Chapter 28
I Think the Universe is on My Side
RIFF
The California desert sprawls around us, Joshua trees and tufts of sagebrush scattered over dry earth, along with wind-worn rock formations.
“Yep, just like that,” says the photographer. “Hold it. Perfect.”
Harmony and I stand close but not touching, shoulders angled to create a sense of tension.
The shutter clicks several times.
We essentially did this same photo shoot already, the first time at an indoor studio with solid backgrounds.
Our EP was originally meant to have a minimalist visual style, but in the end the creative team didn’t like it, so now we’ve been called out to the wild at the last minute for a second round.
“They think this’ll be better for the theme,” Braden explained yesterday.
Someone at Glambam realized that our individual album titles had a thematic tie we didn’t notice before, one that could be carried over to the EP.
Harmony decided to call her album My Lucky Stars—after months of deliberation—as a throwback to her reality TV experience, and then she said, “Also because I’m feeling really lucky these days” as she looked at me.
The implication that I have something to do with that makes me the lucky one, but I digress.
Anyway, since my album is called There Goes The Sun, this is conducive to a “celestial” theme, says marketing.
Thus, the EP will be called Night + Day and focus on opposites and now must incorporate nature and the open sky.
Since Harmony and I are both from and based in California, it made sense to have that California “look” too.
Owing to not only our physical features but also our album titles, Harmony is the “night” subject and I’m the “day” subject. The EP will have a tagline below the title that reads “Opposites attract.”
“What’s even better,” Stefanie pointed out during one of our combined team meetings, “is that day transitions to night, and vice versa, so it’s not only about the opposites but also about a gradual transition of feelings.”
Harmony stared daggers at her for that. As if it’s not enough that Stefanie’s reading habits helped encourage Glambam’s insistence on our public pairing, she also takes every opportunity to hammer in the tropes.
“Now back to back,” the photographer tells us. “Look over your shoulder at each other. But still a little bit at me. Harmony, tilt your chin up. Good.”
We’ve been here since before the golden hour (to get warm sunlight, long dramatic shadows, some wistful wind, and those “glowing desert tones”) and are now working into the evening. Because of the minimal lighting, the crew’s got reflectors set up, along with extra lights.
There’s only time for a few more poses, though, before it’s too dark to get what we’re going for.
“These ‘hate’ poses are killing me,” I whisper to Harmony.
“If only they’d done this photo shoot back in April,” she whispers back, stifling a laugh before she schools her features to be more serious.
We blew through the ‘love’ shots list easily because it was mostly candid. Pretending we don’t like each other, on the other hand, has been a challenge.
The photographer sighs. “Alright, I think that’s a wrap for you two.”
She tells her crew to start putting away all the equipment that applies to us and has them start setting up for long exposures.
The crew will stay to get shots of the night sky (to capture stars, midnight blues, and the Milky Way) which will be Photoshopped in later for the full dramatic effect of the “night” part.
On our way back to the car, Harmony gets a message.
“It’s from my parents,” she says. “Family group text. I know it’s weird.”
It’s a little weird, but I think it’s nice that her divorced parents still make an effort to meet up with her at the same time.
“What’s up?”
“They’re both going to be in the city. They want to know if I’m available to go to dinner with them at Pupusalva.”
“Is that the Salvadoran restaurant you mentioned before?”
She nods. “Come with me?”
Jokingly, I inhale through my teeth. “Meet your parents? I don’t know. That sounds kind of serious. I think this might be moving a little too fast.”
Harmony smacks my arm. “Count yourself lucky my dad doesn’t know all the naughty things we’ve been doing or he’d be expecting you to move at top speed down an aisle with me.”
At the car now, I ease her up against the door, facing me. “Oh yeah? Is that supposed to scare me?”
As I brush my fingers against her neck and kiss her throat, I feel her pulse pick up. I wonder if it scares her.
“He grew up in a rough neighborhood and always carries a knife.”
“Hmm. Then I’ll try to be on my best behavior. After I take you back to your place, though, I can’t make any promises.”
“Good—don’t.”
Pupusalva is a tiny old hole-in-the-wall type place in East L.A.
, a mash-mash of salvaged furniture from other restaurants.
There are tables and chairs that don’t match (even the chairs at each table don’t come from the same set) and a couple of upholstered booths that aren’t fixed to the floor.
The walls are painted blue with a big, horizontal white stripe running through, decorated with ceramic art and woven tapestries.
A pair of saloon doors separate the kitchen from the dining zone.
There’s no one else here besides us and Harmony’s parents, who, having already selected a table and been here a few minutes before us, stand up to say hi.
Harmony’s mom looks like her, but older and with a lighter complexion. She’s dressed in slacks and a loose multicolor sweater, befitting a high school teacher.
Harmony’s dad is a couple inches short than me, but the tight expression on his face says “I’ll cut you.” He’s got a short boxed beard, not unlike mine, only his is black with gray around the chin, and he’s wearing a zip-up hoodie over a polo shirt.
“This is Griffin,” Harmony tells them. “Griffin, my parents, Elaine and Hector.”
Elaine smiles and greets me with a hug and says, “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Then I extend my hand to Hector for a handshake. His grip strength catches me off guard and he lingers for a moment as if to make a point.
Another woman emerges from the kitchen. She stands about four-foot-ten and speaks excitedly in Spanish, embracing each member of Harmony’s family.
If I recall correctly, Harmony and her parents have been coming here since she was a kid, so this woman would logically be familiar with them.
“Adela,” says Elaine, “this is Harmony’s boyfriend, Griffin.”
“Mucho gusto,” Adela tells me. “Eres muy guapo.”
