It’s Dad. Ugh, so much for blocking out the fact that he’ll be at the wedding.
Thanks, I type.You sure you want to be there for this?
I can’t send that. I replace it with aSee ya soon!, then plop the phone into my pocket and retreat upstairs to my room as Vivian points outside and tells Mom and Ron where they’ll walk after their kiss.
“Check check, one two,” I say into the microphone while Misty, Shana’s dad’s friend who owns Bean-Age Dream, bends over the portable speaker system she’s lending my parents for the wedding. She fiddles with a couple of the knobs as I continue saying words. “Check check, sound check. Wedding. Love. Anxiety. Barf. Check check.”
Misty throws a rigid thumb into the air. “Yup.” She returns to a standing position, adjusting the light gray suit jacket she’s wearing. “Levels sound great. Keys and vocals, both solid.”
“Okay, cool,” I say, nodding to Shana and Ember. Things are better between Shana and me, though still not perfect. I apologized for being a shitty friend and for putting so much of my focus on Carter, and I meant it. Though I also had no choice since ourband needed to be on good terms so we could do this wedding.
I feel even more nervous for this performance than I did for our first gig.
It’s just past one, and guests will start arriving at two. The ceremony is first, followed by a brief cocktail hour, then us. I’m not sure where my panic attack slots in. Hopefully after the performance.
“You plugging in your ax?” Misty asks, pointing to Shana.
“Oh,” Shana says. “Sure?”
Misty gets to work, pulling a black device out of a tote bag and putting it into Shana’s acoustic. The confidence radiating off Misty is intimidating but also calming. It’s almost enough to offset the extreme uneasiness I feel every time I notice the charcoal sky. The caterers have set up a big canopy thing for if/when it starts raining. I’m holding out hope it won’t, though.
“Oh yeah, now you’re in the pocket,” Misty says, responding to Shana strumming the opening chords from the new song I wrote. I get a little lightheaded. I’m not sure I can go through with playing it. Our other originals and the assorted covers we’ve learned—weird eighties shit Mom and Ron requested, like “Always Something There to Remind Me” and “I Melt with You”—all feel doable, but the new one is a tribute to them, and, at this particular moment, I might prefer to literally jam a knife into Dad’s back instead of playing this in front of him. I need to stop writing intensely personal songs about people I love.
“All righty, then, Angry Infant,” Misty says, “you should be good to go. Have a great show.”
None of us has the heart to correct her. I’m in such a vulnerable place, it leaves me wondering if Angry Infant is actually a better name; maybe we should officially switch to calling ourselves that.
As Misty strides away, I pull my phone out of the skinny green purse I’ve brought out especially for today. Carter has texted.
You are a star, Maguel. And I love the new song
Thanks Coco, I write.I’ll letcha know how it goes. Hopefully won’t besmirch my family name
COME ON, he texts back immediately.
“You good?” Shana asks, sidling up next to me. “You’ve been looking a little pukey.”
“I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”
Ember whacks one of their cymbals, continuing to warm up.
“I feel like I should be more, like, unconditionally happy about today,” I say. “Vivian seems thrilled.”
We glance over at my sister, in an animated conversation with one of the caterers.
“She’s just a good actor,” Shana says. “I’m sure she’s feeling a lot of the same things you are. Have you talked to her about it? About them getting married?”
“A little. Not really. I don’t know. She usually just points out how happy Mom is and says it is what it is.”
“Oh, she’s walking this way. Hey, girly!”
“Hi hi hi,” Vivian says, her dark hair perfectly stacked into this magnificent spiral bun thing. She looks gorgeous and put together in a way that makes me want to pull out my phone again, use the camera to look at my makeup. “How did sound check go?”
“Amazing,” I say. “Misty was very pleased.”
“Great. So why do you look...”
“Pukey?” Ember offers.
