Chapter 26 Playlist Existential Crisis
BY THE END OF my shift I’ve hit my savings goal, so the next day I take my dad to work so I can take his car to Providence and buy the gorgeous wood Victrola I’ve had my eye on.
I can’t stop smiling as I drive it back home.
I’m off today, so I set it up right away and spend a good fifteen minutes choosing which record to break it in with (Counting Crows, August and Everything After).
I lie on my bed and close my eyes as music fills the room.
When I’m halfway through the second song, I decide that this moment is too good not to share, and I text Gregory. There’s literally no one else I’d want to share this with. As a friend.
Me: You working today?
Gregory: nope
Me: Wanna come over? I have a surprise.
Gregory:
Gregory: on my way
Me: I’ll wait for you on the back porch
I leap out of bed and run a brush through my hair, then grab two cans of soda and head outside with Margarine to wait.
Twenty minutes later I see Gregory walking along the shore.
He’s taking his time, head bent as he scans the sand by his feet as he goes.
Twice he bends down to pick something up and tuck it into his pocket.
He’s wearing board shorts, a white baseball cap, and the T-shirt I lent him the day we brought a pregnant Fiona home. He gives a little wave as he comes up the seagrass path and climbs the steps.
“Still looking for a shark tooth?”
“Yes,” he grumbles. “I’m starting to think you lied to me when you said people find them on the beach.”
“Would I lie to you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I wasn’t lying about that.”
He reaches up to flip his hat backward. “That remains to be seen.”
I can’t help my exasperated grin. “That looks familiar,” I say, looking pointedly at his shirt.
He looks down. “It’s really comfortable.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He gestures to the unopened soda can. “For me?”
I nod, and he walks around the small table to sit across from me on the blue couch. He ruffles the fur on Margarine’s head, then pops the top of the can. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
He leans forward, resting forearms on his thighs. “So, what’s the big surprise?”
I tuck my lips together for a second, building the suspense, then blurt out, “I’ve been saving up all summer for something awesome, and I finally got it this morning.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“A vintage record player.”
His eyes light up, and my stomach flips.
It’s like it hits me all of a sudden, in this moment, just how handsome Gregory is.
Way hotter than I thought he was the night we met.
Did getting to know him really change how I see him that much?
Did Kat’s observation about us together open some new door in my brain?
Or is it just because in this moment, he’s the only person I knew who would appreciate how excited I am right now?
“Please say we can go listen to it.”
I grin. “I’ll even let you pick the record.”
Gregory smacks a hand to his chest, like, Whaaaat?
and we rise together, grabbing our drinks, and head inside to my room.
It’s not lost on me that we’re alone in my house, and no one’s around to interrupt us or tell me to keep the door open.
Not that I have any plans for Gregory—of course I don’t—but if something were to happen, it could, and no one would stumble in to stop us.
“You kept my picture, I see,” he notes immediately, grinning.
“You knew I did.” I roll my eyes. “And I keep everything.”
“True,” he allows. “Are you saying I’m not special?”
“No,” I say. “You’re definitely special.”
His smile widens, flashing white teeth. Then he kneels at the bookcase with my record collection. He takes so long to choose that I end up on my back on my bed, on top of the quilt my late grandma made.
“What year will it be?” I wonder aloud.
“What?” Gregory asks, distracted.
“When you finally pick a record. What year will it be? 2036? 2040?”
“Fine, wiseass,” he says, and stands, holding up a square.
“Arcade Fire?” I say. “Bold choice.”
He lifts the needle to put the record in place, then lies down on his back next to me, hands behind his head.
“Is my playlist ready yet?” I ask after the first track plays. “If it even exists. At this point I’m sort of wondering if you made the whole thing up.”
“Are you always this impatient?”
“Impatient?” I cry. “It’s been two months!”
He rolls his head to the side to look at me, one eyebrow arched. “Ms. ‘Don’t Make Me a Playlist’ is suddenly very interested in getting one.”
“Gregory McLoughlin, I swear to God.”
He laughs, then returns his gaze to the ceiling. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but pauses for a long beat. “It’s… done. It’s been done for a while, actually.”
“What? Why haven’t you sent it to me, then?”
“You weren’t ready.”
I shoot up to a sitting position, twisting around to glare at him. “What do you mean, I wasn’t ready? What do I need to be ready for?”
He shrugs, perfectly calm and unbothered by my agitation. Still lying with his head resting in his palms, he’s the picture of ease. His brown-eyed gaze flickers to mine. “I think you might be now, though.”
