13. Chapter 13
One thing I’d always been fantastic at was securing the means of my own destruction and using those means effectively.
I found the perfect opportunity hanging from a light pole on my walk to work.
It currently burned a hole in the pocket of my jeans.
I pressed save on ‘Girl Get Out: Nine Red Flags in His Record Collection’ and pulled the flyer from my pocket. Sighing, I unfolded it on the desk.
OPEN MIC NIGHT!
EVERY OTHER SATURDAY
INSTRUMENTS AVAILABLE
I flattened the paper before snapping a photo. Once it was properly cropped and edited, I sent it to Summoner. My phone vibrated rather quickly with a reply.
Summoner OMG: You didn’t tell me you perform!
Poppy: I dont and I think u know that
Summoner OMG: Well, if not for you why are you sending this to me?
Poppy: I think u know y but I spell it out exposure therapy!
Summoner OMG: :eye roll emoji:
Poppy: U know how to use emojis?!?!
The texts from Summoner stopped coming after that.
I stared at my phone, willing some communication to come in.
My chest tightened with the knowledge I had pushed too hard.
I had overstepped my bounds. I regretted it immediately, but all the words in my head couldn’t string together a proper apology.
Everything I wrote or thought of saying seemed meaningless, so I said nothing and received an earned silence in return.
***
Summoner OMG: Dinner?
It had been nearly a week and a half since I heard from him. I figured that all the goodwill I’d created had burned to ash by suggesting the open mic night. I wasn’t a therapist. I was a weird girl trying to be helpful. But whatever my intent, I had taken a misstep.
I didn’t know how to respond. So, I did the most logical thing.
I got dressed and headed to his place. The doorman greeted me with a smile and a tilt of his hat.
As I stepped off the elevator and walked towards Summoner’s front door, a sense of excitement simmered in my stomach.
I missed being in his space. I missed spending time with him. I missed him.
Don’t tell him that!
Dressed in an oversized black hoodie and a questionable pair of skinny jeans, Summoner opened the door and looked at me with a wry smile.
“I didn’t think you were coming.”
I raised an eyebrow at him as I shimmed out of my coat and handed it to him.
Fucking liar. I knew I was coming. You knew I was coming. The doorman knew I was coming. The readers of the NY Times knew I was coming.
“…Do you eat sushi?” he asked as hung up my coat. I nodded. “Great. Come on, then.”
I followed Summoner into the formal dining room. On one end of the table sat a portable record player beside a stack of jazz albums. Beyond that, the rest of the table was decorated in an assortment of sushi rolls.
“Expecting company?” I mumbled in defiance of my wide eyes.
“Maybe.”
We sat down across from each other. Eyes downcast, I grabbed a pair of chopsticks and dug right in. God, the sushi was amazing. I would be dumb to expect anything less from a rock and roll legend. After I scarfed down two rolls, I managed to meet Summoner’s eyes as I reached for another roll.
“…You okay, Poppy?” His voice was soft, textured around the edges with concern.
“Great. Groovy, even.” I shrugged.
Totally excited to be here and totally not hurt that you ghosted me. Totally.
“You’re not acting like it. I didn’t even hear from you.”
“You were expecting me to reach out?”
“Yeah, I had to go see my actual psychiatrist.”
I sat down my chopsticks. “Really? What did he say?”
“I’m certifiable. No hope really.” Smirking, he leaned back in his chair.
“Damn. Are they going to put you down?”
“I was hoping for a nice farm upstate, but euthanasia is probably for the best.”
I couldn’t help smiling at Summoner. He made it so easy.
“That’s more like it…Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
I poked at my sushi roll. I suddenly didn’t feel hungry.
A roller coaster of emotions in just a few moments.
All emotions I needed to keep inside and not embarrassingly blurt out to my rock star friend.
Several minutes later, Summoner walked back into the dining room and placed a bottle of pills on the table in front of me.
“…Al-Alprazolam? What’s that?” I squinted at the label.
“My Xanax. I’d been doing okay without them, but I know I’ll need them tonight.” He sighed.
Still confused, I looked at him, and he rolled his eyes.
“…I was thinking if it would cheer you up and stop your moping, we could…maybe, uh, maybe try that open mic night…”
The moment the words left his mouth, an ear-piercing screech left mine.
