Chapter Thirteen E Is for Emotions
Chapter Thirteen
E Is for Emotions
Griffin
Ava sits in my lap while Nana’s box TV shimmers an old sitcom back at us. She’s sobbing into my neck, and no amount of canned audience laughter is working.
There’s a knock at the door.
I jump. Even Ava stops crying. When she sniffles, I think I do too. I drag my palm down my face and beard before cracking open the door.
Beverly stands on the floral welcome mat in fuzzy socks tucked into even fuzzier slippers. She’s wearing that purple faux fur coat that goes down to her knees. Corduroy bell-bottom pants. A mismatched, baggy striped T-shirt.
Her eyes widen at the sight of me with messy hair, ruddy cheeks, and Ava perched on my hip in teddy bear footie pajamas.
“You look like a mess,” Beverly says.
“What’s going on?”
She gestures with two mugs of coffee. A brown bag is balanced in the crook of her arm. Her laptop is held precariously between her biceps and chest.
“Figure we’re all awake anyway,” she says.
“Did we wake you up? I’m sorry, she’s a light sleeper so—”
“No, no, no,” Beverly says on a laugh. “I was already awake. But if you aren’t sleeping either…” She shrugs with a small smile. “We can all hang out together.”
I exchange a look with Ava. It almost feels like she’s asking me, Are we really hanging out at this hour?
I agree. But Beverly’s right: We’re not sleeping anyway.
I step aside to allow Beverly in and close the door behind her. When she walks past, I notice she still smells like grapefruit despite looking a little disheveled herself. Is that just her natural scent, regardless of whether she’s showered?
Beverly sets the two steaming mugs on the kitchenette counter.
One might have been a class project, with cracked ceramic edges and messy glaze.
The other has a roller coaster and a bee logo—a theme park souvenir.
She slides the brown bag down her forearm and opens it to reveal a small Tupperware container of steaming pancakes.
They’re already precut into smaller pieces.
“A late-night snack,” she explains.
Ava, with her pink tear-streaked cheeks and runny nose, perks up.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I say.
Beverly shrugs again but doesn’t respond. The pancakes permeate the room with smells of syrup and buttery vanilla. Ava immediately darts her palm out toward the Tupperware.
Quietly, we watch my daughter eat, shoving piece after torn piece of pancake into her mouth, and take a couple for ourselves as well. Maybe it’s not the healthiest late-night snack, but for now, Ava seems happy.
Beverly cuts the silence with a whisper. “Thanks for playing guitar with Rob. That meant a lot to him.”
“I said I would. He’s a good kid with a passion for music. I like him.”
The corner of Beverly’s mouth tips into a smile, sending tiny sparks skittering down to my fingers, pulsing against my thigh.
I clear my throat. “So…why are you up?”
Beverly sighs, taking a seat on the couch and then propping open her laptop on her knees. “I was working. Is it all right if I continue working here, actually?”
The sparks tickle down my fingers again.
Does she ever stop?
“Go for it,” I say. “What’s on the agenda?”
“A script.”
“Episode one?” I ask.
She hesitates. “It isn’t entirely ready.”
“You’ve been working on it for a bit now, right?”
Her eyes dart up to meet mine.
My damn mouth.
“I meant…” I say slowly, and I’m relieved when her smile twitches once more. “I can read it, if you want. If you’re stuck.”
“You probably won’t like it. It’s intended for kids.”
“I know what I signed up for, Beverly.”
She looks down to her laptop, then back up. Her fingers hover over the keys for a moment before she finally picks up the laptop and hands it to me. I walk over, take it in my palms, and sit down on the couch next to her. Our elbows touch. She jerks hers close to her waist.
“I don’t bite,” I say.
“No, but you can always say my writing sucks.”
I prop up my feet on the coffee table. “I could. But I doubt I will.”
“Wait,” she says quickly. “If you hate it, just…tell me it’s good anyway.”
“And what if I love it?”
“Then tell me it’s…magical.”
I blow out a small exhausted chuckle. “Magical?”
“Yes. And I know it’s ridiculous. But that’s because you won’t say it.” She points her index finger, as if she’s just checkmated me. As if we’re both in agreement that the script will be trash.
Shaking my head, I turn back to the screen. “All right.”
“Wait wait wait.”
I chuckle. “Bev, let me read.”
Her hand that looked centimeters away from my forearm jerks back.
“Sorry. Yes. Go on.” Her attention turns to a blank wall.
And then I fall into the world of Birds on the Block.
I read one page, two…then my heart starts to beat a little faster.
The script is instantly funny. Smart. Educational, but not talking down to the audience.
I keep reading, scrolling faster as the show starts to play out in my head.
It’s just how I remember it as a kid. It’s the long nights with Ava months ago.
It’s good memories and bad and comfort all wrapped into one.
A familiar twitch in my finger starts to tap on the side of the laptop, longing for a beat.
“This is amazing,” I say.
Beverly chokes out a laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“No. This is gonna be big.”
Her knees start to bounce. “How do you know?”
“I just have a feeling. It’s a fuzzy kind of feeling,” I answer, handing her back the laptop. “Like how you were with that napkin in the diner. It’s clever.”
