out of the kitchen, mute, and perch on one end of the loveseat I bought when I moved in here. That, my mattress, and my linens are the only things I bought new. All my other housewares came from various thrift stores and estate sales I’ve scavenged since we moved to LA. Katie, Mia, and I shared an apartment for a while. But I moved in here after the accident, taking what I bought for that apartment with me, and replacing as much as I could. But since it’s just me and I never have anyone over, I haven’t added more seating to the living room. So Colt sits on the other cushion, much closer than I’m comfortable with at the moment, but there’s not exactly anywhere else for him to sit, unless I drag over one of the chairs from my tiny dining table.
He drapes his arm across the back of the couch, his fingers trailing close to my shoulder, and I hold my breath in anticipation of him touching me, but he doesn’t.
“So …” he starts, but the word lingers in the air, just floating there like a deflating balloon.
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t.
“So,” I repeat, hoping maybe that’ll jumpstart something.
But again, the word just sits there, flopping on the floor like a fish out of water.
“La,” I whisper, unable to help myself.
He cracks a smile. “Should I finish with Ti and Do?” he asks, his voice quivering with suppressed laughter.
I shrug. “Your call.”
His laughter echoes through my tiny apartment, filling up the space and sweeping out the dying Sos, replacing their awkwardness with warmth.
He’s still smiling even after his laughter fades, his eyes filled with a newfound respect I hadn’t realized was missing. He bends his elbow and rests his head on his fist. “So you’re not just a pretty face and a voice. You actually know about music too.”
I shrug, torn between annoyance at his assumption that I wouldn’t and happiness that my knowledge makes him respect me more. “Some.”
“My sister-in-law is a violinist. Studied music in college. She didn’t graduate, because she decided to join my brother on tour and get married, but I’ve learned a lot from her. Jonathan has too. He credits her for getting him back on stage. The story goes that he was working on a song and couldn’t get it right. He played it for her, she tinkered with it on the piano for five minutes, and then it was perfect. A friend of his convinced him to play it at a party not long after that, someone recorded it and posted it online, the video went viral, and here we are.” He lifts his free hand and lets it fall into his lap.
“That’s cool.” I’m not really sure what else there is to say to that. I knew that Johnny B’s wife was a musician too and a frequent collaborator with other artists. We never used her, partly because we weren’t big enough to get a slot on her schedule, and partly because her style doesn’t necessarily mesh with ours. At least that’s what we always said.
Colt’s smile slips. “Yeah. Cool. That’s one word for it.”
It’s my turn to raise my eyebrows to invite further explanation. Because the tone of Colt’s voice makes it seem like cool isn’t the word he would choose. “You don’t get along well with your sister-in-law? Is she a diva or a spoiled princess or something?”
Soft laughter escapes his lips, and he shakes his head, dropping his hand to the back of the couch again, his finger trailing over my shoulder this time. “No. No, Gabby’s great, actually. My other sister-in-law, Lauren, is too. They’ve never treated me like the dumb little kid my brothers still see me as.” He shrugs. “Maybe because I’m only a year younger than they are. Or because we didn’t grow up together.”
“Then what’s the problem?” I prod. Maybe I shouldn’t bother. We should be figuring out how we’re going to handle our immediate and long term future, after all. But I want to know more. I want to know what makes him tick.
He sighs. “Nothing. It’s great that Jonathan’s on top again. Really. It’s just frustrating, because he didn’t really care before. Or at least he said he didn’t. I was the one trying to get us back together, playing again, performing again. After he went to college it got harder, and when Brendan left, it was even worse. By then, they’d refuse to