I jumped out of the chair and wrapped my arms around a stunned and now partially-deaf Summoner.
As my face settled against his chest, a wave of warmth washed over me.
His torso went rigid at the contact. But before I could pull back, he brought his arms down around my shoulders. A gasp died in my throat.
His embrace was something I had thought of over the years.
A fangirl fantasy that soothed my loneliness.
But this was better. This was real. Even through the knitted fabric of his hoodie, I could feel the flex of his arms. A steady strength.
Everything around us slowed to the point of nothingness.
Summoner and I were the only two in the void, and all I could feel was the chill of the air around us.
“Boss?” Moore’s voice pulled us back to reality.
Ejected and rejected, Summoner stepped back from me with a hard cough. My body was dazed and utterly confused, as if pricked with a thousand needles. Emotional acupuncture.
“In here,” Summoner called out.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Moore asked from the doorway.
He already had on his coat, making the question seem like a pointless formality.
“Very sure,” Summoner noted as he grabbed his pill bottle off the table and stuffed it into his pocket.
***
Verity’s was a dingy, poorly-lit dive bar in the basement of an old warehouse. The walls were unpainted cement, trimmed with a cobweb finish. My nose wrinkled as a tall, willowy woman with shocking bright orange hair finished wailing through a very liberal interpretation of Radiohead’s Creep.
I led the way through the maze of table and free-range hipsters.
Head ducked, cap pulled down, and glasses on, Summoner followed right behind me.
Moore led up the rear. He explained on the ride over that he had to accompany us for security purposes.
I had several follow-up questions I didn’t ask.
Instead, I glanced at Summoner, who slouched and bounced his left leg wildly.
The bouncing of his leg continued as we settled at a table near the back corner.
Open mic night seemed popular, as we had joined several other dumbasses crammed into this fire hazard.
A slight ringing started in my ears as the singing ended. I couldn’t tell if that was my body’s natural response to the butchering of Radiohead, or if my ears had turned on their own internal tuning fork. Summoner sported a scrunched grimace.
I swallowed. I desperately wanted to reach out and hold his hand. To feel his warmth and to offer some sort of comfort and support. But once again, I was out of my depth.
A pair of guys sporting flannel and suspenders stepped up onto the stage. A heavy groan from Moore made me laugh.
“You and your ideas, Poppy,” he shook his head.
“Maybe they won’t sound so bad…”
One of the pair grabbed a guitar and strummed a few notes. The preview showed us that they were clearly going for a forgotten and neglected cousin of the Mumford and Sons vibe. I ate my words.
“Weeeell, I apologize!” I grinned.
Moore shook his head again before leaning into Summoner.
The pair exchanged hushed whispers that, despite all the straining my ears were doing, I failed to make out.
Back rod straight, Summoner hadn’t stopped the nervous shaking of his leg since we left his place.
It was enough to worry me at this point.
“You alright?” I yelled in his ear.
He nodded.
As The Lumineers 2 Electric Boogaloo started their set, I tried to keep my eyes ahead and on the stage. But in my worry, I kept turning back to Summoner. His eyes stayed trained on the stage, rendering me practically invisible.
To expel my nervous energy, I excused myself from the table and wandered over to the bar.
It took the bespeckled bartender a long moment to notice me as he was too busy giving googly eyes and free drinks to a blonde bombshell opposite me.
I juggled my watered-down rum and coke, and glasses of ice water to the table.
Moore had his attention to his phone but managed to give me a brief nod as I placed his water in front of him.
So much for bodyguarding.
I sat down and took a long sip of my drink.
The mix of sugar, caffeine, and alcohol churned in my gut.
Middle America’s retaliation for corn fields finished performing to a smattering of applause.
I raised an eyebrow as a steady stream of clapping came from our table.
Summoner still radiated stubborn energy, but he gave the performers their props.
Once his hands stopped clapping and circled his glass, I leaned over and nudged his shoulder with my own.
“What did you think?”
“…Eh. Not too remarkable, but not totally bad. They were trying. They need to do more gigs like this, it will help with developing their stage presence. I’d give them a C.”
“Very middle grade. Headmaster is harsh yet fair.”
He shrugged. “I’m very fair.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” I grinned.