6. Brian

I stand in what should be my living room and look around. It’s been a couple days, and I still haven’t gotten the common areas situated so I can at least host my band. I unboxed a few things —mostly clothes, shoes, and daily essentials, but the rest is a cardboard jungle through here and the kitchen.

The plan is simple. I’ll move my drum set to the garage. Then, I’ll tackle the music players, speakers, amps, and mixers. All of that would be spread between the garage and the adjacent room. It’ll be our mini studio.

My phone rings loudly in my pocket. It’s Greg. I pick up and press the phone against my ear.

“Hey, Greg.”

“Hey, man. What’s good?”

“Settling down as much as I can. The town doesn’t seem so bad.”

Well, aside from a nosy, intrusive neighbor, everything else is fine. I bet she works for a gossip column at a local newspaper.

“Told you it’s a nice place.”

“So, when’s the band coming over?”

“Probably tomorrow. Cleo has her recital today. I’ll probably get kicked out of the bedroom and sleep on the couch if I miss it.”

“You’re a good man, Greg.”

“I know, I know. You—,” he pauses. “You should get married one day, bud.”

“Don’t get started, man.”

“I’m serious. You have no idea what you’re missing.”

With love? I could laugh, choke even.

“I’ve found love already, Greg. You know it.”

“That doesn’t count. A drum set can’t love you back.”

“You’d be surprised,” I state matter-of-factly.

“You’re always so stubborn, Brian. Always.”

“I’m only making a point,” I challenge.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure you’re good over there?”

“I’m alright. You sure you don’t wanna drop by today? We could do a vibe check, hit a few chords.”

The chatter of kids roars in the background, immediately followed by Audrey’s stern reprimand. Greg says something else away from the phone before ending with a sigh. Must be the kids.

“Sorry about that, Brian.”

“Nah. It’s all good. Kids, right?”

“They can be a handful. Anyway, you said something about getting our groove on.”

“Yeah. Now I’m wondering if it’s too early for all that.”

“Too early? Is there such a thing as that?” Greg snickers.

“You tell me.”

“I know you miss the band already. How about this—I can get everyone to show up at your place a little earlier tomorrow. I’m sure Sabrina and the others won’t mind.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

There’s a loud knock on the door. I grimace. Not again.

“Hold on, Greg. There’s someone at the door.”

“Woooow, you got guests already? Look at you go, Mr. Big Shot,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, for the love of God, Greg. Stop messing around!” We both laugh and hang up.

I’m not surprised to find Jessica on the other side of the door. She’s no longer dressed in pajamas. Instead, my jaws drop at her beauty. She looks stunning in a pink A-Line dress with abstract shapes around the neckline that pop with the blue of her eyes.

Stop it, Brian.Being pretty doesn’t excuse beating my door down…ever.

There’s a school bus in the distance making stops. I catch a little girl sitting by the window waving ecstatically. I think she’s the same kid I saw Jessica with the day I moved in. She looks about the same age as Sonya, flashing a charming, innocent smile at me.

I wave back at her, matching her smile. A handful of other kids on the bus join in on the waving, but I quickly wrench my eyes away. I’m not in the mood for all this.

When I turn my head back in Jessica’s direction, my smile vanishes faster than a rabbit in a magic trick. Her eyes latch onto mine, her bravado catching me off guard. I pull myself together.

“Come here for round three?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

She lets out a sigh, more like a heave, the way her shoulders rise and fall slowly. “I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“That’s new. You’re only here when you need something or when you want to scream at me.”

“You call for it.”

“Tch. Right.”

“Can you be any less arrogant?”

“Maybe.”

“This was a bad idea. I knew it.” She turns to leave, then stops and spins around to face me, a burning glare in her blue eyes.

“You know what? The heck with it.” She points a finger at my chest, pushing me back slightly. “I’ll take you up on your offer.”

Her confidence astonishes me, and a smile creeps up my face. Guess I’ll clear those boxes from my living room today after all.

“Well, are you gonna say something?” she asks. “Gimme a document to sign? Get a witness? Proof that you’ll keep your word when the time comes?”

“I’m a man of my word.”

“So you say.”

I extend my hand for a handshake. “You have my word.”

Her fingers grip mine firmly as she holds my gaze. I step away from the door. “Please, come in.”

