Page 17 of Curvy Girl for the Best Friend

I give her a pleading look.

Yes, Meg has heard me sing. I used to love singing, but it's something I haven't done much of since my father died. That was kind ofourthing. Dad played the guitar while I sang along with him. He loved to hear me sing. At one time, I even dreamed of going to music school and studying the vocal arts, but I gave all that up when Dad died. Just like I've pretty much given up singing.

Something I know my dad wouldn't want. He’d be so sad knowing I've stopped singing, and that thought cements my decision.

Meg continues to pull on my arm, and I finally concede. What the hell? So far, all of Meg's suggestions—like the one that I come out tonight—have turned out well. And I also vowed that I was going to let loose and live a little, so I'm just gonna go for it. Who cares if I bomb it, right? Everyone in this place is tipsy, and a lot of the people who've gotten up haven't been good singers. Karaoke is all in good fun anyway. It's not like we're seriously out to impress anyone.

"Okay, what are you going to sing, little lady?" the DJ manning the karaoke asks me with a wink.

I glance over at Meg. I don't have the first clue what to choose, but in true Meg fashion, she's ready to volunteer something.

I know the song she suggests, so I shrug at the DJ and go with it. It's not one of the campy, cheesy, upbeat songs, but it's not a slow song either. It's more of a rock-pop ballad—one that I remember singing a lot with my dad while he played the electric guitar.

I let the music wash over me. I haven’t sung much in the past couple of years, but I still love to listen to music, losing myself in the chords and melodies.

I close my eyes when the song reaches the opening stanza. It's my cue to sing, so I take a deep breath, open my mouth, and let loose.

I get lost in the lyrics, lost in the melody. I'm singing from the bottom of my heart, remembering my father. This is like a cleansing, a revelation, as I silently dedicate this song to him.

I get so caught up in my song that I forget where I am.When I open my eyes, the bar is so silent you can hear a pin drop. My face immediately flushes.

Oh, my God, I must have been horrible.

Suddenly, everyone erupts into applause, standing to their feet like they're at an opera or something. People are hooting and hollering and cheering, and my face flushes even deeper.

I nod my head in a humble bow and leave the stage. When I walk back over to the table where the girls are sitting, Molly and Mary are typing furiously on their phones.

I glance over their shoulders as I pass by them and gasp when I see what they're up to. "Oh my god, you guys! Youcannotpost that!"

They took a video of me singing, and they're posting it online.

"Too late!" Molly chirps up at me as her finger presses the send button.

"Yeah, too late for me too!" Mary says with a huge grin.

I cover my face with my hands. I don't want to be all over the internet. I'm not good enough for all that.

"What's wrong?" Meg asks me. "You were freaking amazing!”

"No, I'm so out of practice!" I groan. "I didn't know you guys were taking a video!"I shoot them all a distressed glance.

"Babe, we weren't the only ones," Molly notes as she jerks her head toward the rest of the room where other people are on their phones.

My cheeks flame, and I catch Chrissy out of the corner of my eye. She's glaring at me with her arms crossed, no doubt pissed off that I've stolen her thunder. Great. All I need is for her to be pissed off at me and give me more attitude than she already does at work. I was hoping that tonight would bridge the gap between us, and I think it did until my performance right after hers. I should have known better.

A few people come over to say hi to us and gush about my performance, and I sit there blushing like the idiot I am, feeling awkward. I've never been one for the spotlight, but I have to admit this feels good.It feels good to sing again and to hear that people enjoyed it.

When I finally go home, I have a smile on my face. For the first time in two years, I'm not crying as I fall asleep.

Erik

I work my way through my business emails as I do every morning while the news plays in the background. Taking a sip of my black coffee, I scowl at my computer screen. Fucking Donovan. It's always something with him. I type out a quick reply before I hit "send."

I scoff when I see that Morta has made yet another bid for one of my compositions. He may as well give it up. I'll never sell my work to anyone.

My music is my life. It's personal. It's not for public use. He should consider himself lucky that I fund his little musical theater.

I realize that I'm a bit backward. Most composers want the world to hear their work and love it, but I'm just the opposite. I hoard my compositions close to my chest like a dragon hoards treasure. I'm greedy. I don't want to share them with anyone. I think part of the reason is I know that no one else will be able to do my pieces justice.

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