6
If he were a little spoilt by such universal, such eager admiration, who could wonder? —Persuasion
I don’t know why Freddy bothered to ask me to come over at all. I’ve been at the bungalow for more than an hour, and we haven’t made any progress on this stupid wedding song. Somehow we got on the topic of everyone’s favorite wedding song, and he’s been showing off his truly impressive ability to perform whatever ridiculous song the twins suggest. How does he know all these songs, let alone all the lyrics by memory? Right now, he’s doing a rowdy rendition of Billy Idol’s “White Wedding.” Um, yeah, we will not be singing that. Rather than watch him flirt with the neighbor girls I babysat, I’m taking refuge, chatting music with Benwick. But Freddy’s performance is hard to ignore. He completely delivers Billy Idol’s snarl as he sings.
“There is nothing fair in this world, baby.” His brown eyes darken to the shade of coffee as he stares me down.
And now Freddy is going all out with the guitar solo. When he finishes, he falls to the floor with dramatic flair. It’s genuinely a riveting performance; he’s given it his all. With those stupid, dexterous, big hands, he’s become an amazing guitarist. And his voice, even when he’s goofing off, delivers every note. I hate him. And to top it all off, there’s this charming, self-deprecating glint in his eye that lets us know he doesn’t take this song or himself too seriously. I’ve had enough.
“Okay, stop playing rock star.”
He sits up with a wry smile. “Haven’t you heard? I am a rock star!” The twins laugh. So does Benwick. I roll my eyes.
“Are we going to work on this song?” I ask.
“You don’t sound excited,” Freddy says, still with that obnoxious glint in his eye. “Is it the song or the wedding or working with me?”
I cannot even begin to give him a truthful answer.
“There’s just so much pressure with a wedding.”
“Yeah, what do I know about love,” he says almost under his breath.
“Don’t give me that!” says Rosie. “I’ve memorized your first album. That was written by a man well and truly smitten.”
“I agree,” says Daisy. “Whenever I fear that all guys have hearts no bigger than a peach pit, I take comfort listening to your songs. It’s obvious you’ve loved deeply.”
“I’ve always wondered,” mused Rosie. “Did you ever hear from her? The mysterious woman who broke your heart.”
Freddy laughs a brittle laugh. His eyes spark as they meet mine briefly. “Um... no... not once.”
“Seriously, she never tried to reconnect with you.”
“No,” he rubs his hand over his face.
“And you never reached out to her?” Daisy asks the question that’s long been on my mind.
“She made it clear she didn’t want to hear from me.” His words are tinged with bitterness. “But I hoped, I foolishly wished she’d reach out to me.” He strums his guitar and begins playing a melody I don’t recognize. “At every single concert, I left her name with security so she could come back and see me afterward.”
“You didn’t!” I exclaim without thinking.
“I did.”
“And she never came?” asks Rosie.
“I don’t know if she even likes my music.” His eyes linger on my face, full of questions.
Yes, yes, I listened to every song. Many of them are memorized. I came to your concert, and I wanted to see you. I just figured... you didn’t want to see me.
I say nothing.
“She never came.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I got the message. Time to move on.”
“I’ve seen you in concert,” Rosie is right by his side as he stands up.
“Me too. You were amazing,” Daisy says as she takes his other side. They both keep touching his arm and elbow.
This is not the time to admit I went to his concert, though presumably Freddy must know. Johnny Love wrote about me attending his concert. And there are dozens of fan posts with photos of me that Freddy is also tagged in. I’m surprised the twins or my sister haven’t asked me about it.
“Have any ideas for this song?” Freddy asks me.
“I am at a total loss,” I say each word slowly. His searching gaze is almost unbearable. His expression is serious—lips pressed into a firm line, so it almost looks like he is angry. And under any other circumstances, I would smile to ease the tension. But I can’t. I’m swamped by emotion.
“I wrote a wedding song once,” says Benwick. “Grace and I were planning on getting married.”
“I did not know that,” says Freddy.
“Yeah, well, we had to keep it a secret from her parents. They didn’t approve.”
“And she still planned on marrying you?” he asks, flipping a strawberry-shaped guitar pick that I recognize because it was once mine. I wonder if he remembers.
“Yeah, well...” Benwick shrugs. “Nobody could keep us apart.”
“No wonder you mourn her. It’s rare to find a woman so devoted.” Freddy stares at the strawberry guitar pick like it holds the secret to life.
“If I loved a man,” says Rosie. “Nobody, no father or mother or brother could keep me from dating him.”
“No manager?” asks Freddy, still fixated on the strawberry pick.
Rosie shoots him a confused look. “Um... no... Not even God or my sister could talk me out of it.”
“Is that so?” Freddy’s smile surfaces. His serious face is handsome, but when he smiles, he is devastating. I swear I can hear birds sing whenever his lips curve up. Oh, dear God, don’t let him fall in love with Rosie.
“If I were in love,” she says, blushing. “Truly in love, no one could change my mind.”
“I admire that.” He gives Rosie an assessing gaze before his eyes dart to mine. “A firmness of mind that can’t be swayed.” Rosie beams.
I’ve had enough. “Soooo, Benwick,” I begin. “As the only one who has been in a successful relationship here...”
Rosie chimes in. “Daisy’s dating Flossman.”
Daisy bats her eyelashes at Freddy. I am not exaggerating this. She literally flutters them in his direction. “I wouldn’t say that we’re ‘official.’”
“Whatever.” Rosie gives her twin a gentle nudge. “He’s totally your boyfriend.”
“As I was saying.” I’m not even bothering to hide my irritation. I turn toward Benwick. “You’ve had the most experience in a long-lasting relationship. Why don’t you tell us about true love?” My eyes flick to Freddy’s. I feel a definite zing when his meet mine.
