Page 86 of Christmas Trees & Weak Knees

“You should probably get back to bed, then.”

“Ouch.” Halley shoots me a fake-wounded look, but then all the teasing fades from her eyes. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing.”

Halley sighs and takes the bag of food from me to lighten my load. “Are you still writing music?”

“A little.” It had become such a routine when Kash was here, I still find myself drawn to the loft or the studio at nine a.m., ready to work on songs. Now I sit up in my room and let my thoughts and feelings spill out onto paper. I’ve written so much in the past few days, I’ve filled the new lyric notebook almost halfway, which is wild, because I’d been working on the previous one for two years.

“Are you missing Kash?”

A lot.

I’ll miss him till the cows come home, because Kash isn’t coming back. Not on his own. He said as much in the video. I’ll give you as much time and space as you need.

He’s leaving what happens next up to me.

We stop before the porch stairs and silence fills the space between us. In a tree above us, the mockingbird whistles the song we’ve been working on together, which makes me think of the song that Halley made me sing, which gets me thinking of how Carly Simon has constantly battled stage fright and still has had a long and successful music career.

I’m not the first person to have performance anxiety, and I won’t be the last. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to overcome it, but I won’t know if I can if I don’t try.

Halley reaches out and squeezes my arm. “I’m heading into Nashville for a party tonight. I’ll probably leave around seven, if you happen to know someone who might want a ride.”

“This is getting out of control,” I mutter as I sort through the heap of beaded bracelets I’ve dumped on my bed. I probably should have a better organizing system than a shoe box, since it’s impossible to find what I’m looking for anymore.

I glance at my watch: 6:45 p.m. There’s still time. I dig into the pile with renewed vigor, tossing bracelets back into the box as I go.

“Gotcha,” I say, plucking WWCKD from the mess.

What would Carole King do?

In May, I channeled some of her overcoming-stage-fright energy and walked out onto that stage. I wonder if there’s a little bit of it left for me now.

I slide the bracelet on and dive back into the pile, looking for the perfect mix of inspiration and a reminder that I’m not alone. Kash said, I know you can. I have to find a way to believe it, too.

I stare down at my wrist, covered in colorful beaded bracelets.

I Hope You Dance