Page 37 of Rock the Chardonnay

I ignore him and focus on my lesson plan spreadsheet. Who am I kidding? Will anyone give a fuck if I phone it in for the first few weeks? Ninety seven percent of the kids I teach will never remember anything I say.

“OMG, Dad, you’re spiraling again. Pay attention.”

“I’m not spiraling,” I grumble, turning to Alex. He has his music player and headphones in one hand. “What is it you need?”

“I don’t think Daughtry’s songs are about Uncle Ciaran.”

I sigh aloud, earning me an eye roll. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“But you have to!” Alex thrusts his music player at me. “Just listen.”

I don’t want to. I can’t. For the first week after she left, all I did was listen to her music and leave her panicked voice memos, none of which she returned. Week number two meant I formally avoided my heartache and any mention of its cause. “Daughtry left. She was here for less than a minute. Why is this a big deal?”

“Because she made you happy, and you deserve to be happy, and now you’re miserable, and even Mom thinks you should do something about it.”

“You told your mom about this?”

“Of course. I tell Mom everything.”

Of course he does. “Why does she care?”

“Because she does.” Things are so simple for nine year olds. All he needs is some pseudo-Greek mythology and a few magic wands, and Alex is right at home. “Please. Just listen to the songs.”

“I’ve heard the songs. I’ve read the interview.” The interview in which she essentially admits that Ciaran is the one who got away. The songs about how funny and special my brother is. It’s almost enough to make me want to move out of the fucking house. Or force Ciaran to return to his own.

“You hear, but you don’t listen.” Alex unplugs the headphones and taps a button on his music player. Daughtry’s voice filters through the speakers, and even though it’s a recording, my body’s reaction is immediate. It’s almost like I can smell her again. I threw out the panties. No way I want to hold on to them when I can’t be with her.

“Isoamyl acetate, watch me move, I’ll watch you wake…” Daughtry’s voice is clear and strong and gorgeous.

Alex hits the stop button. “Did you hear it?”

“She sounds amazing.” I glance at the square-shaped photo of her on the screen and a thousand things shatter into fractals in my body. “She still needs to wear a sweater for these photos.”

“Ugh, Dad! She says ‘isoamyl acetate.’ That’s banana ester, right?”

Pride surges within me, and I crush him into a hug. “I can’t believe you know that. I could die happy right now.”

“You’re completely missing the point.” Alex wrestles himself out of my grasp. “Didn’t you hear what she said? She talks about you tutoring her. That’s what the entire ‘Chemistry’ song is about, how she wishes you would look up and see her.”

That gives me pause. That can’t be right. Can it?

But Alex isn’t done. “And then in ‘Heartbreak,’ she sits there eating pancakes and thinking about the one who got away. ‘Grape Crush?’ She talks about how she dances only for one guy. It wasn’t Uncle Ciaran, it was you the whole time.” He claps his hands in triumph. That’s my son, a self-satisfied Sherlock Holmes. “That is why we have to go see her. So you can get her back.”

I hold up my hands. “That doesn’t happen in real life, Alex. There’s no getting her back. It’s not like we were together—”

A hand taps me sharply on my shoulder. “Declan Foster, do not lie to your child,” Mom says, walking past me and standing protectively behind Alex. “Of course you were together. Why do you think I kept asking you to do things, like drive her places, or bring her groceries? Heck, I even asked Maddy Olmstead to pretend she had rented out her apartment to someone else, just to get Daughtry here. She’s a grown woman, of course she could have done those things herself, but I’ve always known how you felt about her.”

That’s an awful lot of confessions when my ears are ringing from her rebuke. “But, Mom—”

“Please. You think I really believed that you were just over my chili? I’m your mother. I could see the way you two looked at each other. You were right at the time not to make your move, but for Cripes sake, you’re both in your thirties. Get over it and at least call her.”

Like that thought hasn’t occurred to me on average a thousand times a minute since she walked out the door. “I don’t even know where she is.”

My mom rolls her eyes and shows me her phone screen, where there’s a photo of Daughtry singing on stage. “Nashville. They’re only there until tomorrow night, so you’d better get going.”

“I have school—”

My mom huffs. “You can miss one day of school in your entire life. Pack a bag and go get her.”

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