Benwick goes all dreamy. He is not smiling, not brooding. He gazes up at the bursts of sunlight peeking through the large green leaves of the sycamore tree.
“When you’re in love, fruit tastes sweeter, the sun shines brighter, strangers look kinder. They do. But that’s love. You’ve probably all felt that. The question you should be asking is, why get married?”
“You can’t imagine life without them.” Freddy’s distinctive tenor cuts to my core.
Benwick nods, and his lips turn up to an almost smile.
“Yeah, you want to share all the little moments,” he says.
“They get you.” I can’t help but add. I always felt so misunderstood by my family but not by Freddy. That’s why our current state of estrangement is so painful. I used to feel like no one understood me. Now, I know someone who gets me, but he is no longer part of my life.
Freddy nods.
“They believe in your dreams,” says Benwick.
“They teach you new things,” Freddy adds, fiddling with the strawberry guitar pick. He has to remember that I gave it to him. He has to.
“They are thoughtful,” Rosie gives Freddy a meaningful look. I wonder what thoughtful act she might be thinking about. He was such a courteous and thoughtful boyfriend. Always so considerate of my wants and needs.
“They listen,” adds Daisy. Is she talking about Flossman or someone else? Rosie is the louder of the twins. The one everyone seems to notice. It’s easy to understand why Daisy would want someone who listens.
“They forgive you,” Rosie says and gives me a significant smile. For a fleeting moment, I think she’s asking me to forgive her for flirting with the man I so obviously love. But I quickly realize she’s just thinking about all the times I had to forgive her for various pranks.
Benwick takes that one and runs. “I once heard that a good marriage is forgiving each other a thousand times a day.”
“Forgiveness is good for marriage; but it doesn’t make for a good wedding song,” says Freddy.
“What about something about the small moments?” I say.
“I like that,” says Benwick. “Movies always act like love is about the big moments, the grand gesture. But when I think about what I miss about Grace, it’s not the big things. It’s the little everyday things.”
Again, my eyes are drawn to Freddy. His eyes soften just a little, I wonder if the same slide show is running through his mind. Cuddling on the couch as we watch Netflix, his heartbeat steady with mine. Making banana pancakes with his sister. Playing guitar in my garden as he studied. Driving to the beach before sunrise. His hand on my knee. Reading a book next to each other. Paddling out in the ocean together. Running with him on the beach at low tide. Going to the drive-thru at In-N-Out in his yellow jeep.
There were so many stolen moments even though I was on tour, and he was in law school. And because we kept our relationship secret, we didn’t do a lot of fancy or showy things. Freddy never walked on the red carpet with me. He never complained that I kept him a secret. But it bothered me. Janene and I fought about it plenty. Whenever I would storm out yelling that next time, I would bring him, she would send me the same old text:
The spotlight isn’t for everyone.
That would always make me toe the line. Freddy wasn’t my mom. He was levelheaded and grounded and I wanted to keep him that way for as long as possible.
“I like that... something about ordinary moments,” says Freddy. “Maybe we could include the thought Benwick had about the poets?”
“Um... sounds good.” I have never been good at songwriting. This shortcoming always makes me feel inadequate. My dad would daily compare me to whatever young popstar was closest to me in the rankings. “Her voice isn’t as strong as yours,” he would say. “But she writes her own songs.” So, I tried to write songs, but I didn’t have a knack for it.
I talked to Freddy about this, and he asked if I thought all actors should write their own screenplays. “No, but some do.”
He put his arm around me. “April, we all have different gifts. You’re a world-class performer, a thoughtful sister, patient daughter, the sweetest girlfriend. You single-handedly run your family finances. You do not need to be a songwriter.”
I’d hoped that when I went to school and studied poetry, songwriting would come to me. Spoiler: It didn’t. I started as an English major, but after one semester, I realized I hated it. I switched to finance. I adore finance.
After I officially changed majors, I unblocked Freddy on my phone. I desperately wanted to text him. His new album had been out for just a few months. I started the text.
Hey . . .
I deleted it and typed.
Congrats on the album.
Before I hit send, I went to his new official Instagram feed. There he was on the red carpet at a premiere with his latest starlet girlfriend. I deleted the text, then cued up Freddy’s album, Shipwrecked . Never had an album fit my mood better.
I scoured the internet for all the photos of him and this girl. I found a couple, plus a lot more of Freddy with different women. With fame, Freddy became a player, or so it looks from the tabloids. I’ve done the opposite. At college, I went on my fair share of first dates but rarely a second one. The problem was I kept comparing everyone to Freddy. And now that I see him in real life, I’m conflicted. He is both more and less than I remembered. Basically, he ignores me or is pointedly rude. But then Benwick tells me that since his girlfriend’s death, Freddy has been the most sensitive, thoughtful, and indispensable friend. I wonder if the old Freddy, my Freddy, is still there under that mask of indifference.
My phone buzzes. It’s Johnny Love. Ugh.
johnny
See you in 15 minutes.
I check the time. It’s almost noon. After Freddy’s concert, Johnny reached out to me through Janene to set up this lunch. I’m not sure if this is a work outing or a date.
“We’ll have to finish another time,” I say to the group.
Freddy looks up, surprised and maybe a little disappointed. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, sorry, I have a lunch date.” Appointment might be more accurate, but I want him to think my meeting with Johnny Love is a date. I’m irritated with him.
“I see.” His words come out flat.
“Yeah, so text me, and we can come up with another time.”
Benwick walks me to the gate in the hedge, leading to my backyard. “I’ll text you about tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
Because I’m a masochist. I take one last glance at Freddy, flirting with his fangirls on either side of him.