She takes the laptop from me and closes it. Her smile turns almost giddy. “You feel fuzzy?”
My finger continues tapping. It’s begging to play.
I lean over the couch arm and grab my guitar, then set the body onto my thigh. I run my fingers down the guitar’s neck. The back of my hand bumps against Beverly’s shoulder. I clear my throat and lean away, ignoring the tickle of sparks once more.
“I think I’ve got something for it.”
“For what?” she asks. “The episode?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Just like that?”
“I follow inspiration.”
Her eyes light up. “Show me.” It’s not a command. It’s anticipation. Like the thought of witnessing someone else’s creativity is exciting.
“The letter of the day is E?” I ask, recalling the script.
She nods.
I swipe my fingers over the strings. I pluck and slide and search. I need a chord that vibrates through me. I try one. Another. Then, of course, an E chord. It appears like a thump against my chest, echoing up my veins, hitting that spot in my brain that feels just right.
“The letter E…” I hum. “Is exhilarating.”
I glance over. Beverly’s eyes are sparkling in awe.
“Go on,” she breathes.
I adjust the guitar again. My knees knock against hers. The corduroy catches on my sweatpants, which now feel embarrassing to be wearing. I swallow and strum. I try E minor this time. I don’t like it as much, so I change back to major.
“E is for exhilarating,” I continue. “Exciting. Enjoyable, like the elephant in the elevator.”
“Oh my God, I love it,” she breathes.
“E. Eagles. E. Elevator.”
Beverly’s laugh bubbles out of her.
“E. Eels. A fish in the sea.”
“They’re a fish?” she asks.
I grin and sing, “They’re fishes to me. Me me me. E.”
“E,” she sings, too, except her words are in a squawking voice reminiscent of Bernie Bird. “Entertain! Like Griffin Harv-E!”
I bark out a laugh.
“Daddy!” Ava calls over.
It’s probably not intentional on Ava’s part to also have it rhyme, but I strum and sing out, “That’s right. Dad-E. With notes making you happ-E!”
“Griffin,” Beverly says, barely making out words through giggles.
“Stop, stop.” I keep strumming because watching her laugh is making more notes pop up in my mind—more rhythms, more lyrics, more beating, pounding, thumping in my chest. She reaches out and touches my forearm, and my hand slips, fumbling my fingers over the strings.
I clear my throat and strum a final, almost breathless, “E.”
The chord echoes through the guest apartment, lingering on the walls and the air, warming the room with our heavy exhales, out of breath from laughing.
“It’s wonderful,” Beverly finally says with a beaming grin. Beautiful. Stunning. Pressure expands in my chest, rising to my throat and heating my cheeks. It’s like a balloon refusing to pop despite needling with pain. Probably exhausted, Beverly’s face flushes too.
“Want to try for one more?” I ask.
She nods feverishly, reopening her laptop and loading another document. “I have episode two?” It’s a question, like maybe she’s unsure.
“Let me see.”
This time, she doesn’t hesitate to hand it to me.
I read it, strumming soft notes while I do, tinkering with strings in a way my fingers seem to need. I’m itchy with inspiration.
“That’s nice,” Beverly says. Her voice sounds just as sweet as the notes. Gentle. Bleary. Exhausted.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Seems like Ava agrees.”
I didn’t realize it’d gone quiet. I look to see Ava asleep on the floor, lips parted as she lets out soft snores. Her hands still clutch a piece of pancake. Her right cheek puffs out, as if she fell asleep hoarding scraps. My sweet, tired little chipmunk.
Beverly whispers, “You know what? Let’s continue this tomorrow. Get some sleep while she does.”
I watch as Beverly’s eyelids start to droop as well. Her hair, so delicately pulled back, is starting to fall from its ponytail, pieces blending with her bangs. I reach out, tucking a strand behind her ear.
“I’ll sleep if you do too,” I murmur.
She gives an exhausted smile and nods. “Okay.” Then she leans closer and whispers, “That means I believe you.”
The balloon in my chest expands that much more. I smile back. “I know it does.”
We both stand from the couch, and her thigh touches mine once more as we shimmy past a sleeping Ava. Beverly reaches for the untouched coffee mugs. I place my hand over hers to stop her midair.
“I’ll clean up,” I say.
Even bleary-eyed, Beverly has this air about her. A sparkle in her green eyes. A flush to her cheeks. She turns for the door, and I reach over her head to open it for her, then slide my palm up and lean on the doorframe. She passes underneath. Her furry coat tickles my arm.
When she turns to say goodbye, she waves with her eyes closed. A chuckle bubbles up in my throat.
She’s a human cartoon.
She’s ridiculous.
She’s gorgeous.
“Hey, Bev?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re magic.”
She points at me. “I think you mean ‘It’s magical.’ ”
I slowly shake my head. “No. I meant what I said.”
Her cheeks flush a deeper pink as she blinks to herself. With a small confused smile, she turns around and steps off the welcome mat back toward the main house.
After I shut the door, I drop down on the couch and immediately pass out.
Ava and I don’t wake up the next day until the sun has already risen.
After I’ve dreamed of beautiful words that have nothing to do with alphabet letters but everything to do with furry purple coats, feathery blond hair, and green eyes.