She laughs, but it’s soft, almost sad. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not simple. Nothing about this is simple. But Rye . . . these past weeks with you. The music we’ve made, the nights we’ve spent?—”
“Stop.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to think clearly and when you talk like that, I can’t.”
“Maybe thinking clearly is overrated.”
“Not when my daughter’s involved.”
“Fair enough.” I take a breath. “But can I say one more thing?”
“What?”
“I care about her because she’s remarkable. And I care about you because you’re . . . you’re everything I didn’t know I was looking for.”
Silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s full of everything we’re not saying.
We talk for another twenty minutes, working through logistics and boundaries. Lessons only when Benny can’t do them. No discussion of the music industry or professional possibilities. No promises beyond the current lesson. Clear communication if anything changes.
“And us?” she asks near the end. “How do we handle that?”
“Separately. Completely separate from Lily.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it means we can’t . . . be together the way we have been?”
“If that’s what you need.”
“I don’t know what I need. I just know I can’t risk her getting hurt.”
“Then we don’t risk it.”
“Simple as that?”
“Simple as that.”
She sighs. “Nothing’s ever simple.”
“No. But we can try.”
“Yeah. We can try.”
After we hang up, I sit in the dark apartment thinking about unexpected connections. About a little girl with natural talent and fierce determination. About her mother trying to protect her from an industry that doesn’t always care who it hurts.
About the possibility of being trusted with something precious.
I pick up my guitar one more time and play the progression Lily learned today. But I play it her way, with the harmonics and hammer-ons she discovered. It sounds different from when I usually play it. More hopeful. More alive.
Maybe that’s what teaching does. Shows you your own music through fresh eyes. Reminds you that every chord progressionwas once new to someone. That every technique was once impossible until it wasn’t.
I play until midnight, working through variations and possibilities. Tomorrow Benny will be back. Lily will have her regular teacher next week. Things will return to normal.
