Page 3 of Audiophile

By the time I’m done, a knot sits high in my throat. “I’m going to bed.”

There are muttered goodnights as I drag myself up the stairs and into my bedroom. It hasn’t changed since I was seventeen and shared it with Silla. The desk is scratched, worn, and covered in unicorn stickers, but it does the job. Posters, accolades, magazine cutouts—anything important to my sister and me when we were teenagers—cover the walls from floor to ceiling. I ignore theirsmudges of color, just like I ignore the pile of unwashed laundry and the stacks of books on the floor.

The same way I avoid the hurt etched into Tommy’s face.

I slump into the squeaking chair, tuck my earbuds in, and open my laptop to my latest document. With the first few words, the gray and brown tone of the world is scrubbed away, and a more colorful one shines through. The coffee stain on the desktop disappears under a mint green toad, who plops herself down with a hot cup of tea. A silvery crane soars above me to perch on the pile of laundry, his gold-rimmed glasses glinting in the light of my computer screen.

My hair shifts in the gentle breeze stirred up by fluttering, lavender wings. The pixie giggles as she flies closer and perches on my printer. She waves her shining, diamond wand playfully in my direction, sparking rainbows to life across my bedroom walls.

“What adventure are we going on tonight? Can I invite the dragon to dinner?” Natalia asks. There’s mischief in her warm, green eyes. She’s only a child—bossy, but full of fun—with traits passed down from all of my siblings. Pulling pranks like Silla, as smart as Tommy, and always getting her way like Livi. There’s some of me in there, too: maybe the stubbornness I’d worn as a cape when I was her age.

“The dragon is meanè scontroso.” Her cheek is soft against my knuckles. “Not good dinner company unless you’re the meal.”

She frowns at me. “Maybe he’s only grumpy because no one invites him to dinner.”

I laugh, unable to deny her. “Fair enough,piccina. You can try.”

I wish I could join her there. Oregon is dark and cold this time of year, but in the fairy world it’s warm and gentle—a kaleidoscope of bright colors even on the bleakest night. It might be fictional, but I’m more alive in Galin than I am in my own body.

I immerse myself in Natalia’s world, and the words pour out of me. Each stroke of keys brings it to life, until the words on the screen blur and all I can see are purple mountains and a sea of tall,emerald grass.

As I write, the shouts and laughter from downstairs shifts into quiet words that are few and far between. It’s a sign that everyone is leaving or heading to bed. Papa knocks on my door, pulling me out of my imagination. “Petra? What are you still doing awake?”

Papa would support me if I told him. He’d understand why I write books for children when I can’t sleep. “Just playing around.”

He hums and closes the door behind him. “Sognare con la testa tra le nuvole, stellina?”

“Always daydreaming,” I confirm. “You’ve known that since I could talk. Good luck breaking the habit now.”

Papa smiles as he sits on my bed. “I wouldn’t dare. Your mind is a beautiful place. Petra, you think I don’t see you, typing away at night?”

“Is it a vivid imagination, or mental illness? Who knows.”

Papa rolls his eyes at me and sighs. “Always defensive. You know, it’s not too late to finish school, to write.”

I shrug. I don’t have the drive I once did.

“I want you to be happy,stellina,” Papa says. “I’ll pay for your school. You only had one year left—you don’t have to start from the beginning.”

“I would. I’ve forgotten everything.” Papa opens his mouth to argue, but I lay my hand over his. “I wasn’t meant to publish, Papa. That’s okay. It’s okay to have dreams that never come true. The dreaming is the fun part.”

I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—him or me. It doesn’t matter, because Papa blinks back heavy emotion that I only see in him now, as he gets older. “I had a dream. A life with your mother. A business to run for myself and to keep her comfortable. Many beautiful children, who grow up to be happy.”

“I am happy, Papa. You achieved your dream.”

Papa takes my chin in his hand. “You’re my favorite, even when you lie to me.” He places a kiss on my hair and lets go. “Don’t tell the others.”

“They already know,” I say, trying to scrounge up a smile. I fail,and his frown deepens.

“I would do anything to see you laugh again. I hope you know that. When you smile, it lights up the room.” Papa stares at me as though he’s mourning my old face. “Goodnight, Petronia.Ti adoro più di quanto ci siano stelle nel cielo.”

“Ti voglio bene, Papa,” I whisper. His love is overwhelming, and I’m not worthy of it. My very existence brings him pain.

Papa gives me a sad smile and shuts the door behind him. I wish I could take away his exhaustion. Not only tonight, but every night. I was only twenty-three when I moved to Los Angeles. Livi and Tommy were still in high school, and Mama and Papa were busy chasing after them. They attended school functions, drove up and down the coast for Tommy’s soccer tournaments, and ranBella Vitaon top of it all. Now, though they’re only in their mid fifties, they are slowing down.

Most days, my face is as tired as theirs.

Chapter two

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