say with a smile as I take her plate that has been sitting with just half the struffoli still on it. I dump the remains in the sink, rinse the plate, and put it in the dishwasher.
“A farmer,” she says with a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Like have cows and—”
“Organic crops,” she cuts me off with a quickness. “Have a little farm stand, sell what I could, give the extras to those who needed it most.”
“And now? Same thing?”
“No fair. You have to answer,” she says as I grab some milk out of the fridge to heat up and make some hot cocoa.
I laugh. “Musician.”
“I can see you as a lead guitarist in a boy band.”
I look over my shoulder and catch a grin, and that damn dimple pops.
“Guitarist? Pfft. I wanted to sing and play guitar, own the stage like Memphis Black from STD, the first band my parents put together.”
She crinkles up her nose. “That’s a disgusting name.”
I nod and can’t help but laugh. “A last-minute decision after Mom and Dad got them their first opening act on a major stage. It was local and someone pulled out. Dad went hard after that spot, because he believed in the four-man band that had talent out the ass, but no direction and no idea how to make it big. Dad didn’t really either, but he and Mom decided they wanted to show people they could make their dreams come true.”
She points over her shoulder. “And so they did.”
“Yeah.” I shake my head and smile at the framed words that Dad apparently spewed to Mom. A company mission statement, of sorts. “Yeah, they did.” I get lost for a moment thinking about how damn good life can be, and how much I want that someday. Then I look back at her and see she’s looking at me with contemplation. I don’t want her to see too deep.
I turn and walk over to grab some mugs as I continue the story. “The band they opened for was huge. Well, back then, they were hitting number one all over the world. The Burning Souls band. The lead singer is a shrink now. Fucked-up beginnings, statistically speaking. He should never have made it to where he is, so he’s a fucking legend in my mind, an inspiration to all those who don’t even dare to dream.
“Anyway.” I pour the milk from the tea kettle into the mugs and continue, “So, the story goes that they wanted to make an impact, use the opportunity that fell at their feet, given to them by fate.” I pause, remembering she didn’t believe in it but decide not to retract the use of the word, because it’s something I believe in one hundred percent. “They needed to look like they had their shit together, with merch, signs, banners, you know; make their brand visible, memorable, and everything. The band didn’t have a solid name. Steel-something. And Mom, Dad, and Nick D. kind of felt it was overused in this family.
“Two of the guys weren’t cool with that. They wanted to pay respect to my parents, an homage of some sort. And Memphis and River, the drummer, are … well, were rebels in any way they could be, so they came up with the name change last minute. They all voted on it, and it passed. They quickly became known as STD, which obviously pissed off everyone except Memphis and River. But the brand, the talent, and the sex appeal, it all sells music. They hit charts with every release.” I shake my head, laughing to myself as I scoop out the cocoa mix then dump it in the mugs.
I look away from the cup I’m stirring to see she’s looking down, saying not a damn thing.
“Don’t hold back on me now, Savvy. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m attempting to be a gracious guest.”
I laugh as I stir the other mug. “Fuck that. Say what you’re thinking. We’re friends; we don’t dilute. Give it to me one hundred proof.” I set the spoon down and walk to the fridge for some whipped cream.
“Sex sells, to me, feels like money over morals. Another way to exploit women. Hold power over them. Make them feel like they’re nothing but tits and a vagina.”
“One way to look at it,” I say, popping the top. “And sure, some music is very objectifying.”
“So, you’re saying your family’s label, Forever Four, isn’t one of those?” Her question is more like an accusation.