40. Garrett
40
Garrett
I ’m glued to my seat with my cello resting between my thighs until Alina and I run through the entire festival setlist. It used to be an hour, but gradually we’ve shaved off a few songs, now it’s just over thirty minutes.
“Follow me on the last notes. If the crowd wants more, I’ll hold it. I’ll show them exactly what this old lady can do,” she corrects.
“Of course,” I readily agree.
Alina has mellowed through the years. Journalists still list her in articles about classic divas through the generations. If she wants to opt up in a song or hold a note just because she can, she will.
“I have a few meetings this week to finish helping my clients transition, but otherwise I should be free to rehearse.”
“Unless you’re with your girl.”
“We’re probably going to go to the city. I’ll make sure to stop by that bakery and grab you those macarons and croissants you like.” It’s her one request. She says they remind her of the ones she had in Paris, a taste of a different time. A time when she had the world in the palm of her hand.
“I say good riddance to that part of your life,” she scoffs. “The sooner you’re done, the better.”
“You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better. I know how much you invested to help me through St. George’s.”
“You think I care about that?” she scoffs.
“It’s what you helped set me up to do” I say, mostly to myself.
It was the plan. Get out of Hartsfall, be the best, find something that shows I was worthy of all the opportunities that I’d been given.
“You act like music was a pit stop, not a destination. I taught you how to carry a tune. It was my whole career. You think I cared if that’s all you did? You were chasing a dream. Dreams like that are rare and you treated it like it was anything else,” she says, running her hand lovingly across the surface of the piano.
“This is the first time you’ve said that.”
“And if I said it before? Hmm?” she presses and starts toward the couch. “You had those ideas drilled into you. You have to be something. You have to give back to us. Foolish boy. Love isn’t a debt you have to repay. You give it and maybe some finds you. Maybe Lana coming back has messed with your head.” Scorn blankets her words as she sits. “I was more than happy to tell her to never knock on my door again.”
I jerk back at this, I’d assumed she knew the same way everyone already knows, but I should have guessed she looked for me here first. “You didn’t say she stopped by here.”
“Where do you think she came first? I only talked to tell her to go away. But she seemed to slither right to you,” she says in a huff.
“Well, she’s gone for good now.” I search for a tinge of regret and fail to find it. I doubt I’ll ever be truly free of Lana, that would be erasing a part of myself that would undermine so much good. Despite her faults, even if unintentionally, she gave me Hartsfall.
“I’m happy that you are taking life by the balls.”
“Alina,” I cough out.
“I said it. Live with it. Now, do that last song again,” she prompts.
We play through “Put Your Head on My Shoulder” two more times. The only reason I don’t get asked to do a third is because my phone starts to ring.
“Yeah?” I ask wearily.
“I have a favor to ask,” Fletcher says, without greeting.
“Another old Volkswagen?”
“It’s Annie, she’s got a stomach bug and can’t make it to Butter Half for her shift. I normally wouldn’t ask if it was a slower season,” he says.
I know what he means, it’s fall and everything has been booked out. Most businesses are struggling to keep up with demand.
“If there’s no one else, then I can stop in for a bit,” I say.
“There really isn’t.”
“Thought so, I’ll head over.”
I’ve stepped in over the years at plenty of the shops and businesses around town. First, it was because Lana would miss shifts and I was trying to make it up to the business owners who went out on a limb to hire her, despite her reputation for being unreliable. As I grew older, it gave me a comfort that even if I didn’t fit somewhere specifically, I could step in as needed.
I text Evelyn that I’ll be at Butter Half, but I don’t get a response by the time I arrive at the cafe. There is a line of people trailing around the corner waiting for an available table. I give a nod to the hostess before heading to the back and grabbing a spare apron and server notepad.
The tide of business drags me in. I carry hot plates loaded with the special, eggs benedict and bacon, refill the diner-style mugs over and over with the house roast coffee. Time loses meaning in the familiar monotony. It’s past two when the shift lead asks me if I can roll silverware before I head out. I walk out from the back to find an empty table to sit at as I work. The crowd has subsided, and the outside patio has closed since dark clouds have rolled in.
“Hey, didn’t know you’d be here,” Oliver says, looking up from his menu. Quinn is seated across from him sipping tea, but there’s no third menu.
“Yeah, just helping out for the lunch rush.” I prop the bin of silverware on my hip as I settle into the conversation.
“Glad we missed the crowd.” Quinn folds her menu and places it to the side.
“Good to see you’re doing okay. Evelyn told me she went to see you earlier,” I say.
Oliver’s brows inch up his forehead. “Oh, she told you?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t she?” I ask.
Quinn lets out an exaggerated breath. “Thank God. I was hoping she would tell you. I’m too tired to keep pretending to be dating Ollie. I just want a shit ton of bacon and a nap.”
“Can you please stop acting like dating me was the worst thing to happen to you?” Oliver winces. Poor guy. “I’m an excellent fake boyfriend.”
Fake .
My expression falls. “What?”
“Yeah, there was never anything between us. We just did it to make you two feel comfortable,” Oliver explains, and his good humored expression makes me feel like I’m in a fun house.
My grip tightens on the bin causing the edge to dig into my fingers. That doesn’t make any sense. But if that’s true…God. If Oliver cared enough about Evelyn to fake a relationship, then who knows how he still feels about her. He’s the better option. They have history. They built a life together. Hell, they were engaged. I can’t promise her the same simple things that she knows she can get with him.
My throat tightens as I feel history repeating. There’s always someone better. Always a person more worthy of their time. I’m just a pit stop that tricked itself into getting used to the idea of something permanent.
“Where is she?” I croak.
Quinn and Oliver share a glance then Oliver says, “I think she went on a hike on that trail you guys missed out on a few days ago.”
The words are barely out of his mouth before I’m dashing back to the kitchen and apologizing as I put down the bin of silverware. It’s not real until I hear her say it.
Until then, she’s still mine.