I smile and type back:Tell her to try the third fret. But lightly. It’s subtle.
You’re encouraging her.
Is that bad?
No. It’s just . . . different. Good different.
Good different. I’ll take it.
The conversation ends there, but I know we’ll talk at ten. Really talk. About what this means, what it could become. Whether I can be trusted with something as precious as her daughter’s musical education.
I pick up my guitar again and play until the streetlights come on. Simple progressions that build into something more. Like a lesson that becomes a connection. Like a favor for Benny that becomes something unexpected.
Nine o’clock comes and goes. Then nine-thirty. I’m not nervous exactly, but I’m aware of the time in a way I usually aren’t. At nine forty-five, I make coffee, figuring I should be alert for whatever conversation we’re about to have.
At exactly ten, my phone rings.
“Hi,” Rye says when I answer.
“Hi.”
“Is this weird?”
“Which part?”
“All of it. You teaching Lily. Us talking about you teaching Lily. The fact that my daughter hasn’t stopped playing guitar since we got home.”
“Good weird or bad weird?”
“I don’t know yet.” She pauses. I hear what sounds like a door closing, maybe her going outside for privacy. “She’s never been like this about lessons before. Eager yes, but this is something completely different.”
“Like what?”
“Excited. Inspired. She usually practices because she’s supposed to. Tonight she’s practicing because she wants to.”
“That’s good, right?”
“It’s terrifying.”
“Why?”
“Because what happens when she wants more than I can give her? What happens when she’s good enough that people notice? What happens when the music industry starts circling?”
“She’s ten, Rye. That’s a long way off.”
“No, it’s not. Not with the internet. Not with social media. Kids go viral playing guitar in their bedrooms now. And Lily . . . she’s got that thing. You saw it.”
“I did.”
“So you understand why I’m scared.”
“I understand why you’re careful. There’s a difference.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Her father was a musician.”
I don’t say anything, sensing there’s more.
“Session player. Talented. Charming. Full of promises about the life we’d build together. Then I got pregnant and suddenly all those promises turned into excuses. He was gone before she was born.”