“Oh,” I say, much quieter this time. There’s something in his voice that makes me shiver. Again, I think about the fact that we’re alone up here. Alone in the house. Maybe even in the entire universe.
That thought and his expression overwhelm me, so I flop back down beside him. I still want to be next to him, but I can’t handle him looking at me. “Good. I’ll expect my link imminently, then.”
I don’t know how long we lie like this. One hour.
Two. We listen and we talk. Then we go quiet again.
At one point he rolls over and into my side, splaying his fingers across my ribs and burying his face in my neck.
My heart stops as he says my name several times in a row, “Amelia, Amelia, Amelia…” But then he adds, “Perfect, amazing Amelia, will you please, pretty please, make me your famous grilled cheese?”
I scold him for buttering me up like that, but I’m hungry too, so we take a break to go downstairs and cook, then bring our sandwiches back to my room so we can listen while we eat.
Being here with Gregory fills me with happiness, and I settle into that place where I can let my guard down and be myself.
When, exactly, did this guy become so important to me?
Was it the first time he stood in my room after we brought Fiona home, and I felt that spark of heat when his skin was so close to mine?
The night I took him to the beach and he told me more about his dad?
When he stuck up for me in front of Kat at Summerfest?
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but I do know one thing.
I like Gregory a lot, and Kat’s right—it’s more than what’s normal for just a friend.
The second I see his face, I smile—like one of those big, giddy, ridiculous ones.
When I hear a new song, I wonder if he’s heard it and plan in my head concert road trips we’d take.
I don’t feel self-conscious spouting off random shark facts in front of him.
And now, as he sits beside me with his back up against my headboard and looks at my prized culinary creation with pure joy, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him.
He’s so solid and warm and smells so familiar.
Everything about him is welcoming, but also…
sometimes he gives off an intense quality, like there’s a layer of concentration and unrestrained tension beneath the surface just waiting to be let out.
What would it be like to have a fervor like that directed at me?
Would it be better than kissing Myles? Or just different?
“Hey, Amelia?” he asks, mouth full of cheese.
“Yeah?”
“Does… does that hat say ‘Bigfoot Is Real’?”
I follow his line of vision to the green-and-white trucker’s hat sitting on my desk.
“Oh. Um… yes. Yes it does.” I don’t elaborate, because I don’t really want to talk about that hat right now.
He pops the final bite into his mouth and chews, his brows dropping into an amused frown. “Why on earth do you have that?”
It’s silly, really, my hesitation to answer such a simple question. But with my newfound realization that there’s something real happening between Gregory and me… it feels strange.
Unfortunately, I don’t have any explanation but the truth. “Myles gave it to me.”
Gregory tilts his head. “Because… he knows you love a good conspiracy theory?”
I laugh a little. I hope he doesn’t notice how uneasy it sounds.
“No. I, uh, went out on the boat with him and his family the other day. I forgot to bring a hat, and his dad had, like, ten of those tucked into a bench seat. I guess he got them as some sort of gag gift and instead of just tossing them, figured they’d be good to have as extras on the boat. ”
Gregory is quiet for a long moment. “Something good must have happened, then.”
“What?”
“Something good must have happened when you were with him,” he repeats. “That’s when you keep things.” It’s not a question. It’s also not an accusation. He’s almost saying it to himself. Quiet and sort of resigned.
I don’t know what to say.
He gives a slight nod and slides his legs off the side of my bed. “I’d better get going.”
I sit up and open my mouth, ready to say… what? Tell him to wait? Ask him not to go?
Ask him if it bothers him that I hung out with Myles and kept his hat?
But it’s like I’m frozen, unsure what to do.
What would I even do with the answer to that question?
I know no one’s asking me to, but just the thought of having to pick between Myles and Gregory is unthinkable.
They’re both important to me in different ways, and I care about each of them.
Myles and I have started something that feels good and real, and Gregory’s leaving at the end of the summer.
It seems safest to say nothing at all.
“Thanks for the sandwich.” He has his plate in his hand, and grabs mine from the bed as he comes around. “I’ll put these in the sink on my way out.”
The sting of impending tears builds, and I tell my emotions to ease up. It’s not like we’re a couple breaking up. Hell, we’re not even fighting.
Still, just as he exits my doorway, I call out, “Gregory?”
He turns. “Yeah?”
“I’ll see you later, right?”
He’s looking at me in this steady, tense way, like he wants me to understand something, and my heart stutters as I wait for him to speak.
But then his expression clears, and he offers me a half smile. “Yeah, we’ll talk later,” he says and walks away.