I release her and grimace. “Lo siento.”
“Second, it’s going to be fine. It’s a beautiful day,” she says with a dramatic arm flying wide. “We’ll have a picnic. You have blankets, yes?”
I nod. I don’t tell her the only ones I have are the covers currently on my beds and the one Rugger drags around with him and dry humps. Definitely not the time to tell her about that one.
“Perfecta,” she says.
“But the grill,” I sigh. “I have a flank steak marinating.”
“Jonah,” Christina says gently, placing a hand on my back and rubbing it. “You have this amazing thing called a stove. How about I take a crack at that.” She’s telling me more than she’s asking.
I’m far from a perfectionist, but I wanted this family dinner to be just that. I thought I prepared enough—heck, I made a grocery list. If that doesn’t screamI’m half-way to having my life together,I don’t know what does.
But I don’t want to appear ungrateful, so I accept her offer. I gather the four blankets I own, leaving Rugger’s special blankie lover balled up in the corner of my room,and Ana helps me arrange them in the yard.
By the time my dad, Robyn, Dell, and Isaiah show up, Chritsina’s slicing the medium-rare seared steak in strips and loading up their plates. Everyone’s distracted with kids and catching up when Joaquín stands next to me. “Here,” he says, handing me a bottle of beer. “Relax, Jonah. Everything’s okay. People are eating.”
“And sitting on the ground,” I grouse, but accept the beer and take a swig.
“You know what would make this family dinnergreat?”
“Hm?”
“If we had a little live music.” He grins.
I swear my best friend knows me better than I know myself. Only a moment ago I was sulking, unable to even enjoy the day. Now I’m sprinting for my studio and hauling instruments outside by the handful with a happy little patter in my heart. It’s been too long since I played outdoors, and my flabbers are gasted as to why I haven’t played yet on my new property.
Once I have everything set up and plugged in on my porch, I wolf down a few bites and fling myself behind my drum set. Joaquín warms up on the keyboard. Dell pushes a reluctant but smiling Isaiah to the stage and hands him his bass guitar, while their wife Robyn is grinning like a maniac as she records on her phone.
“Long live Agony Nectar,” she hollers like a superfan in a crowded basement bar, ready for her favorite band to blow her away. She acts like we’re literal rock stars instead of a few dudes who never grew out of our emo-punk-band phase.
And you know what? I hope we never do.
When Dane finishes tuning his guitar, he whispers to each of us the song he wants to play first, and my smile grows even bigger. “This one goes out to our niece and nephews,” he says into the microphone.
Because we’ve never played this song before, I take the lead and establish a beat that speaks to me. Isaiah joins next, layering in mellow reverberations. Joaquín finds his melody on the keys shortly after. Finally Dane, our front man and lead guitarist—covered in more tattoos than any of us with black gauges in his ears—lets it rip.
The second the lyrics of Old MacDonald hit them, Zo and Nico get up and dance the way toddlers do. Squatting up and down, throwing their hands out, and clapping out of rhythm. I watch as Raf bounces to the beat with Mateo in his chest carrier, Mateo’s little hands clutched around his father’s index fingers.
God, they’re cute.
Of course, the version we’re playing is nothing like the simplistic nursery rhymes these kids have heard. Agony Nectar is hard core. And Dane’s voice—rough and low, but always in control—conveys that, even when the lyrics are “with a quack quack here and a quack quack there.”
Angie, Robyn, and Dell dance and sing along, each holding a beer like they’re at a real concert.
We play a couple more for the kids before playing requests from our parents—all songs from their youth, as nostalgic and warm to them as The Black Keys or Cage the Elephant are to me.
But we can only play covers for so long.
When the sun starts to set, Angie and Raf take off with the kids to make it home for their bedtime. After hugs and see-ya-later’s and wet toddler kisses, Agony Nectar revives. We’re pulling out classics likeMy Hoodie Still Smells Like You, Nothing Hurts When Everything Does,and my personal favorite,Graveyard Date Night (Acoustic Version).
When the automatic porch lights come on, we call it a night as our remaining fans whoop and holler from their picnic blankets.
I’m buzzing like a live wire, free of whatever mess I wasfeeling earlier, and overall, incredibly pleased with how this evening shaped up. Together, my bandmates and I disassemble our equipment and carry it back in the studio. All the while, we poke fun at each other’s missed notes and wrong lyrics.
Someone has connected their phone to the surround sound, and judging by the country music selection, I can assume Dell is the culprit. When we stride into the kitchen, we find everyone wiping down the counters. Dad closes the dishwasher.
“You guys didn’t have to do that,” I say.
