She starts to smile. “I don’t know.”
“No way, dude. I’m not letting you off the hook that easily. We have major plans tonight.”
“We do?” Something fun and hopeful shines in her eyes. She’s smiling, and it makes my heart happy. God, she’s cute.
“Oh, yeah. We need to get dinner, because I’m getting hungry, and I bet you are, too.”
“I am.” She nods.
I remember the book she was reading the day I woke up with her beside me on the bed. It had a kid who was singing into a microphone on the cover.
“You like music?” I ask.
She nods eagerly.
“Have you ever listened to a record before?”
“What’s that?”
My jaw drops. “What’sthat?”
She giggles and I shake my head, smiling.
“Laugh it up, Chuckles, but we have some serious work to do tonight. Come on.” I slip my shoes back on. “Grab your coat, put your shoes on, and let’s get going.”
CHAPTER 40
JORDAN
An hour later,we’re back home with pizza, chicken wings, salad, four types of ice cream, and Doritos. My mom’s old record player is hooked up to Tate’s stereo system, pumping out low tones of seventies rock.
Something occurs to me, and I frown and pull out my phone.
Sorry to interrupt your date—I type before deleting it.Does Bea have any allergies?I text.
He probably won’t respond. He’s probably gazing into his date’s eyes, laughing about something just absolutely fucking hilarious. I’m picturing Miss Honey fromMatilda,with a sweet, demure smile and lovely blond hair you can’t get from a bottle.
No allergies,he responds immediately.Good thinking,though.
My fingers linger over my phone with the urge to respond, but instead, I lock my phone and slip it back into my pocket.
“What’s this band called again?” Bea asks through a mouthful of pizza.
“Fleetwood Mac. The singer’s name is Stevie Nicks. This is arguably one of the best albums of all time.”
Rumours. One of my mom’s favorites. While we sit here at the kitchen counter in Tate’s beautiful home, eating pizza and listening to music, I’m fending off memories of doing the same with my mom twenty years ago like I’m at war.
God, I miss her sometimes. I try not to think about her because I miss her so much.
“You know what? Maybe I’ll turn it off—” I start, but Bea jumps up.
“No!” Her eyes go wide. “I’m listening. Please? I won’t talk.”
“No, you can talk.” I shake my head. I’m fucking this all up. “Sorry. You’re being awesome, Bea. I’m being weird.”
“It’s okay.” She takes another bite of pizza. “You can be weird.”
AfterRumours, we put onMy Generationby The Who. ThenThe Wallby Pink Floyd. ThenDreamboatAnnieby Heart.
