Chapter 26
twenty-six
I can’t remember a day I woke up and instantly knew where I was. The confusion is transitory, passing in seconds, but always present. Today is no different.
I’m in Soph’s bed. Alone. The curtains are drawn, but the room is light, telling me the sun is high in the sky.
Reaching for my shorts on the floor next to the bed, I slip my phone from the pocket and check the time. It’s almost eleven. I slept for ten hours. Unmedicated. I haven’t done that in years.
When we arrived last night, it was almost eleven. Soph’s sister and nephew were at a movie, so the house was quiet. Soph showed Jess to one bedroom, and then I followed her into the other. Where I buried my face between her thighs.
I shower in the adjoining bathroom and put on the clothes I wore yesterday. I need to do laundry today.
Multiple voices drift down the hall when I open the door, and I wait for the nerves to set in like they normally do in a situation like this.
On cue, my heart rate picks up. Meeting new people never used to bother me, but the past few years, the anxiety is real.
Returning to my bag at the foot of the bed, I locate the correct medication bottle and swallow the pill dry. Bolstered, I venture down the hall.
Everyone is gathered in the kitchen, and music is playing in the background.
I recognize the song, Vessel’s voice unmistakable, and something about it relaxes me.
Soph’s sitting on the island counter next to a teenage boy with dark, curly hair.
They’re both holding cell phones pointed across the room and wearing matching slight smiles that tip up only on the left side.
I hear Jess a moment before I see him. “You’re winding me up, Mabel. You were a burlesque dancer?” He’s standing in front of the stove between two women. The comment was directed at the tiny one with white hair.
She takes the spatula from his hand and hip checks him.
Because she’s so short and he’s so tall, it connects with his lower thigh.
She starts flipping pancakes on the griddle.
“My stage name was Mabel Syrup. Why is that so hard to believe? I was young and—” she raises her voice, “cover your ears, Benji,” without turning around to make sure he did, she continues, “—voluptuous once. I may be able to tuck my bosom in my waistband now, but back in my prime, they were perky little devils. Lola’s trying to talk me into resurrecting Mabel Syrup and setting up an Only Grans account.
It’s a shame to waste what the good lord gave me, and a little side hustle never hurts. ”
“Hell yeah, Mabel.” The woman on Jess’s other side cheers.
Soph hops down, setting her phone on the counter. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
“Morning,” I whisper into her hair as I pull her into a hug. She grounds me. “Morning, everyone,” I say over her head to the room.
Soph spins within my embrace, and my hands remain clasped but shift from her lower back to her stomach. She crosses her arms, and a hand comes to rest on each of my forearms.
“Hey, Ev,” Jess says, as he turns around, and I see the front of the apron. It reads: My cake isn’t the only thing that’s moist. “You’re just in time for pancakes.”
“Benji, Lo, Mabel,” Soph says, “this is Ever.”
Releasing Soph, I take a step toward Lola first because she’s closest. There aren’t many physical similarities between them, but their big, brown eyes and full lips are carbon copies of each other.
“Hey, Lola.”
“Hi, Ever. We’re huggers,” she says and embraces me so tight it almost knocks the wind out of me.
“We’re not,” Benji and Soph rebuke.
Lola shakes her head as she releases me. “They’re in denial.”
When I bump fists with Benji, he whispers, “My mom’s kind of a lot. You’ll get used to it.”
“So is my brother. You might not get used to it,” I respond.
He cracks a smile, and it floods me with unexpected relief. I know how much Soph’s family means to her, and I just realized how much I want their approval.
I walk to Mabel, who’s stacking pancakes on a serving platter. “You need any help, Mabel?”
She pats me on the arm, and it’s loving. “Hi, sweetie. Hope you’re hungry.”
When she’s done plating, I carry it to the dining table. The table for four is set for six, and it’s the kind of cramped that makes you feel like you’re part of something.
“You want coffee, Ever?” Soph calls from across the kitchen.
“Yeah, I’ll go grab my—”
She interrupts. “Lo bought decaf this morning.” She shakes a pod over her head and then pops it into the machine.
Everyone is seated when we join them. There are two chairs empty between Benji and Lola. I take the seat next to Benji and let Soph sit next to her sister.
Pancakes stacked and syrup passed around, we dig in.
“Holy shit,” Jess mumbles through his first bite. “These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”
Mabel smiles and says, “Never doubt me, sugar.”
He’s right. They are. I’m only a few bites in and already eyeing the platter to decide if there are enough left to have another serving.
