“So anyway, one day Emma comes in and there’s no hoodie. No dinosaur backpack. She’s wearing a plain blue T-shirt and the oldest, saddest expression you’ve ever seen on a five-year-old. And because I’m a dumbass, I asked what happened to her backpack, and she goes”—here Jem adopted a soft, higher-pitched voice—“my brother says dinosaurs are cringe.”
He huffed out another enormous breath tinged with frustration and hurt and God knew what else. “And it boils down to the same thing, doesn’t it? Things that are cringe or things that are basic. The root of it all is that at some point society decided that it wasn’t cool to like things except ironically. Which, like—that’s fucking bleak, man. When did being passionate become something to be avoided? Why is it more important to be edgy and different than to be happy?”
River couldn’t open his mouth. If he did his heart would tumble out into his hands, and he’d have no choice but to offer it to Jem, bloody and still beating. Because those words had touched something inside him—a part of him that had become sullen and resentful as his fame grew. A musician needed passion to create. But it was so easy to become jaded, to fall prey to trends, to be disaffected.
Was that why he’d had so much trouble writing lately? Had he run out of things to say? Or had he simply lost sight of what mattered to him?
“River?”
Finally he took a deep breath and sucked his heart back into his chest. He couldn’t do anything about the sting in his eyes, but that was what sunglasses were for. “I’m—listen. Jem.” He stopped walking, grabbed Jem’s hands so he’d stop too.
They faced each other on the boardwalk, Jem uncertain, a little flushed, River’s heart still pounding to be heard.
“I am so fucking glad you teach kindergarten.” His voice cracked, which might have mortified him, except how could it, when Jem had just given such a spirited defense offeeling?
Jem went scarlet all the way to his hairline, and he ducked his head. “I thought you might be a little concerned by how bad I wanted to get in a fistfight with a ten-year-old.”
Laughing, River let go of one hand to dash away the drop of moisture that had sneaked out without permission. “Since you’re still gainfully employed, I’m sure you restrained yourself.”
“I did. It was close, though.” He smiled and shook his head, some of the bashfulness falling away. “Anyway. That’s my rant on having interests and hobbies. I don’t understand why people think disinterest is something to aspire to. Imagine trying to date someone who only liked things ironically.”
River was pretty sure his pupils were making little cartoon heart shapes. “That does sound terrible.” Especially now that Jem had shown him what the opposite could be like.
No wonder River’s bandmates had laughed at him. He was ridiculous.
But he could roll with this. After all, he was paying Jem to hang out with him in various romantic settings. River liked nothing better than a captive audience.
He threaded his fingers back through Jem’s and turned them in the direction of the car. “So. Think we know each other well enough to pull off a date around other people?”
“Probably time to find out.” He paused, swinging their hands together for a moment. “Though if it’s an important one, maybe you should tell me what it is beforehand.”
“Saturday night.” River didn’t want to wait an entire week to see Jem again, though, so—“If you’re available tomorrow, I should probably take you shopping.”
“We literally did that today. We’re still downtown.”
Damn it. “Yeah, but I have a meeting later,” he fudged. He did, with his nutritionist, who called him River the Flat-Assed. He couldn’t wait to have Grace yell at him again for forgetting to eat. But the meeting wasn’t until six. He had plenty of time to bully Jem into red-carpet finery.
But then he wouldn’t have an excuse to see him tomorrow.
“It’s a film premiere and after-party,” River explained. “The outfit cannot be rushed, Jem.”
He shook his head, smiling. “All right, all right. I’ll mark my calendar.”
Great. That gave River less than twenty-four hours to concoct a plan.
Jem would’vebeen more nervous about his upcoming date if he hadn’t been so busy.
Report card comments had to go out soon, which meant long days in front of a computer trying to diplomatically tell parents their kids needed to learn to sit down and shut up. (There were nice comments too, but he didn’t have trouble wording those.) He pulled coverage duty on Wednesday, when his kids were at gym, which sucked. He’d been counting on that time to do report cards, and instead he had to watch fourth-graders do a math test.
On Thursday he actually remembered to get his mail. There was an ornate-looking envelope in it with a return address in South Carolina.
Jem didn’t want to open it. He knew what it was—an invitation to his half brother’s wedding. His mother had given him a heads-up by text. He hadn’t spoken to his half brother in a decade; he didn’t know why he even got an invitation.
Something compelled him to open it anyway.
The card inside was surprisingly simple.Andrew & Dana joyfully invite you to share in their special day on Saturday, May 30, as they exchange vows at—oh, they were getting married at Jem’s father’s club. He couldn’t read any further unless he wanted to derail the possibility of getting any work done tonight. Instead he put the invitation on top of the refrigerator, where he could forget it until the RSVP date had passed.
He’d mostly caught up on work by Friday at noon, through the sacrifice of too many hours he should’ve spent sleeping, so he probably wasn’t doing a great job holding up his end of the conversation about Ivy’s upcoming prenatal scan when Tori poked him in the side. “Hot date this weekend, right?”
