Page 86 of Audiophile

I shoot off a quick text, aiming for flirtation, but desperation clings on at the end.

Got a brand new bag of puppy chow this morning, and I’m thinking of you. Call me. Text me. Beep me. I’m not picky.

“Have you thought about putting on some daytime clothes?” Amanda grimaces from the doorway. “You know, I love having you here, Reed.”

“Sounds like a ‘but’ coming.”

“ButI let you retreat into your moping cave for long enough.” She sinks down to the floor next to me with a coffee as a peace offering. “If she’s not responding, then maybe the sparks weren’t there on her side.”

I considered that, or whether the thumb drive scared her off. But doubt only creeps within the shadows of her absence. I’ve seen the truth. “She’s scared of getting hurt. If you’d seen her before me—seen the way she came alive over a few days. With a little care, she bloomed.”

“You’re not blooming, you’re brooding. How’s therapy going?”

I shrug. “We’re working through some important things.Hethinks Petra was a great catalyst for me to get my act together. I’m done running, Amanda.”

“That’s amazing. But she can’t be the only reason you’re moving forward,” Amanda retorts. I grimace, and she places a warm hand on my arm. “Just…work on your own life. Then, if you still want Petra, I’ll be on board.”

“They don’t go hand in hand,” I argue. “I’m still going to want her.”

“Prove it to me. Go for a walk in town, book a gig. Find a place to live. Something.”

I bite my tongue. Amanda has no idea that I’ve already put an offer in on the house in San Diego, without any intent to leave Petra behind. Amanda also has no idea that I’ve been staying up until four in the morning to work. I’ve been recording radio commercials for prescription medications, and narrating a young adult fantasy novel. I hadn’t seriously considered narration before Petra, but it’s a blast. I can’t record anything here during the day with all the fighting, stomping, and giggling going on, or I would immerse myself in it.

“I’m working on housing.” A half truth. “I definitely need a studio again.”

“You need to decide where you want to be. And don’t factor Petra into the equation.” I open my mouth, ready to spill the beans, but one of the girls cries out in the other room. Amanda sighs, pats my arm, and heaves herself off the floor. “Any chance you’d take one or both of the girls with you?”

“Dibs on Janie,” I declare, but the question reminds me of Petra and the baby she lost. Natalia would be eight by now, and judging by the entire Diamante family, she’d look just like her mother. The image sends a pang through me, though she wasn’t my child to lose.

I search through the Portland listings again. Each time I’ve combed through them, the ones in my budget are too cold, tiny, or outdated. But today, buried near the bottom of a page, is a new listing for a comfortably sized house. It’s light and whimsical. A few bedrooms, a large dining space, a modest backyard, and huge windows overlooking the river. It’s got a small-town feel, but is only fifteen minutes from the heart of the city, and it’s a steal.

It’s meant for me. For us.

I dial the number on the listing, heart pounding. I’ve never moved on anything this fast in my life. “Hi, I’m Reed Alexander, calling about the house on Rosewood Court. Is it still available? Are there any offers being considered yet? Perfect. Yes, I’m interested. My realtor will be in touch shortly about an inspection and next steps. Great, thanks.”

I hang up, and the ball of nervous energy I’ve been carrying around spreads throughout my system. I’m buzzing, but with exhilaration. I’ll have a new home, in a city that calls to me. I’ll start fresh there. I’ll make new friends, and fly Amanda out twice a year, like I promised. And if everything goes the way I want it to, I’ll take Petra out on as many dates as she needs for her to see what I do—that we would be incredible together.

I call Isaac and explain how I want to move forward. He puts together a letter of interest, contingent on an inspection and a rental period until escrow closes.

It’s the last puzzle piece sliding into place. My sluggishness from being bogged down with uncertainty and indecision floats away and disappears. I shower and emerge from my ‘moping cave,’ as a new person.

“Done with hibernation?” Amanda asks as I settle in next to her and the kids on the sofa. Janie’s head bounces to the song in the movie they’re watching, and my heart melts.

“Yeah. I made a choice.”

“Good.” Amanda smiles and ruffles my hair. “Time to make another one. You haven’t spent any time with Mom since you got back.”

“I know.” I call Mom, who immediately declares we’re going to lunch, just the two of us. An hour later, I park in front of a brightly painted display window of the diner, and she’s waiting for me.

“Reed,” she greets, opening her arms wide, dark blue eyes sparkling. Her short, honey-blonde hair catches the light as she moves. “You look good. Healthy.”

“Hi, Mom.” I squeeze her and kiss the top of her head. She smells the same as she always has, like home and warmth. The Pie Chart was our favorite spot to spend time together while she and Dad were going through their divorce. She always wanted us to feel special, and if that meant a slice of cherry pie at the end of a long day, she made it happen. “You do too. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve been right here this whole time,” she reminds me as we slide into a bright red booth. The place is clean, but retro, and is exactly the same as when I was ten.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been by, Mom—”

She pins me with a look. “Amanda told me you’re too busy being lovesick over a stranger to leave the house.”

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