“You two bought identical apartments a floor apart from one another?” she asks.
“We bought the top three floors,” I answer.
She leans up, her brows raised, and I wave her off.
“The top floor is open concept and soundproof, so we have somewhere for the band,” I explain. “Spent more on setting it up as a prime location for playing than we did on our own decor.”
“Do you rent out the space?”
“We haven’t. Invited a few other bands to come jam with us, though.” I lean back on the pillow and press my hand behind my head. “I can’t wait for the break between this tour and the international one. It’ll be nice to sit still for a few weeks. Work on new material. I miss the days we used to practice in your garage. Acoustics were fucking terrible, but I wrote some of the best shit sitting on that ugly orange couch.”
Darkness flashes in her eyes, and even though it’s gone in the next second, I know her memory of that couch isn’t what the rest of us remember.
“God, that thing was horrendous,” she says. “I don’t know who it pained more to get rid of it, though: Dad or Tina. Both of them stood there with tears when the movers removed it. It took everything in me not to burn it.”
“Have you been back?” I ask her. "To the old house?"
A solemn look passes over her face when she looks down, her fingers raking down the tattoo on my sternum. “I haven’t. You?”
It’s a gamble what I’m about to say.
No one else knows, not even Reed.
“Not since I bought it,” I reply.
Andi pushes up to her hands over me, eyes narrowing like I’ve just told her I’m dying. “What? You bought it?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I reply.
“Does Dad know?”
“Nah,” I reply.
"Doesanyoneknow?"
I shake my head.
“Why... Why would you buy it?”
I shrug, a heavy sigh leaving me that raises my chest. “Couldn’t let it go.”
She’s staring at me in a haze like she can’t understand why I would want to keep the place where…
I reach for her hand, prompting her eyes to move to mine, and I bring her palm to my lips.
“Do you want to see it?” I ask.
She chews on her bottom lip for a moment. I can see the debate in her eyes, the unrest winding through her.
“Yeah,” she finally decides.
The drive over is quiet.
I’m glad Andi suggested taking the old Bronco instead of the studio's car. The area we all grew up in isn’t the worst neighborhood in this town, but it certainly isn’t the best.
As we near, I reach over and take Andi’s hand. I know what this house is to her. I know the memories and pain gushing through her as it becomes visible beneath the amber street lamps.
It’s the house where she once played princess.
