More Than Maybe - Erin Hahn Page 0,49
mean it, even though I have to swerve to avoid Dad, who’s still twitching and spinning around the island.
“Cull back?” she asks me.
“Nah. I boarded home. He was finishing up some things.” I slouch into the living room, flipping on the TV and turning it up to hear it over my dad’s rendition of “Here In Your Bedroom.” I find a rerun of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and lean back into the couch, resolving not to think about anything else tonight.
VADA
My blog post about our concert is up *bites lip*
LUKE
Are you hinting that I should read it right away?
VADA
Maybe. Idk why I’m so nervous about this one. It was just so incredible, I’m feeling inadequate.
LUKE
Full disclosure, I have a Google alert for when your blog updates.
VADA
YOU DO NOT.
LUKE
I comment on every single one. I’m obsessed. With the blog, I mean.
VADA
Shut up.
LUKE
You shut up. Ever hear of L8RSK8R?
VADA
That’s you?! Now I want to read back!
LUKE
*groan* Don’t judge me.
VADA
…
VADA
…
VADA
This goes back two years. I’m tearing up, Luke.
LUKE
Because I’m creepy and you’re scared?
LUKE
Please not that.
VADA
YouTube: Greg Laswell “And Then You”
LUKE
Oh. Well, then. I’m glad.
* * *
The following morning, I make a decision. Maybe Vada and her plans have rubbed off on me. The thing is, like Vada, I applied to school in California. Berkeley, to be exact. My mum’s an alum, so that helped me score early admission, but mostly, I wanted to be far away from my family. I need some space. I want the freedom to be who I want to be without my dad standing over my shoulder and making his own, overlapping plans. Berkeley also happens to have one of the most prestigious musical composition programs in the United States, and I sort of hoped the genius might rub off on me.
I thought I might apply down the line. Like, next year, or after I got my gen eds out of the way, but I’m starting to think there’s no real reason to wait.
I take a deep breath and click on the application icon on their website.
Worst they can say is no.
18
VADA
Behind the Music
by Vada Carsewell
The Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show.
Nirvana on MTV Unplugged in New York.
Carrie Underwood’s audition of “I Can’t Make You Love Me” on American Idol.
There are moments when the musical world stops turning for a split second and listens. Just listens. As if the entire population, all the damn genres, stand up as one and recognize a shift in the culture.
Recently, friends, I felt a shift. A mother-loving seismic imbalance that unseated me completely and threw me across the room before I could even think about finding a doorway. That shift is called (Not) Warren, and they were incredible. Five eye-closers for real, and y’all know I don’t give those freely.
The reason for the fanfare comes down to the magical pairing of Carl Andrews and Maureen McCarthy. I was smitten from the first jaunty, electronic mix, but by the end, I was ready to cry my eyes out. Experiencing the way their aching vocals intertwined. Like burning alive, but somehow worth it.
I’m afraid I can’t do them justice, but I can do this: get thee to your favorite (legal) streaming platform and check them out for yourself. In this very precise order, or I can’t be held responsible:
“All the Words”
“Kingdom of Now”
“Fallen In Like”
“What You Don’t Say”
Then take two Motrin for your inevitable heartache and comment in the morning.
—Vada
* * *
Sunday is easily becoming my favorite day of the week. After the rocky start, my Sunday crew has gotten our shift down to a science. Particularly when we’re all here. Things were busy early on for March Madness, but the game ended well before our usual 10:00 p.m. close, and since it’s the last day of spring break, I don’t have homework. Now it’s 11:00 p.m., and we’re sweeping the floor and the jukebox is blaring. We pooled our tips and set the machine to random and are playing a game of “Name That Tune.” Whoever says it first gets a dollar. I’m up, but barely. Top 40 isn’t really my forte. Luke is close behind, and Kazi is surprising us all in third. Ben is straggling neck and neck with Kazi’s girlfriend, Tessa, and our bouncer, Mike, refuses to compete because he’s a ride-or-die Journey fan. And only Journey.
I collect a dollar as I win another round and do a little twirl with the broom. “I think we need to sweeten the pot.”
“That’s because you’re winning,” Kazi grumbles good-naturedly.
I ignore him. “What if the loser