Page 13 of Over the Edge

Quinn

Cute

I’d demand to watch Netflix specials

I smile to myself, happy to share Hartsfall with her. The only flaw in Quinn’s impeccable taste, and really I wouldn’t consider it a flaw even if she definitely does, is her love of low budget small town romance movies. The predictable plots and cheesy dialogue were the white noise of our college years.

Evelyn

Of course

I wait for another text but after a few minutes nothing comes. I still have half an hour before I meet Garrett, so I go up and change out of my stained sweats and into jeans and a T-shirt. To my dismay, this only takes a few minutes and when I get back to the living room I’m faced with my piano. The stupid motherfucker. It’s not its fault I’m struggling, but somehow it manages to look smug.

There’s no getting around the fact that if I want to write the way I used to, I need to play. I go to the piano and pull out the black bench. As I sit, I’m greeted with a view of the deck out back that extends into a sprawling yard with a fire pit.

I guide the keyboard cover back so it slots into place with a light thud. My fingers hover over the spread of black and white. I welcome the familiar hum of possibility, of being in complete control of where I’ll start.

Music is the voice I’ve relied on so many times when I couldn’t find the right words to express how I feel. Playing the piano I can set free every emotion I keep to myself. All the things that contradict the illusion that I’m perfectly content. I can be the version of myself the people I care about need me to be if I have music. That matters far more than the album, but both are slipping away from me.

Simple. I’ll start simple with something I don’t have to put any effort into to get right. My hands drift down into position for an E major scale. After all this time, a thrill still rushes through me with how fast I can make my way up and down the octaves without stumbling.

The keys are cool to the touch.

E F# G#

The vibration of the hammers striking strings in the body of the piano.

A B C#

C# C# C#

It’s like my brain’s scratched against a Brillo pad, but I press the key again and again, drawing out the torment.

Out of tune.

It’s out of tune. Fucking perfect.

Garrett has claimed one of the benches along the walking path weaving alongside the gazebo. Today he’s wearing a button down and slacks, far closer to what I’m used to seeing him in.Still, I won’t be unable to unsee the way he lifted his shirt. That has been filed in a very permanent folder in the back of my mind.

“Do you?” Garrett asks, tilting his head toward me, yet somehow managing to keep his eyes on his phone as he taps at the screen.

“Do I what?” I ask. Did he say something while I was remembering exactly how speechless a passing glimpse of his abs made me feel yesterday?

He sighs as if it’s a burden to continue the conversation that he started. “Do you have a warrant out for your arrest as the rhinestones on your chest are declaring to the general populace?”

“Oh, this little thing?” I pick at the fabric of my white shirt emblazoned with ruby red rhinestone lettering. “I try to keep people guessing. Maybe I do and this is the best way to throw people off my trail.”

“That line of logic is inherently flawed.”

“Thank you for your freakish ability to make jokes less funny. I just like seeing what puts you on edge. Don’t you worry, I have plenty more shirts that I’ll save just for you.” I packed a variety of clothes, but over the years I’ve thoroughly enjoyed seeing what can get a reaction out of him. When I was rifling through the dresser this morning, I couldn’t help myself.

“Why? New York apartments are small enough without having to accommodatenoveltyT-shirts,” he says, making the word novelty sound dirty, and not the fun type of dirty either.

His mention of my apartment has me bristling. Right, I’m supposed to be mad at him. It’s not like I expected us to make each other friendship bracelets or anything when he agreed to help me move. But there’s always been something about Garrett.

He gets all annoyed with me, and I just want to toy with him more. The only times I’ve seen him blush are when I feed him a stupid innuendo or three. It’s like there’s a secret part of himselfhe lets out around me. Sue me for wanting more of it. But work always comes first for Garrett, stupid to think he’d make an exception for me.

“Avery and I get them for each other every year,” I explain. It’s a bit of a compromise to the problem ofwhat do you get someone who can buy themself anything they might want?The answer: shirts from the bowels of the internet. “If you’re done with helping an oil company steal property from orphans, shall we go our merry little way?”

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