I lie back on the pillow, staring across the room at the teal velvet sofa in Ellie’s tiny guest house. I close my eyes and remember.Our moving truck, packed to the brim, a for sale sign planted on the lawn. I stood on the sidewalk, watching my parents pack the car with whatever didn’t fit in the truck, fiddling with an envelope in my hand. “Mel” scribbled on the front of it.
“Josh, I thought you were going over to see Melanie?” My mother’s terse voice startled me. “We have to get on the road,” she had said.
“I know.” I looked down at the envelope again, fiddled with the bent corner. I knew I should go there, check on her. Bring her some flowers or ice cream. She was my girlfriend after all. But I didn’t know how to comfort Melanie when my family was falling apart without my sister. “It’s okay, let’s just stop there on the way and I’ll leave her this.” I held up the envelope.
My mother nodded, probably not having it in her to argue or insist that I see Melanie before we moved out of state.So that’s what I did—rolled up to her mailbox and dropped the letter inside. And God do I regret it.
My phone buzzes on the night table text to me. It’s Liam.
Liam: You doing okay this morning?
I don’t have the energy to answer him or the host of other messages I see as I scroll through. I pause when I reach Melanie’s name. It’s only one message and it simply reads, “I’m sorry.” My chest tightens. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe some proof she wanted me to stay, a sign she was willing to fight for us—at the very least fightwithme. But this feels so small, so final. Like she’s already let me go. The ache that follows is worse than anger, worse than anything. It feels like we’ve been erased.
I scroll past, leaving the message unread, even though my eyes keep going back to it. Anxiety flickers when I see five missed messages from Gary, but when I click on them, it’s just his flight and hotel itinerary for the concert. He wants to take me and Melanie for a late lunch before the concert. A sickening feeling washes over me.
All of this with Melanie the past few months feels like a lie. We’ve written music about how much we love one another and all along she’s had this secret. I can’t help it, I’m fucking mad. But with six days until the concert, I can’t afford to be.
I dart out of bed and grab my guitar, sitting on the teal sofa and tuning it. Then I fix it the only way I know how… I play. I work through the whole set list Melanie and I talked about. She’d even written some female harmonies into a few of my originals. The plan was to open with “Every Song,” play through my five biggest hits, and close with “The Sound of Her Name.” I’d hoped to finish that song with Melanie but now, I selfishly want it only for myself.
When I get to the final song, I start to work. I write the bridge, adjust the chorus, and record myself playing it. Then I send the audio and a photo of the lyrics and the chords written out to Mel, without acknowledging her apology.
Me: I finished the song. Can you please learn it?
Melanie: Okay.
I growl in frustration, but I do feel mildly better having finished the song. At the very least, we’ll be fine for the concert. But now there’s nothing left to do but be alone with my thoughts.
* * *
It’shot asshit on this late August day but I go for a jog anyway. I run all over town, past my old stomping grounds, past the playground I played on for hours as a kid, and finally past my old house. I pause in front of it, staring for a moment too long.
“Can I help you?” an elderly woman’s voice calls to me from the porch. I hadn’t seen her behind the garden shrubbery.
I shake my head, quickly. “I’m sorry, no. I just—I grew up here.”
The woman moves down the front steps to the front gate and offers me a warm smile. “We bought this house in 1999. Your parents must’ve owned it.” She offers me a soft, wistful smile. “Would you like to come in?”
My heart twists in my chest. Would I? Maybe it would help me now, to see the home filled with love. Or it would bring up painful memories of a past I wish I could forget.
“Maybe another time,” I say, softly. “It was nice meeting you.” I swipe the sweat off my brow and start walking.
“Take care, now,” the woman calls after me.
I turn and give her a wave but the smile on my face is sad, and she can probably see it. Maybe what I need is to go off-grid for a couple of days, shut out the world, and figure my shit out. The truth of the matter is, I’d been using Melanie as a Band-Aid to fix all my gaping wounds—and that’s not fair to either of us.
I pick up my pace and sprint hard until my breath runs out and my chest is tight. I nearly crash into Ellie when I get to her house.
“Oh, my!” Ellie steps quickly aside. “Joshua, you nearly took me out.” She holds her hand over her chest but she’s laughing.
I stop abruptly, breathing heavy with my hands on the back of my head as I pace the sidewalk.
“Sorry, Ellie,” I grumble. “I didn’t see you.”
“You sure didn’t.” Ellie crooks her mouth upward, cocking her head toward the house. “Come, let’s have some iced tea. You look like you need it.”
Truthfully, the last thing I need is a life lesson, but Liam says Ellie is everyone’s grandma. She means well and who knows, maybe she’ll impart some wisdom on me and make me feel better.
I don’t reply but follow her up her front steps and through the door to the kitchen at the back of the house. Through the window, I see an older man picking tomatoes from the garden outside the guest house. He’s inspecting each one very carefully, tossing the ones that have blemishes.
