Begrudgingly, River uncrossed his arms and thumbed at a smear of something stuck to the bartop. Cilantro-lime dressing, he thought. Jem made tacos last night. “I told him I might not let him leave. I was joking. But then he said he’d just have to go home and get a few things, so… he did.”
Eric and Ward exchanged glances. “Okay,” Eric said, “but does he think he’s like, just here for sex and making you breakfast?”
“And dinner,” Ward said. When both River and Eric turned to him, he said, “What? There’s leftovers in actual containers in your fridge, man, there’s no way you cooked that.”
“He’s a really good cook,” River mumbled, thinking lovingly of the tacos.
“Also,” Eric went on, “you forgot Ward and me have access to that folder you shared with Amanda, so we’ve both heard your new sound.”
Fuck. Riverhadforgotten—he’d originally shared that folder with them so he could get their feedback before sending things to Amanda. Once he’d shared it with Amanda, he never changed the permissions.
“So like, are you going to tell him you’re in love with him, or just keep paying him to live with you?”
River took their point, but also—“Can we get some actual work done, please? Ward, do you remember how to hold your bass?”
“Fuck off. The only thing you remember how to hold is Jem’s dick—”
They squabbled all the way to the studio, but once they got there, the squabbling was setlist related. River argued that with the smaller venue, they should play a few of their more intimate songs, the B-sides that didn’t get the airtime of the singles. But then the question became what to leave out, or were they going to do a three-hour set like they’d done in the early days?
“Becca finally caved, she’s gonna let me take Mila on stage for ‘Beach People.’”
Ward couldn’t get away with that with his own kids; you couldn’t strap your baby to your chest and expect to play a guitar. Eric’s youngest was small enough to work in the carrier while he played drums, though. If River were Becca, he’d be insisting on supergluing the ear protection on, but that was her and Eric’s business.
“We should do that in the first half, then,” Ward said. “In case she gets cranky and has to go home early.”
“Beach People” was a single from their sophomore album,Merge Ahead. If they were going that far back for it, River thought, they should balance it with a less-played older song. “Maybe add ‘Buzzards’ to the back half?”
Ward made a note in his comp book. “Jesus, how does that one even go again?”
River hit the opening riff. Just because they’d written it almost twenty years ago didn’t mean he’d forgotten.
“Yeah, yeah, your memory is better than ours because you don’t have kids poking holes in your brain Swiss-cheese style.”
True, he didn’t. He’d always thought he never would, what with the whole flamingly gay situation. But he was also pretty sure he’d never let anyone close enough to fall in love for real, so maybe he had to reevaluate that now. Because Jem was good with kids. Jem wasgreatwith kids, actually. So, like, did Jem want kids?
DidRiverwant kids?
“River? Hello?”
Shit. He blinked. “What?”
“Are you debuting one of your love songs for Jem or nah?”
He flushed. “No, uh, not yet. I’m meeting with a producer tomorrow, and me and Amanda are going to talk about how and when to start releasing that stuff without letting the cat out of the wet paper bag.”
“It’s just the bag.”
“Whatever. No River Wild solo works. Let’s keep the focus on the band.” It was one of the last times River would get to play with them on stage.
Eric raised his hands. “Just… I wanted to let you know we’re cool with it, if you wanted.”
Riverdidknow that. Eric and Ward might be ready to dial down their professional music careers to focus on health and family or whatever, but they’d never begrudge River anything he needed to ensure his career remained a success, or his mental health remained as balanced as it ever got. “It’s just too different, I think. Genre-wise, I mean. It’s all over the place. So there’s, like, strategy and shit.”
By the time they wrapped practice for the day, River was beat and, judging from the smell wafting from the kitchen, Jem was home.
“Oh my God, what is that?” Eric said, sniffing the air. “And more importantly, when can I eat it?”
Jem poked his head out of the kitchen. “Oh. Hey Eric, Ward. Sorry, it’s got another half an hour.”
