Page 2 of A Boy Called Lovesong

As I headed for the stairs, Robert caught me by the arm. “Noah, are you and Joel still on for the jazz club next Saturday night? Andrew wants to bring his cousin, he’s new in town. You guys don’t mind, right?”

“Sure. Whatever.” I cast my eye to the right. “Miranda, glasses off the Steinway. Do you want Joel to have a meltdown?”

It was a question I asked myself as well, as I started up the stairs, getting halfway up before I checked my watch. Joel would be home soon. I knew he was going to be later than usual, he told me in the voicemail message he’d left an hour earlier, but the minutes were ticking away.

When he’d phoned, I saw his name appear on the screen and desperately wanted to hear his voice. I never ignored his call, I loved hearing his voice. But guests were arriving, and cocktails were being mixed and fondue was bubbling on the stovetop, so I let the call go through to my messages and listened to it after I knew he’d hung up.

He said he was running a little late.

He said he had a letter to post in the mail, and after that he’d be straight home.

Who the fuck posted letters anymore?

I laughed again at the thought of him licking a stamp and putting it on an envelope and finding a mailbox on his way home, then from my spot halfway up the stairs I called back down to the party. “Lloyd, turn the music down. Everyone, Joel’s gonna be home any minute now so listen out for the doorbell. I took the house key off his key chain this morning without himrealizing it, so the doorbell’s our only warning. The second you hear it, everyone hide.”

I hurried up the stairs to our bedroom. “Chet? Where are you?”

I dropped to my knees and craned my neck to see under the bed.

With his head resting on his front paws, Joel’s scruffy Russell Terrier glared at me sulkily as though I’d just thrown his favorite chew toys in the trash. “What the hell are you doing under there? It’s your daddy’s birthday. Come out and play. Do you have any idea how many pats and half-eaten Swedish meatballs are waiting for you downstairs?”

Chet gave a low, miserable grumble.

He and I had never really seen eye to eye. He was Joel’s dog, and the furry fucker liked to remind me of that fact on a daily basis. Joel had rescued Chet from a dog shelter when Chet was just a puppy. A year later, Joel rescued me from a string of terrible relationship choices. But even after the three of us had been together for eight years, Chet had an unwavering understanding of the pecking order in our household.

Joel was king.

Chet was his furry little prince.

And I was the servant who did all the cooking.

Yes, despite the fact that I was the freelance music journo turned author who worked mostly from home, keeping Chet company while Joel went to work at Juilliard every day—despite the fact that I had made it part of my routine to feed Chet and walk him to the local dog park twice a day where I scooped up his poop while he played with the other pooches—there was no breaking the bond between a master and his ever faithful hound. I was, undeniably, the bottom rung in this house.

“Daddy’s gonna want to see you when he gets home, so come on down and join the party.”

Another moody grumble.

“I’ve got drinks to pour and food in the oven, so if you don’t come out now, I’m just gonna leave you here to mope all by yourself.”

A cranky sigh.

“Last chance.”

This time he let out a fart.

“Nice. That’s real nice. You’re on your own, you stinky mutt.”

I let out an exasperated humph at Chet then a groan as I pulled myself up off the floor.

“I heard that,” came Margot’s voice from the doorway. “You’re thirty-eight years old, Noah. Creaky bones and old-man groans aren’t supposed to kick in till you’re at least fifty.”

“Trust me, it’s not the mileage. It’s the bumps in the road.”

“Chet giving you attitude again?”

I sat on the bed. “I kinda wanted him to be there when Joel got home. I just want everything to be perfect tonight.”

“And it will be.” Margot sat next to me on the bed. “Why are you so wound up about everything?” She stopped and eyed me with suspicion. “Wait a minute, there’s something more going on here. You’re not just nervous about this party going off without a hitch. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

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