“What’s the deal with you and your sister?”
“What do you mean?” I asked as I traced a striation in the rock, my finger fitting perfectly into the groove.
“You and Violet don’t get along,” he said, but I understood the query behind the statement.
At first, I wasn’t sure how to answer. Violet and I rarely fought, but that was because I never saw her. “I think a better way to describe our relationship is lack thereof,” I replied. “We were super close as kids, but we don’t really know who each other is anymore.”
He scratched at one of the horns attached to his temple, his fingernails coming away with a crust of purple paint. “Because she’s so busy all the time?”
“That’s part of the reason.”
“And the other?”
Sighing, I picked at a hole in my jeans. “When Violet was offered the role of Lilliana, she accepted in a heartbeat, and I can’t blame her for that. Becoming an actress was her dream. Problem is that decision affected our entire family. It’s the reason my parents got divorced, why, even though we live in the same house, I rarely see my dad. Her choice turned my life upside down.” I stopped and took a deep breath. Could I really say the next part aloud?
But I didn’t have to. Xander said it for me. “Do you resent her for it?”
Absolutely.The response came to me without hesitation, but I knew it was a question better left unanswered. Bitter indignation looked good on no one. Putting on a smile, I gently elbowed Xander. “What is this, an interrogation?”
“Possibly,” he said, and there was that sheepish grin of his again, “but you’re more than welcome to flip the script. I like to consider myself an open book.”
“Okay.” If he thought he was so candid, I wanted to hit him with something too embarrassing to answer. “If I looked through your browser history right now, what’s the most compromising thing I’d find?”
“Whoa, hold on. Maybe notthatopen,” he protested, but a hint of his smile still lingered. “I was thinking more along the lines ofwhat’s your favorite color, how many siblings do you have, if you were a pro wrestler, what would your entrance music be?”
“Entrance music?”
“Yeah, the song that plays when an athlete enters the ring or walks onto the playing field? Mine would be ‘Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)’ by Big & Rich, because it’s hokey and badass at the same time. What most people don’t know about me is that I’m a closet country music fan. Also, whowouldn’twant to save a horse?”
“I don’t know, maybe a glue factory? And I’m pretty sure one of the characters inMagic Mikestrips to that song.”
Xander wiggled his eyebrows at me. “That a favorite movie of yours?”
“No,” I retorted. “It’s my turn to ask the questions, remember?”
“I’m all yours,” he said, waving his hand at me in a take-it-away gesture. “Have at it.”
This time, I decided to start with something easy. “Country music, huh?” I had to admit, his confession caught me off guard. The Heartbreakers were a pop rock band that bordered on punk, and the knowledge that one of its members secretly enjoyed songs about pickup trucks, booze, and achy breaky hearts was more than hard to believe.
He nodded. “I was indoctrinated at an early age. My grandpa was a roadie for Randall Russet, the famous bluegrass star, but he loved all types of country—folk, rockabilly, western swing, honky-tonk, you name it. He had this antique Victrola turntable, and whenever we went over to his house, he let me pick a record to put on. I’d sit on the living room floor for hours playing LEGOs and listening toJimmie Rodgers, Hank Williams, or Patsy Cline. When he died, he left me all his records.”
“That’s an amazing memory to have of him,” I said, feeling a tinge of jealousy. Both my grandfathers died before I was born.
“It’s why I love country music so much. Whenever I hear it, even if it’s the cliché, manufactured kind, I feel connected to him, you know? He gave me a piece of himself that’s become a part of me. All I have to do is turn on the radio and he’s there.”
“That’s how I feel about classical music. It’s all my mom listens to, so I was raised on Bach and Mozart.” I paused and then added, “My mom moved out of the house last year. At first, I missed her so much that I curled up in bed and cried to theMoonlightSonata for a solid month.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry about your parents.”
“Yeah, me too.” Feeling the need to take charge of the conversation before Xander bombarded me with another endless string of how comes and whys, I asked, “Are you guys working on any new music?”
The sudden topic change didn’t faze him. “Not yet. Our next tour starts in a month. We’ll probably write some new tracks while we’re on the road, but until then, I intend to revel in all thirty days of my dwindling freedom.”
“Oh yeah? What do you have planned?”
“Nothing major. I’ll probably go back to Portland for a week or two and spend time with my family,” he said. “I also want to swing by the shooting range for some target practice. Who knows? Maybe I’ll binge readLady Phoenix.”
“Shooting range? Like…with a gun?”