She walks in, her eyes sweeping across the entire space. “Where do you want me to start?”

“I’ll let you figure that out.”

She opens the first box. It’s filled with auxiliary cords and jacks for the sound system. The next two boxes are filled with similar things—wires, tuning pegs, spare strings, microphones, the whole lot.

I can sense her frustration starting to build, but I say nothing. I’m concerned about getting the other stuff in place. There’s a couple of clocks, some kitchenware, cleaning supplies, and a few small pieces of unassembled furniture. I’m just glad today isn’t going to be a waste.

“Shouldn’t these be in the garage?”

“What now?”

She’s holding a box of chords in her hands. It’s the third one she has opened already. I nod.

“Shouldn’t all this music junk be somewhere else? Say, your garage?”

I scowl. “Junk? Really? You’re calling my stuff junk now?”

“Yeah. No. Not junk, junk.” She shrugs. “It just doesn’t seem that important. Box after box of the same stuff for what?”

“The heck it’s not. Do you have any passions, Jessica?” I sneer.

“It’s not that serious.”

“Well, do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Riiiiight.”

“I have my hobbies, Brian. But I didn’t come here to prove any of them to you or share anything else with you right now.”

“They must not be that exciting then.”

“Jeez. I’m sorry about calling your stuff junk, okay? I wasn’t condemning them. I was trying to find the right phrase to describe them.” She continues sifting through things. “Not that it matters at this point anyway.”

We continue unboxing and arranging the living room for a while without saying another word. I move the music ‘junk’ inside, leaving only those things meant for the living room and kitchen.

“Why do you drum at night?” she blurts out, shattering the silence as if the question bubbled to the brim and she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Last time I checked, musical instruments don’t have a mute button. Kinda defeats the purpose.”

“Are you this snippy all the time?”

“Only to those who deserve it.”

“Ugh! Your name should be Scrooge. You always twist everything. For one who claims to care about music, nothing else seems to interest you. I would think your music would put you in a happier mood.”

“I bet I’ve never shown up at your doorstep with a mouthful of complaints and no cookies whatsoever.”

“Cookies? You like cookies?”

“I like civil neighbors.”

“Civil? You’re the one who doesn’t let me get any sleep,” she retorts.

“I needed to find sleep myself.”

“By making sure I didn’t? That makes you sleep better?”

“I never said that.”

“How does that even make any sense?” Her gaze challenges mine, but I don’t back down.

“Exactly. It doesn’t.” I point to the boxes. “Let’s keep it moving.”

“Fine.”

I have to hand it to her. She’s bold, coming over to my house, insisting that I quit drumming. It’s forward and invasive, too. Like the rest of this town, she has no regard for privacy. It’s only fair that she helps me get settled in then.

She discovers an animal painting and holds it in her hands.

“Gimme that,” I demand, snatching Sonya’s painting from her.

She parts her lips to say something, then stops abruptly. For a second, I might’ve been a little too harsh, but then again, I can’t be too careful. I only have a few of Sonya’s things left. She could have been a painter or an artist of sorts if she had a chance.

“What brought you to South Brook?” she asks.

“Choice.”

She chuckles. “Is it ever?”

“What are you? A shrink?”

“No. I was only trying to make conversation. I guess you’re not used to that either.”

She’s right. I can’t argue with that. I haven’t been very social over the past several months. I wait, watching her rummage through things without batting an eye in my direction. For a fleeting moment, I can’t help but notice how attractive she is under all that armor. And this intense tug-of-war between us is different, almost invigorating.

No, Brian. No, it’s not.

I come back to my senses. “The city just got too rowdy after a while.”

“Why? Too many nice people?”

“No, too many annoying ones,” I snap.

“Whatever it is you’re looking for, I’m sure you’ll find it here.”

“Who said I was looking?”

“Oh, everyone’s looking for something, whether we realize it or not. The wonderful thing is that we all know when we find it.”

Even though she barely glances in my direction, her blue eyes glimmer when she speaks. I wonder if she’s merely making a statement or if she’s speaking from experience.

It doesn’t matter. It changes nothing. She’s probably looking for an opening to make me angry again. I wiggle a finger in her direction.

“I was right. You’re a shrink.”

“Suit yourself.”

Oh, I will, Jessica. Don’t you worry.

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