Chapter Thirty-Five #2
But he didn’t need to see any of it. At the end of the day, it didn’t change anything. His and Micah’s relationship was still just about him and her, and no one else.
John looked down at the package in his hand, Micah’s return address written in her distinctive handwriting, starting out neat and then devolving into something spiky and a little rushed by the end.
“She asked me to come to L.A.,” he said.
He’d never told his housemates that, after the cruise, and he didn’t know why.
He was afraid they’d be upset, tell him all the reasons why he couldn’t leave.
He was afraid they’d encourage him to go.
“Ah.” Asa looked suddenly very serious, which always meant something because Asa was usually one of the most unserious people John knew. “You didn’t not do it because of us, did you?”
“No,” John said. “Well, maybe a little. This is my home.”
They were his home. Day to day, it was easy to focus on all the trivial stuff, the shows they watched together or the chores they assigned and then reassigned when people complained.
But if John actually let himself think about it, he got emotional about how hard he’d worked to find this kind of place, how much he’d needed it.
The idea of leaving it behind did scare him, even if it was for a future he’d always wanted.
“Sometimes home is just a place to land for a bit, until you find something else,” Asa said. “Lauren and I have been saving up to move out around when we get married. Elliot still talks about moving back to Jacksonville.”
“My family’s there,” Elliot said. “That’s the only reason.”
“I’ll be here,” Kiki said. “Because nothing about my life will ever change. But yes, Asa’s point stands. You should go to L.A. and be with Micah, if that’s what you want.”
“This house was never meant to hold you back,” Asa said. “You just have to promise to come home for Christmas, that’s all I ask.”
John swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Of course I would.”
“And bring Micah,” Lauren said.
“See if Micah can bring Carly,” Elliot said. “I’m just kidding, obviously. Unless…”
John smiled, saluting all of them with the package in his hand. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He shut himself in his room to open it up, because past experience had taught him that it was always better to open Micah’s packages in private.
Once she’d sent him a copy of her Playboy issue, a Post-it stuck to the front that said Don’t just read the articles!
She sent him Polaroids, too, nothing that salacious but still pictures that he liked to look at when he was all by himself and could study for as long as he wanted, taking in every detail of what she was wearing, what part of her apartment she seemed to be in, the expression on her face.
This time it was another CD, which made him smile because he loved when she sent him music to listen to.
There was no zine to accompany this one, just a folded piece of notebook paper stuck in the front as a makeshift album cover, a few words written on it in black Sharpie.
EP = Extended Play (not Elvis Presley). John inserted the CD into his old laptop and put his headphones on, cueing up the first track.
He noticed that there was more writing on the inside of the folded paper, and so he opened it up to read.
track listing:
heart x 3
fruit punch
only if
That was it—no further explanation or message.
But he knew what it was before he heard the first notes of the first song, which had him holding his breath.
Even before her vocals came in, he recognized the tone of his guitar— her guitar.
The melody was simple but catchy, with a breathless chorus that ended with her laughing a little bit, clearly a mistake that he was glad she’d kept.
The second song was about the cruise, somehow managing to capture the vibe of a situation where anything could happen, from a spilled drink to a right hook.
She’d even added electronic drums, which impressed him.
There’d been a lot of work in crafting these songs, writing them and recording all the parts, either dusting off old equipment she had or sourcing new stuff.
But it was the third track that really put John’s heart in his throat.
It was the most stripped-down of all of them, just piano and her voice.
He only got a couple of lines in before he had to pause, take a couple deep breaths, and then start the song over again.
Her vocals were low, a little dreamy around the edges, but once again he was struck by just how much like herself she sounded when she sang.
That might seem like an obvious thing to say, but it was something in her voice he’d always admired—the fact that the Micah you got on the phone and the Micah you got on a record felt like the same person.
He’d never felt any distance from her when she sang, and now it felt like she could be sitting on his bed, performing this right in front of him.
I’ve been trying, trying to tell you
Just not in so many words
If only I
Could close my eyes
And show you everywhere it hurts
This ache in my bones feels like touching you
This heartbeat in my chest will let me try for you
I’ll try for you
I’ll try for you
I’ll try for you
When all I wanted was a dream
Only if they made it true
It was a lie
It’s fucking mine
And you gave it to me new
You know you’ve always been my best and oldest friend
So please say that we can, let us start again
I’ll start again
I’ll start again
I’ll start again
It was unusual for Micah’s lyrics to be this direct, for you to even fully know who or what she was singing about.
There had always been lines, here and there, that had snagged at him, like a jagged nail sticking out of a doorframe.
Are you gonna come over? That was what she’d asked him almost every day, had made him wonder if there weren’t parts of “If Only” that were about him .
But then there would be other parts that felt like maybe she wasn’t talking about a person at all, but the feeling of being on that back porch, writing a song for an album that could change their lives in ways they didn’t even know yet.
Then she’d bring the lyrics back around again with a bridge that was big and romantic, that filled your chest with air and then took it all away, and he’d be left wondering again, Who is this song about?
The bridge for this one sounded like it had been recorded as a voice note on her phone, the vocals mixed a little lower so he had to press his headphones to his ears to make sure he was catching every word before she came back in at full volume for the last chorus.
Well, maybe you still can’t hear me
Maybe I’m talking in code
Maybe I’m letting some notes drop
Under the noise on the phone
Maybe I know that my signals
Have always been smoke
Maybe you’ll think that I’m brave
Until you get me alone
But I’m not afraid of the past or present, oooh
The future that I see, baby, it’s all you
I do love you
I do love you
I do love you
I do
I love you, too
I do
For a minute John just sat with the silence after the music had finished.
He knew he’d end up listening to it a hundred times, but for now he just wanted to let it take root inside him.
He thought back to that first time she’d talked to him in homeroom, the times they’d sprawled out on her bed listening to music and talking about everything and nothing at all, performing with her with ElectricOh!
, seeing her again after so long at that first meeting for the cruise, all the moments they’d shared on the cruise itself.
He thought back to the way she’d cried, that night he’d told her he loved her, and he thought maybe he understood it better.
It was a lot, this feeling. He leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, and pressed play again.