When all I can do is grin like an idiot, Harmony nudges me and says, “That means she thinks you’re handsome.”
“Oh! Thanks.” I chuckle nervously. “That’s so nice. Thank you very much.”
Adela gestures for us to sit, so we assemble at one of the tables in the center, chairs scraping the concrete floor as we pull them out. She gives us some laminated menus and lets us look them over.
Elaine and I peruse ours for a minute, but Harmony and her dad don’t even glance at theirs.
“You already know what you want?” I ask.
“Always,” says Harmony. “Three pupusas: queso, chicharrón, and revuelta.”
Damn it’s sexy when she speaks Spanish, even if she’s talking about cheese and—I’m guessing—some kind of meat.
“I’ll just get what you’re getting,” I tell her.
She smiles. “Good choice.”
I have to have her explain to me what exactly a pupusa is.
The process, apparently, involves putting a ball of filling inside a ball of dough and then patting it down gently until it’s flat, so you get a corn tortilla with an even layer of meat, cheese, beans, or some combination of that in the middle.
So, two layers of dough with filling inside.
“You mean it’s ravioli,” I say.
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God, it is …”
“What?” Elaine peers around her menu.
“Nothing,” Harmony says. “Just a little joke we have.”
Soon Adela comes back to take our order, then disappears back into the kitchen.
Hector clears his throat. “So … Griffin … I understand you’re the country singer who’s been writing songs about my daughter.”
I swallow hard. “Well, yes, but—”
“Dad, qué te pasa? We’ve talked about this.”
“That’s right, we have—and then I listened to some of those songs.”
“Did you listen to the ones I wrote about him?” Harmony asks. “I’m sure mine are worse. Plus, I insulted him first.”
Hector shakes his head. “Not an excuse. If a woman hits me, I don’t hit her back.”
“I think that examples is a little extreme,” Elaine argues. “We all say things we don’t mean. Anyone can make a bad first impression.”
“Not Harmony,” says Hector.
It’s like Rachel all over again. He’s protective; I get it.
“I appreciate that, Dad,” Harmony replies, “but I was terrible, and I never gave Griffin a fair shot. I’m the one who’s at fault here.”
“It’s okay,” I tell Harmony, “I can take responsibility too.” I look at Hector. “I didn’t make it clear who I was, when your daughter and I first met. Reasonably, she got the wrong idea, and she wrote about it. You’re right; I didn’t have to write back. I should’ve just let it go.”
Harmony shakes her head. “All Griffin did was point out my temper—and my pride. Where do you think I got that from, Dad?”
“Hey now …” Hector says.
“She’s right,” Elaine mutters.
“And my obstinance,” Harmony adds. “That’s from you, Mom.”
Wagging a finger, Hector says, “Don’t talk to your mother like that.”
My gaze hops from one to the other like I’m watching tennis. I’ve got to hand it to Hector, though, standing up for his ex-wife.
“Like what? I’m stating facts. She literally has ‘Obstinate, headstrong girl’ on a quote poster. She owns that trait happily.”
They get into a faster back and forth that I can hardly keep up with, tension building until my asshole is clenched tight and my shoulders are nearing my earlobes. Finally I cut in: “It doesn’t matter what either of us said in our music, alright?”
Everyone goes silent and turns to stare at me.
I force myself to relax, shuddering as I shake out my hands.
“Am I sorry? Yes. Do I regret any of it? No. Because if it hadn’t been for our feud, our label wouldn’t have forced us to work together.
If we hadn’t worked together, we never would have realized how we feel about each other.
” I inhale. “I think your daughter is incredible. She’s smart and sweet, and a complete badass—excuse my language.
Most of all, she is genuine and thoughtful.
I’m sure a lot of that comes from the two of you, too.
Credit where credit is due.” Flattery where flattery is due, I think.
“If it puts your mind at ease in any way, you should also know that I’ve written some nice lyrics about Harmony too.
I’ll bet you didn’t know that my album title comes from a song about her. ”
Harmony’s brows pinch together. “What?”
We’ve talked about our album tracks on occasion and shared some clips with each other, but she doesn’t know all my songs in their entirety, and I don’t know all of hers either.
“’There Goes The Sun,’” I say, “was a song I was working on when we met. It was the first track I started after I signed with Glambam. It was supposed to be about a road trip, driving all day in some beat-up pickup truck until sunset. After she left the release party, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and the song evolved into something different.
It wasn’t about the open road anymore, it was about a girl walking away from me, and me wanting her to come back.
So when I sing, ‘There goes the sun,’ it’s not literal—it’s Harmony. She’s the ‘sun.’”
Elaine and Hector exchange a pensive glance.
“I had no idea,” Harmony says softly.
“Well, it was sort of half-baked, and then you came out with ‘Friction,’ so I didn’t end up changing much more of the song after that. But the idea was there.”
The marketing team might brand her as “night” but in my mind, she’s the brightest thing in the sky. She lays her head on my shoulder and we all calm down.
When our food comes, we eat quietly. I follow Harmony’s example as far as how to eat the pupusas with a runny red sauce and a type of cabbage slaw. They are weird, but rich and comforting in my stomach. I see why she likes them.
Little by little, her dad opens up, first with small talk about the weather, then sports, then work.
I learn about the civil engineering firm he works for and some of his projects, and he asks about my employment at The Goldrush Gazette and how I got into the music industry, which allows me to share my struggle with my brand and career path.
I get to know Elaine too, her background and her job teaching choir, her love for harmony that inspired her only child’s name.
After we finish up, Hector settles the bill despite my insistence that I am happy to. We all say our goodbyes and he shakes my hand again. This time, he doesn’t half-crush my finger bones.
I’m going to call that a win.