in your house.” He never woke from the messages, but he always saw them the next morning.
She laughed softly, the corners of her eyes creasing. “Right.” She picked up one of the cubes and popped it into her mouth. “You used Japanese mayonnaise.”
“That’s the only … type you like.”
She watched him for a moment.
“What?”
“Is everything all right?”
“Is something wrong with my color?” He turned to the sink and washed up the utensils.
“I’ll be right back,” she said and left the kitchen.
While Chloe went upstairs, he took the plate and went into the living room.
“Here.” She handed him a set of sheet music when she got back to him. “What do you think?”
He couldn’t sing anymore, but he still knew how to read music.
He looked through the sheet music and heard himself singing the song in his head.
The song wasn’t for him, of course. It couldn’t be.
“Sounds like another … hit.”
“Sounds like something you’d like to sing?”
“If I can still sing,” he said.
“Last night I checked out some of your songs from your last few albums.” She took another cube and pushed the plate over to him. “Why did you sing those songs? I don’t believe you even like them.”
He wasn’t sure why he did. “I guess … I was swept up in everything. Everything … was arranged for me, and … I just did what I was told.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I did, in the beginning. At first it … was just a couple … of those songs in my … album, then the … recording label was deciding … everything.” He shook his head. “There was just so … much unhappiness in the production of … the albums that I … couldn’t care much.”
Her focus shifted from him to the air around him. “And that’s where you lost your heart to sing.”
“You don’t think it has … anything to do with my … my drinking?”
She continued to stare at his surroundings.
People used to think Chloe was weird because she couldn’t maintain eye contact. She didn’t do it as much as before, not that it ever mattered to him. Her habit was part of who she was, and he’d always accepted it, just as she accepted his stuttering.
There was something more in her gaze, though. She seemed to be observing the colors instead of getting distracted by them.
“No,” she said and finally looked back at him. “I saw the video of your last performance. You were drunk, and maybe alcohol did affect your voice a little, but I don’t believe you can lose your voice completely due to your drinking.”
He didn’t want to disappoint Chloe, but he wasn’t sure if she was right.
“You know, I’ve never asked what you love about singing.”
“I like … that I don’t … stutter when I sing.”
“Is that all?”
He gazed right at her. “I like the way you look at me when I sing.”
“I’m sure everyone looks at you the way I do when you sing.”
“I don’t care about everyone else.”
She fell silent, but continued looking at him.
There it was again, the invisible pull he felt when he saw her working on her song. He cleared his throat and turned his face away.
Neither said anything while Chloe reached for another piece of sandwich.
“Are you trying to sweet-talk me into giving you this song?” she asked, breaking the silence.
He laughed.
“Because you don’t have to,” she said and took another piece of sandwich. “It’s yours. It isn’t completed yet, but when it is, it’s yours.”
“You spent hours working … on a song … for someone who can … no longer sing.”
“Do you still want to sing?” She propped her elbow against the back of the couch and twisted over to look at him. “Not if you can, but if you want.”
He hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t know.”
She pulled her legs up onto the couch as she nodded, then shrugged. “Well, you have time to figure things out.”
Christopher looked at the empty plate. “Do you want another
She laughed softly, the corners of her eyes creasing. “Right.” She picked up one of the cubes and popped it into her mouth. “You used Japanese mayonnaise.”
“That’s the only … type you like.”
She watched him for a moment.
“What?”
“Is everything all right?”
“Is something wrong with my color?” He turned to the sink and washed up the utensils.
“I’ll be right back,” she said and left the kitchen.
While Chloe went upstairs, he took the plate and went into the living room.
“Here.” She handed him a set of sheet music when she got back to him. “What do you think?”
He couldn’t sing anymore, but he still knew how to read music.
He looked through the sheet music and heard himself singing the song in his head.
The song wasn’t for him, of course. It couldn’t be.
“Sounds like another … hit.”
“Sounds like something you’d like to sing?”
“If I can still sing,” he said.
“Last night I checked out some of your songs from your last few albums.” She took another cube and pushed the plate over to him. “Why did you sing those songs? I don’t believe you even like them.”
He wasn’t sure why he did. “I guess … I was swept up in everything. Everything … was arranged for me, and … I just did what I was told.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I did, in the beginning. At first it … was just a couple … of those songs in my … album, then the … recording label was deciding … everything.” He shook his head. “There was just so … much unhappiness in the production of … the albums that I … couldn’t care much.”
Her focus shifted from him to the air around him. “And that’s where you lost your heart to sing.”
“You don’t think it has … anything to do with my … my drinking?”
She continued to stare at his surroundings.
People used to think Chloe was weird because she couldn’t maintain eye contact. She didn’t do it as much as before, not that it ever mattered to him. Her habit was part of who she was, and he’d always accepted it, just as she accepted his stuttering.
There was something more in her gaze, though. She seemed to be observing the colors instead of getting distracted by them.
“No,” she said and finally looked back at him. “I saw the video of your last performance. You were drunk, and maybe alcohol did affect your voice a little, but I don’t believe you can lose your voice completely due to your drinking.”
He didn’t want to disappoint Chloe, but he wasn’t sure if she was right.
“You know, I’ve never asked what you love about singing.”
“I like … that I don’t … stutter when I sing.”
“Is that all?”
He gazed right at her. “I like the way you look at me when I sing.”
“I’m sure everyone looks at you the way I do when you sing.”
“I don’t care about everyone else.”
She fell silent, but continued looking at him.
There it was again, the invisible pull he felt when he saw her working on her song. He cleared his throat and turned his face away.
Neither said anything while Chloe reached for another piece of sandwich.
“Are you trying to sweet-talk me into giving you this song?” she asked, breaking the silence.
He laughed.
“Because you don’t have to,” she said and took another piece of sandwich. “It’s yours. It isn’t completed yet, but when it is, it’s yours.”
“You spent hours working … on a song … for someone who can … no longer sing.”
“Do you still want to sing?” She propped her elbow against the back of the couch and twisted over to look at him. “Not if you can, but if you want.”
He hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t know.”
She pulled her legs up onto the couch as she nodded, then shrugged. “Well, you have time to figure things out.”
Christopher looked at the empty plate. “Do you want another
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