Page 29 of Over the Edge

“If that’s what it takes,” he says.

I haul myself off the bed and to the door. I swing it open to find him haunting my hallway, amber eyes twinkling with arrogance. His arms are crossed over his chest, biceps pressing against thefabric of his plain T-shirt. Screw him for having the audacity to look so good while I feel like shit.

I rush past him and down the stairs. If he wants me to check the piano, then I’ll check the damn piano as fast as I can. My ass is on the bench before he’s in the living room. I run up and down the keys in a chromatic scale to test each tone. Really, I barely pay attention to the sound.

“There,” I say. “It’s perfect. You can go now.”

“Going to write while I’m gone?” he asks, like he actually cares.

“No, I'm going to rot on my couch until I lose all perception of time.”

“I could stay.” I must make a face that displays the depth of my confusion because he adds, “I told you I’d help you. I’m already here. Neither of us have anything else going on.”

Correction—I would like to pretend my problems don’t exist while I finish my box of cereal.

Instead of responding I pull out my phone and tap away. His chimes and he pulls it from his pocket.

“‘Garrett, did you get a lobotomy?’ Seriously?” he says, mouth pulling tight as he reads off the name of the event I invited him to.

“I want to know. It’s the only reason you’d go out of your way to spend time with me.”

“If I did, life would be far less complicated.”

“Well, you got the invite, don’t leave me hanging,” I urge him, punctuating my words with a nod. A chime sounds from my phone this time, indicating his acceptance of the invite.

“What have you gotten started with?” he asks expectantly as he settles on the couch closest to me.

“It should be a love song.” Embarrassingly enough, that’s all I’ve got. Love songs are why I came here. They sell and are what I am—well,was—good at. Maybe If I had more time to prepare I’d have something better.

“Play something for me,” he prompts. I hesitate and he continues. “I’m not asking you to perform. Just show me what you’ve been playing with.”

I don’t want to. It would be like stripping naked here in the living room.

Growing up, piano practice was the one time I felt like I could be quiet, like I didn’t need to use words to justify the air I was breathing. It was a bit of a language too, the one way I felt like I could communicate with my family that I never messed up. Drew would be in the garage practicing a groove on his drums and I’d play in the living room with its plush cream carpet, couches with red slipcovers, and the windows that overlooked mom’s garden. We’d play completely different songs but depending on our selections, we knew exactly how the other was feeling. It would be similar if Mom put in one of her opera CDs, the entire mood in the house would change based on her selection.

When Drew pulled away it felt a little like I lost someone to have a conversation with. I remember right before I left for college I would play and play and play so the house felt less quiet, but even with all the music I never felt like I managed to do it for my parents or for myself. I want to be able to be understood like that with someone again.

“Fine,” I say, then swallow as I spin away from him to face the piano. I steal myself. It’s just Garrett. He doesn’t give a shit either way.

With one last breath I play a concept I have for a bridge humming along as I go because words have been evading me recently. It has a swing to it, leaning into the feel of Jazz Standards.

“Stop.” His voice cuts through the room before I’m done.

“What?” I demand.

His jaw ticks and his eyebrows shoot up in that stupid fucking expression. “Don’t pull something like that and waste both of our time.”

“I’m not.”

“And that’s why you played a version of ‘Tell Me Everything’ slowed down,” he says, referencing one of my more upbeat songs from my first album. What’s worse is that he’s right and I didn’t even notice.

“You’ve listened to my music?” I ask.

“Professional courtesy.”

“Fantastic.” I roll my eyes, because there’s no other reason Garrett would go out of his way to listen to pop hits.

“Are you going to take this seriously?”

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