Page 40 of Wants and Needs
We find London, Logan, and Larson sitting in my living room. I don’t stop walking, just move right along to my bedroom, and before the door closes I hear Carter’s deep voice.
I know my siblings will probably have a similar reaction to Mom, so I undress quickly, start the shower, then take the two minutes to answer the questions so my algorithm can make me the playlist I need.
Once that’s done, I connect it to the speaker I have in the bathroom and get into the warm shower.
I’d laugh at the first song that comes on if I had the energy, it’s Darth Vader’s march, and I do feel like building a planet that kills other planets would be useful right about now.
A smaller scale one of course. I could point it at Dirk and make him stop existing all together.
Dad always says I have a homicidal streak in me, and if I’m not careful it’ll be cut loose someday. Mom always looks proud when she retorts that I got it from her.
I get lost in the idea, thinking how it could be done nowadays, and even think there should be a sound-ray that could incapacitate any person who hears. That would be more practical than a Death Star for sure.
When I’m on the third Tchaikovsky track on this list, “Swan Lake,” I realize I’m perfectly clean and really need to get out now.
I don’t stop the music as I dress in my perfectly worn-in sweatpants and soft tee—the perfect combo that’s reserved for hard days.
Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons: Winter,” begins as I walk to the door that leads to where I’m going to have to talk, most likely.
My siblings mean well, they always have, and they accommodate me to the point of annoyance, but they probably have a lot of questions.
I can only hope Carter already answered most of them.
I’m enjoying “L’inverno,” though, so I look down at my phone and decide to wait until that’s done, and check my messages.
There’s a confirmation from Tristan for Monday’s stupid ball, where I’ll talk to Michelle Blackwell and try to convince her to be an investor for ESoothe. She’s the person who runs Broadway—her family has for as long as Broadway has existed—and therefore shenot only has the money needed to be an investor, but also an extensive knowledge of music and the effect and appeal it has on the public. Also, as far as my parents can tell—the only opinions I trust in this world—she’s a good person, so it feels like she’s the only real option to help us get the deals with the streaming services done.
There’s also an unexpected text that has me raising my eyebrows, asking for sessions on Thursday and Friday.
I think about it for only two seconds then text back that I’ll be there.
That work is, after all, what’s paying for ESoothe.
And who knows, maybe I’ll only get a sheet and not have to interact with anyone but the producer. That’s always the best case scenario.
The crescendo of the violins makes me smile and tells me exactly how much I need some time away from people. Hopefully The Storm will accomodate me.
I wait until the last whisper of the violin to pause the song, and then I walk out, ready to ask my brothers to have pity on me. I won’t ask London because she would never take pity on me, something that makes me feel loved, accepted, and furious all at once.
When I walk into the living room, though, it’s empty. I hear murmurs from the kitchen, so that’s where I go, and I find them all eating like starving animals.
I have to wince at the picture they make, and then get them all paper towels.
“Where is Carter?” I ask in a quiet tone, hoping they get the message that quiet is the only thing I can take right now.
“He left, but he asked us to give you this.” Larson pushes apiece of paper toward where I’m standing by the head of the table. “It’s his number. He told us to ask you to text him when you can so you can get your story straight.”
I don’t know if he’s being respectful of my needs or is just too engrossed in his food to speak any louder, but I appreciate it either way.
Though he’s the one I clash with the most, I still love him, and I still know my life is better because he’s in it. I don’t feel that way about anyone who isn’t family?—
Except Carter, my brain whispers to me, but I dismiss it.
Am I avoiding thinking any further about the way Carter acted today? Or about the reason why we need to meet andget our story straight?
Of course I am.
Just like I’m going to avoid any instinct to look further into how it made me feel.
