again.
“I cannot believe you.”
I shrugged, realizing then that her hand was still in mine, her long, white fingers draped over my palm. “My mom loved old musicals. I’ve seen a million of them, watched them with her ever since I was a kid. I think that’s where I learned to really love music, honestly. Or not. I dunno. Our house was never quiet, Mom couldn’t stand it. She always had something on, classic rock from the 70s, they’d say now. At the time, it was just the radio.”
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
I smirked. “You have no idea.”
“Except that you’re tone deaf. I would have guessed that.”
I sighed. “I wish I wasn’t. My mom could sing like an angel.”
Her face softened at the mention of my mother. “I can’t imagine losing my mama. I know it’ll happen — they’re already in their seventies. I’m trying to convince them to retire, but it’s no easy task. They never planned for much of anything.”
I didn’t question her openness, assuming it was her concussion. “You’re close?”
She nodded, eyes closed. “They’re my safe place. I don’t have to be anyone but me when I’m around them.”
I didn’t press her, sensing that if I pushed, she’d lock it down again. I squeezed her hand. “Stay awake, or I’m switching to Music Man .”
That elicited a soft laugh as the car came to a stop. I glanced out the window and saw we’d reached the hospital.
“Thanks,” she said to the driver as I opened the door and helped her out, slipping an arm around her waist.
I tucked her into my side, and it felt good, taking care of someone. It had been a long time. A very long time. Liz and I were rarely tender, more intent on destroying each other than taking care of one another. I wondered if this was what everyone else felt in their relationships. Not like they were a dead end, a brick wall, but an open road. If it was possible to really be in it together.
I saw my brother and Ramona together and knew it was. Or Patrick and his girlfriend, Rose.
Maybe I just thought it wasn’t for me. That it couldn’t be me. That I wasn’t made for it. But if I were being honest with myself, I’d admit that the idea of repeating what I went through with Liz scared the hell out of me.
But for the first time in more than a decade, I felt the desire to try. Whether it was with the girl pressed into my side, I didn’t know. But I was starting to hope it would be.
Two hours later, we pulled up to her brownstone in Park Slope, a ritzy neighborhood in Brooklyn. I couldn’t help but gape at the beautiful old building, wondering how she could afford such a place, then wondering exactly how much television producers made. She was able to walk on her own at that point, and was sure to tell me so as she climbed out.
“Seriously,” she insisted. “I’m fine. My driver can take you back to Tonic.”
I slid across the bench to get out, but she barred my way. “Is anyone home to take care of you?”
“My cousin and her daughter will be home in a few hours.”
“A few? What time?”
“Six.”
I gave her a look. “That’s five hours from now. The doctor said someone has to wake you up every few hours if you go to sleep.”
“I’ll set an alarm.” The words were firm.
“I’m staying.”
Her jaw clenched, and she let out a breath. “I really appreciate all your help today, honestly, but I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” I said as I slid back to my door and climbed out, smiling at her over the roof of the car, in part because she looked so pissed.
“What the hell are you going to do in my apartment for five hours?”
“Make sure you don’t have a subdural hematoma. Maybe read. Probably go through your medicine cabinet.”
“Joel,” she warned.
I walked around the car to the sidewalk where she stood. “Listen, if something were to happen to you when I could have stayed, I’d never forgive myself.
“I cannot believe you.”
I shrugged, realizing then that her hand was still in mine, her long, white fingers draped over my palm. “My mom loved old musicals. I’ve seen a million of them, watched them with her ever since I was a kid. I think that’s where I learned to really love music, honestly. Or not. I dunno. Our house was never quiet, Mom couldn’t stand it. She always had something on, classic rock from the 70s, they’d say now. At the time, it was just the radio.”
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
I smirked. “You have no idea.”
“Except that you’re tone deaf. I would have guessed that.”
I sighed. “I wish I wasn’t. My mom could sing like an angel.”
Her face softened at the mention of my mother. “I can’t imagine losing my mama. I know it’ll happen — they’re already in their seventies. I’m trying to convince them to retire, but it’s no easy task. They never planned for much of anything.”
I didn’t question her openness, assuming it was her concussion. “You’re close?”
She nodded, eyes closed. “They’re my safe place. I don’t have to be anyone but me when I’m around them.”
I didn’t press her, sensing that if I pushed, she’d lock it down again. I squeezed her hand. “Stay awake, or I’m switching to Music Man .”
That elicited a soft laugh as the car came to a stop. I glanced out the window and saw we’d reached the hospital.
“Thanks,” she said to the driver as I opened the door and helped her out, slipping an arm around her waist.
I tucked her into my side, and it felt good, taking care of someone. It had been a long time. A very long time. Liz and I were rarely tender, more intent on destroying each other than taking care of one another. I wondered if this was what everyone else felt in their relationships. Not like they were a dead end, a brick wall, but an open road. If it was possible to really be in it together.
I saw my brother and Ramona together and knew it was. Or Patrick and his girlfriend, Rose.
Maybe I just thought it wasn’t for me. That it couldn’t be me. That I wasn’t made for it. But if I were being honest with myself, I’d admit that the idea of repeating what I went through with Liz scared the hell out of me.
But for the first time in more than a decade, I felt the desire to try. Whether it was with the girl pressed into my side, I didn’t know. But I was starting to hope it would be.
Two hours later, we pulled up to her brownstone in Park Slope, a ritzy neighborhood in Brooklyn. I couldn’t help but gape at the beautiful old building, wondering how she could afford such a place, then wondering exactly how much television producers made. She was able to walk on her own at that point, and was sure to tell me so as she climbed out.
“Seriously,” she insisted. “I’m fine. My driver can take you back to Tonic.”
I slid across the bench to get out, but she barred my way. “Is anyone home to take care of you?”
“My cousin and her daughter will be home in a few hours.”
“A few? What time?”
“Six.”
I gave her a look. “That’s five hours from now. The doctor said someone has to wake you up every few hours if you go to sleep.”
“I’ll set an alarm.” The words were firm.
“I’m staying.”
Her jaw clenched, and she let out a breath. “I really appreciate all your help today, honestly, but I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” I said as I slid back to my door and climbed out, smiling at her over the roof of the car, in part because she looked so pissed.
“What the hell are you going to do in my apartment for five hours?”
“Make sure you don’t have a subdural hematoma. Maybe read. Probably go through your medicine cabinet.”
“Joel,” she warned.
I walked around the car to the sidewalk where she stood. “Listen, if something were to happen to you when I could have stayed, I’d never forgive myself.
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