The concerned frown went away, replaced by a pleased smile. “You sing?”
I shook my head. “I used to, but now it’s just for fun.”
“Fun singing is still singing.”
I shrugged. “What about you? Are you musical?”
“Not at all. No one wants to hear my version of music. I’m more than happy to just listen.” He pushed up his long sleeves to his elbows and I caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his forearm. It looked like some sort of shield or coat of arms.
The server came by and took our drink order and then left.
I nodded toward his arm. “What’s that?”
He looked down, trying to figure out what I meant.