The room goes quiet when I strum the first note, everybody listening, and I sing it with Justine offering back-up. I don’t mind because she has a beautiful voice and knows exactly how to add to the song.
My voice isn’t what it was, mostly because I didn’t get a chance to warm up, nor have I been practicing.
Mid-verse, I look over at my wife. She’s standing with our son; his arm draped over her shoulder. I keep my eyes on her, on Noah, until I finish the song. It felt good to sing, to play in front of people.
The room goes quiet and then I hear, “We’re not retiring.” It’s Harrison, still on video chat, but now Peyton’s holding the phone.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say.
For a moment, I’m reminded I’m just a man who used to do this for a living, and I still want to do it. Maybe the band does small venues, places like Ralph’s or the café Quinn used to play until his sister drags him in front of the people that now make up his band. There’s a sense of freedom there, being able to pick and choose when we want to perform.
Quinn, Justine, and I perform a few more songs, but this time together. When we’re done or on a break, who knows with Quinn, I head over to the drinks and grab a bottle of water. Noah follows.
“I wanted to see if you’re okay,” he says as he refills his cup with ice and soda. “Grandma said . . .” he pauses and sighs. “Well, I guess you know.”
“I do. I don’t think she’s wrong. She knows his voice better than anyone’s.”
“I don’t want to meet him,” he says. “If it comes up and you decide to talk to him. I’m not sure forgiveness lives within me.” Noah hangs his head. I pull my son into my arms and hug him tightly.
“I’d never ask you to do anything you don’t want.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
We mingle and encourage everyone to do the same. A few more people come over. Trudy and her husband, some council members, and our neighbors. I feel better now, especially since Teagan said it was all my family, now that others are here.
I work the room, trying to make my way to Nick or Teagan, whoever I can encounter first. I catch them together on their own and eavesdrop on their conversation. They’re talking shop. It’s all about the school bell schedule, the fundraiser Josie roped Nick into, and a teacher Mack doesn’t like.
I want to put my foot squarely up Nick’s ass, but refrain. He doesn’t know Josie and I are trying to get him to see what’s right in front of him, and it’s not like I can blurt it out. “Hey, man, date her!”
Nope, that would be too easy. This might be one of those moments where I say it on the radio and pray, he’s listening.
I move around, visit with others, and call Harrison and JD to give them shit for missing my party. I do everything I can to put as much time as I can between my last visit with Nick and Teagan.
The next time I find them, they’re standing close together, and my man has his arm on the wall and he’s leaning in.I feel like a proud papa and want to slap him on the back encouragingly, but I don’t.
I pretend I’m looking for something near him. They both stop talking.
Rude.
I give up and head toward the kitchen where Josie’s filling the ice bucket. “It’s working,” I tell her as I kiss her cheek. “They’re finally talking.”
“You’re a good man, Liam Page.”
“Call me Rockstar, and I’ll show you how good later.”
I don’t wait to hear her say it because then it’s game on. We still have a house full of people and it would be incredibly rude if I carried my wife upstairs and let her have her way with me.
NINETEEN
For a man who gives strangers advice about their love lives five nights a week, I spend a truly stupid amount of time standing in my closet, trying to figure out what to wear to take my own wife to dinner. I go with the good jeans and a button-down. I roll the sleeves. I unroll them. I decide I’m being ridiculous and roll them back up. Then I decide my tattoos look a little dull and I add this enhancing cream I have.
“You’ve changed your shirt twice.” Josie’s in the doorway of our closet, already dressed, watching me lose a fight with my clothes.
“I’m curating.” It’s what I’m doing, right? Curating a look in the event someone wants to take my photo.
“You’re stalling and for what, I don’t know.” She takes a couple of steps toward me and fixes my collar, which didn’t need fixing, and I let her, because her fixing my collar is one of my favorite things on this earth and I’m not about to tell her it was already fine. “It’s dinner, Rockstar. Not a comeback tour.”
“Everything’s a comeback tour if you commit.” We, as in the band, never announced anything about retiring or taking time off. We’re allowed to have a life, side projects, or just be bumsuntil we’re ready to release our next album or decide to do a legends tour at every fairground across the country.
