“We’re not going to pressure you to go,” she says shyly, passing the envelope between us again. “But your ticket is in the envelope. We’d love it if you did.” Fawnie gives her mom’s hand a squeeze, then steps forward, folds the envelope, and slips it into my pocket.
My whole body goes haywire, electrified beyond anything I know what to do with, at her proximity.
I can’t breathe or think until she steps back beside Amanda.
“The music is what’s important. The rest is just background noise.”
Ahh, very good. How long did it take you to think that one up?I shut that shit down in my head. There’s no way that I’m saying that. I remain stubbornly silent, hopefully that they’ll leave.
Hoping they won’t.
“Just think about it. There’s no obligation. Let Preacher know if you do want to come. If you don’t, it’s okay.”
Fawnie glances at her mom, then at me, and then she’s surging forward, closing the distance too fast for me to get my balance or my bearings or stop it from happening. Her hands glide up my arms until they reach my neck. She has to stand on her tiptoes, and it’s still a sloppy, messy, awkward hug as she leans in and my body tenses, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and concentrate on not ripping straight down the middle until Fawnie is done.
“We’ll see ourselves out, okay?”
At least the front door has a keypad. The door will automatically lock behind them. I’m too close to coming completely unraveled in the most disgusting, gross, embarrassing way, so I lock my jaw and nod.
I stand in the hallway until I hear the door shut.
They could be punking me again, but I doubt it. I’m not going to go check the security feeds. I step into the small, plain office and shut the door. I mean to take even steps to the desk, sit down, shove thoughts of what just played out and anything that might yet, far out of my mind, pull up spreadsheets, and get down to my boring job.
My safe, boring job.
I study my desk through eyes gone blurry and wet. There are zero personal touches in here. No pictures, nothing cutesy on the walls, nothing meaningful. My desktop has two baskets, one with incoming and outgoing papers. I have two monitors on top and a tower down below, my laptop off to the side. The regular other token paperwork and mouse and a mug from last night with a bit of water in it still.
I imagine myself sweeping my arm over the surface and clearing it all.
That would be incredibly stupid and inconvenient.
I fold my arms on the desktop and set my head down on them instead. Crying is entirely pointless, but a few tears sneak out to wet my shirt anyway.
I don’t want Fawnie to be right. I don’t want to dwell on this shit and let it haunt me. She’s right. I know it. It’s not about the music. It’s about having the kind of love that I never had or ever saw myself having after the fire. Brotherhood is one thing,but what about the love of a mother and a father? A partner? Children?
My bungalow has an ancient upright piano that was there when I moved in. Preacher told me it came with the house and they hadn’t had anyone move it out, but I’ve always had a feeling he was lying. It was very convenient. I’ve ignored it all this time, but my hands ache for those worn keys. It’s been years since I played. Could I still play good enough? After my dreams of college and making a career as a musician were taken from me, the thought of making music broke my heart. But it’s always been there calling to me. Music at this point isn’t about the music. It’s about my heart and soul.
In the past half a decade, I haven’t wanted to pour out what little I have left of either.
I scowl to prevent wincing, but it doesn’t work. I have to blink rapidly against the stinging pain of more tears pricking the backs of my eyes. A tight ball burns as hotly in my throat. I’m tired of pretending. Of lying to myself. Of feeling nothing and then feeling it all far too much.
I pull the rectangular envelope out of my pocket and stare at it. It would be so easy to toss it into the garbage can beside my desk. So, so easy.
Simple.
But I don’t.
Chapter 12
Fawnie
Mom and I went out earlier today. We did some shopping and tried to get lunch, but it was a pretty wet affair. It rained all day. Not the kind of rain that comes in a gentle trickle, but a full downpour. We were soaked just running from the car to the restaurant. We called it early and came back here just to talk.
She’s been texting me on and off, keeping me updated on the massive party going on in the room right next door to her at the hotel.
It’s late, and they still haven’t shut it down, but maybe that’s the definition of party.