“Ev, Mabel and Lola started a baking YouTube channel. We’re gonna be guests on it tomorrow.” God, Jess looks happy.
“Oh yeah?” I look at Lola and point at my brother. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. I’d back out now if I were you.”
She takes a sip from her mug and shakes her head. “Not a chance. He’s already agreed to do it shirtless.”
Jess shrugs as he forks two more pancakes from the platter and drowns them in syrup. “Ev, they’re trying to get this channel off the ground and grow subscribers so they can do this thing full-time. Who am I to deny someone their dream? I’m a helper.” He winks at Lola.
Oh shit, I’ve seen that look before.
“Aunt Soph said you play drums?” Benji asks, and I’m thankful for the distraction.
“I do. You play?”
He nods while he chews.
“Cool. Maybe you can show me your kit when we’re done?”
Thirty minutes later, after Soph and I do the dishes, I’m in Benji’s bedroom showing him how to tune his drums.
“What do you like to play?” I ask.
“I really like jazz, especially post-bop and Latin.”
“Right on.” I love how confident this kid is.
“What about you? I mean, I’ve seen videos, and I know what kind of music you guys play, but what do you listen to?”
“I listen to a lot of different genres, but metal is where my loyalty lies.”
He smiles. “Aunt Soph loves metal too.”
“Just one of the many awesome things about your aunt,” I tell him.
“She’s the best,” he agrees. “When did you start playing?”
“Eleven.” I pause and think. “Maybe twelve? One of those.” It feels like a lifetime ago. “I mowed lawns all summer to save up and bought a used kit from a guy who lived down the street from us. I drove my mom insane that winter. What about you? When did you start?”
“Only a few months ago. They were a Christmas gift from Aunt Soph. She knew I wanted to learn. I’m in a band now. We meet up online every Friday.”
“Jazz?”
He nods and then prompts, “Play something.”
“Only if you play something when I’m done?”
“Sure.” He agrees so easily, no intimidation, no doubt. I have no idea what it’s like to be a parent, but Lola’s doing it right.
I tap the bass pedal a few times and twirl the stick in my right hand while I think.
There’s a song that’s been writing itself the past few weeks and begging me to pay attention.
Without giving it too much thought, I start playing and take these few minutes of freedom to see where it goes.
I’m limited, with only a single bass pedal, but I don’t let that stop me.
It’s the first time in so long that I’ve played without pressure or expectations hanging over me.
I forgot how good this feels, playing for the love of it and nothing else.
Cymbal still shimmering as it fades, I spin on the stool to face Benji.
Four sets of eyes meet mine.
All unblinking.
Benji, Jess, and Lola look shocked. And Soph looks like she did when I went down on her last night.
“Someone’s leveled up. Holy shit,” Jess says.
“I think you just found your Obi-Wan, Padawan,” Lola says to Benji, and he nods.
I hand Benji his sticks. “I think this’ll work, but play me something you’re working on with your band. I’ve never played jazz, so we’ll figure it out together.”
He nods and then asks, “Can you give me some tips? Like if I’m doing something wrong, can you show me how to do it the right way?” as he takes a seat and adjusts the stool’s height.
“Sure.”
I stand directly behind him so I can see over his shoulder. The room is small and space is limited, but I use my height to my advantage.
Lola yells, “Whoo! Benji!” like she’s in the crowd at a stadium show.
Benji shakes his head. As a teenage boy, I know she embarrasses him, but I also know he’ll look back on this in ten years and realize how lucky he was to have a cheerleader. My mom was the same way.
I let him play for a minute and observe. He uses traditional grip like a true jazz drummer, and it makes me smile.
I lean down so I’m closer to his ear. “Loosen up. Relax.”
I can tell he’s trying, but he’s so stiff. Maybe having an audience is making him nervous.
“Stop if you need to and take a few deep breaths. It’ll help.”
He does.
“Close your eyes. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Fill your lungs completely and then let it all out.”
I watch his shoulders rise and fall a few times. “Good. Now shake your arms out from your shoulders to your wrists.”
He does, but it’s restrained.
“More. Your bones are liquid. Shake ’em out.”
“You should do guided meditation, Ever.” When I glance back, Lola’s eyes are closed, and she’s following along.
“I think I finally get it, Lo,” Soph whispers. Her eyes are closed too.
Smiling, I return to Benji. “One last deep breath and then forget we’re here and don’t worry about making mistakes. Just have fun.”
I step back and stand next to Soph.
And I watch.
A kid.
Be a kid.
And the kid in me.
Falls in love with music.
For the hundredth time.
Or the first time.
I’m not sure which.