Page 13 of On My Side
“I remembered you’re lactose intolerant, so I used oat milk,” Audrey continues.
How the hell did she remember I’m lactose intolerant?Idon’t remember I’m lactose intolerant most days.
I stare at her and lift the mug to my mouth. I’m drinking cold coffee with the woman my nine-year-old self was certain he was going to marry. After running ten miles. There really is a first time for everything.
“Do you wanna walk?” she asks, motioning her head towards the direction I was running in.
I nod, and we begin to move.
“I want to apologize for yesterday,” she says after a few moments of silence. “I freaked out and probably freaked you out, and I’m sorry.”
“So you decided to interrupt my run?” I try to say it teasingly, hell, maybe even flirtatiously, but she winces.
“I know it’s probably another thing I should apologize for, but I’m impatient, and I couldn’t sleep last night because I felt ashamed of how I’d acted and…I’m so sorry, Ren. Mr. Q. Whatever…”
I stop walking, but she doesn’t notice and continues to walk. I watch in amusement as she continues to ramble about how bad she feels for about thirty seconds before realizing I’m no longer in step beside her. The stunned expression on her face as she turns around makes me laugh again. At my laughter, Audrey’s face reddens, and she bites her lower lip. God, even prettier than I remembered.
She shuffles back to me, an exaggerated scowl on her face. “Wow, way to prove you’re still the same dweeb you always were.”
Way to prove I’m still wondering what your lips would feel like against mine.
If I were still a practicing Catholic, I’d need to go to confession and recite a few Hail Marys to be absolved of lusting over her.
“Sorry,” I say. “But I think my weird behavior makes up for yours yesterday. You have to stop feeling guilty, or else I do too.”
She blushes again, and I want to trace the color with my thumb. I want to find out if her skin heats when she blushes like that, if she’d lean into my palm and let me find out what else makes her blush. Whereelseshe blushes.
“That’s oddly sweet. I think,” she says.
I shrug. “I’ll take it.”
She takes a deep breath, and averts her eyes to her mug. She’s staring into the coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe. “I still want you to teach Piper. If… if you want to. I’ll stay away and won’t bother you again, but she was so happy during your lesson and I don’t want to hold her back…”
“Parents are welcome to attend class whenever they want,” I interrupt. “If any teacher tells you otherwise, that’s shady as hell.”
She bites her lip again, and I want to get to my knees and beg her not to do that if I don’t get to bite it, too. “I just want you to know that if you don’t want to interact with me, I completely understand. This is for Piper, and I’ll do anything I can for that damn kid.”
“If you’re okay with it, I’m happy to continue teaching her, and you’ll have an open invitation. I think Piper would appreciate that, too. She talks about you like you hung the moon. Kind of like how you talk about her.”
She smiles into her coffee. “She’s the best mistake I ever made. I can’t even see it as a mistake anymore,” she says softly. “She’s too amazing.”
I want to ask her more about what happened all those years ago, but I know that’s too personal a question to ask. “She is,” I agree instead. “She’s talented as hell, too. I was shocked when she told me she’d never had any formal training.”
She straightens her back and looks at me. “That’s why I think this is important to do now. She wants to be a professional musician, and she wants guidance. How much do you charge per class?”
I stare at her. “No.”
She blinks at me. She’d always been tall and elegant, and while her body is softer, fewer sharp angles and lines, she’s still taller than any of my sisters. I’m six feet two, and she’s probably around five feet ten. “What do you meanno?”
“Audrey, I can’t charge you for piano lessons. You’reyou.”
She averts her eyes. “That doesn’t mean anything. How much is your regular rate?”
I wince and tell her my hourly rate. She doesn’t answer and instead stares silently out at the water. On clear days, you cansee Long Island across the sound. When we were kids, my siblings and I would always wave to our Nonna and Nonno, too young to understand they most definitely could not see us. We’ve stopped walking, and she’s covered in the golds and oranges and pinks of the newly-risen sun.
“Oh,” she finally says, fingers anxiously tapping the side of the mug.
It’s a lot of money, I know this. But it’s a pretty standard rate for a teacher of my expertise in the area.
