There’s a bit of silence, and then, “You’re what?”
“I’m sitting in my car outside your apartment. I came to . . . I don’t know what I came to do. Talk, I guess.”
“I’ll be right down.”
“No, I’ll come up.”
More silence. “Okay.”
I climb the stairs on shaky legs, each step feeling like a choice. At his door, I knock before I can lose my nerve.
He opens immediately, like he was standing right there waiting. He looks rough—unshaven, hair messy, wearing an old Reverend Sister shirt that’s seen better days.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.”
We stand there, neither of us knowing how to bridge the gap between what we said and what we meant.
“Lily wants to know if you’re still coming for her guitar lesson tomorrow.”
Something passes across his face—relief maybe, or hope. “Do you want me to?”
“I want . . .” I take a breath. “I want to stop making choices based on fear. I want to stop pushing people away because I think they’ll leave, anyway. I want to give this—us—whatever it is, a chance to be something.”
“What about the job?”
“What about it? You’re a grown man. You can decide what’s best for your career. But don’t take it because I told you to. Don’t leave because you think I want you gone.”
“Do you want me gone?”
“No.” The word comes out stronger than expected. “No, I don’t want you gone. I want Sunday guitar lessons and you helping at the venue and that stupid song we wrote playing on repeat in my head. I want to stop being so scared of wanting things.”
He steps aside, gesturing for me to come in. “We should talk.”
“Yeah. We should.”
I enter his apartment, noticing the packed boxes by the door, the guitar case leaning against them.
“You’re already packing?”
“I thought . . .” He runs a hand through his hair. “You seemed pretty clear about what you wanted.”
“I was clear about what I thought was safe. There’s a difference.”
We sit on his couch, not touching but close enough that I can feel his warmth.
“Zara was right about one thing,” I say. “I’ve been making your choices for you. That’s not fair.”
“I’ve been letting you.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s easier than admitting I want something that might not work out. If you push me away, I can blame you instead of risking it myself.”
“That’s terrible logic.”
“Yeah, well, musicians aren’t known for their good judgment.”
