Page 42 of With Stars in Her Eyes
“So…”
“I don’t do the texting thing with people I like.”
“At all?”
“Nope. And I don’t miss it. There’s so much less uncertainty. I don’t have to interpret tone. I don’t have to wonder if a person actually likes me in the way I want to be liked. My phone stopped feeling like a time bomb in my purse.”
“If someone wants to talk to you? Like they want to date you…”
“They can call and talk for real. Or they could write me a note.”
Courtney grinned. “So basically you prefer dating in analog?”
I chuckled. “It sounds silly when you put it like that. But digital dating never got me very far, so I guess yes. I’ll talk on the phone because then I can hear tone, and the extra effort it takes tends to weed out people who aren’t that interested.” I flipped through the pages of the book I planned on starting first. “If people say they’re going to show up somewhere and then they just don’t appear, instead of having to field a bunch of inauthentic apology texts, I just have a nice drink or a nice meal with dessert first, and then I leave feeling like I dodged a bullet.”
“Wow…”
I risked a glance at Courtney, trying to gauge her reaction. “Obviouslyif I was superserious about someone, I’d let them text me. It’s just in the initial stages I like having some pretty firm boundaries about it.”
“So…” Courtney leaned forward. “If someone met you… and they wanted to see you more… what would you recommend in lieu of asking for your number at first?”
My mouth angled to the side as my cheeks heated. “I guess I’d recommend maybe sharing sandwiches at consistent intervals.”
“Oh?”
“And maybe some strategic use of the written word when the opportunity presents itself.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
For the next thirty minutes, we chatted away about books andmy silly family drama until the food was gone, and the door opened for my next appointment. Courtney left the stack of books for me on the counter, and I was left spending the rest of the day wishing I had just broken my rules and given her my goddamned phone number.
CHAPTER 13Courtney
My toes squinched in the green shag carpet of my living room.
For the first time ever, I had asked Sam if I could leave my shift at the store early. The day had been quiet, and I wanted to get home before Nic got in tonight to stay with me while attending a restaurant expo in Wichita.
If I failed again, I didn’t want an audience.
Thea had said she never wanted to risk losing the magic of photography by doing it on someone else’s terms, and I had known exactly what she meant. I had thought that picking up my bow again would just make me remember everything that I lost months ago, but I had not considered that there was a personal magic in music for me.
I crossed to the dining room and rummaged in my old tote bag that I always lugged with me to shows. The torn piece of paper I’d been searching for was all the way at the bottom. One side of the paper was covered in Demetrius’s elegant handwriting.
Courtney Starling Untitled Record #1: Potential Track List
It was followed by a list of tracks in order with asterisks next to those that would made the best lead singles. “Astrolabe” had five asterisks next to it. On the other side there was the first draft of what I wrote for the press release about the record.
I wrote most of these songs on a road trip across the country I took with my cousin when I was twenty-three. He didn’t know at the timeit was actually my escape. He didn’t know I was still bleeding from the abortion that had saved my life in every way imaginable. But I wrote “Astrolabe” on a beach alone near a café with a ship and astrolabe on the logo. It was the night before I decided to leave my marriage. I was leaving my religion too. I was staring out at the Pacific waves thinking about nineteenth-century sailors who only had the stars to show them the way. I hope everyone who feels like they’re drowning or lost in darkness can have a moment in their life that shows them that they already have what they need inside themselves to help them find home.
—Courtney Starling
I had even signed the draft with my real name without thinking.
While Demetrius was bent over the board with headphones on one ear, making a few last adjustments, I slid the paper to him. His eyes were glistening as he read, though he wouldn’t admit it. After reading, he turned the paper over and began writing the track list.
Without knowing how I got there, I sat behind my cello with my bare toes gripping the shag carpet. I lifted the bow and pulled it over a string, letting the note echo around the room.
Maybe all my work to put up walls around the different spheres of my life was backfiring now. The idea of not playing music because I had fucked up my career was ludicrous.
