by Tabatha Kiss
“Yes, she does.”
“She’s a fan,” I say. “I know it can seem like more from the outside but it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.” Ira leans forward an inch. “I worked with her on a daily basis for a year and every time I spoke to her, she asked about you. How’s Jonah? Where’s Jonah? There’s a show in town next week. Is Jonah staying here?”
I shake my head, hiding my pause. “Like I said, she’s a fan. Of course she’d be curious.”
“Oh, I didn’t say she wasn’t a fan, too. I’m saying she looks at you differently than you look at her and you need to be careful with how you proceed.”
“Careful with what?”
Ira glares at me. “Marla’s a sweet girl,” he says.
“I agree.”
“Smart.”
“I agree with that, too.”
“She could take over Oliver’s job someday if she really wanted to.”
“I can definitely see that. What’s your point?”
“My point is that Marla’s been through a lot,” he says slowly, “but her future is bright and it would be a downright tragedy if she stumbled because a Botsford broke her heart.”
“No one’s breaking anyone’s heart, Ira. Don’t be dramatic.”
“Don’t be willingly obtuse, Jonah.”
“Okay, let’s say it’s true,” I argue. “It’s just a crush. It’s not something to destroy a friendship over.”
Ira chews his cheek and nods his square jawline. “I hope you’re right. But that’s why they’re called crushes, Jo. They break shit.”
“No swearing around the baby!” Milly tuts at the two of us as she returns with two salad bowls in her hands.
Ira nods. “Sorry, Milly,” he says.
“We’ll behave,” I say, drawing Ira’s piqued brow.
You better, it says.
I look away and silently take my seat.
Even if there is some truth to what Ira is saying, that’s not the relationship Marla and I have. The last thing I want to do is let her become another Harmony. I saw what unrequited love did to Knox but I honestly don’t see that happening here again.
Marla and I work well together. I don’t get the impression that she takes the things I say in any way other than intended and I doubt she lies awake at night over-thinking what they could mean. She’s my friend. A friend I can’t easily get out of my head and insisted on never letting out of my sight again but... a friend nonetheless.
Am I being obtuse about this?
I need her. That’s what I’ve been telling myself — and others, admittedly. Have I been inadvertently fueling this crush, dangling an impossibility in front of her like an asshole for my own gain?
Or is it not as much of an impossibility as I think it is?
Fourteen
Marla
I can do this.
I can totally do this.
It’s just one verse, right? Just four or five lines.
No big deal.
Just solo-writing part of a song that might possibly be performed by my favorite band for millions of people to listen to and enjoy and critique and hate and make fun of and oh, my god, why did I think I could do this?
I shake out my hands as I reach for my phone on the coffee table in front of me. My fingers bump the baby monitor next to it and I quickly grab it before it topples to the living room floor and wakes up the boys in the next room.
I’ll just text Jonah and tell him I can’t do it. He’ll understand, right? He knew how much of an amateur I am when he asked me to write with him. He must know how heavy this is for me. There’s no way this will surprise him.
I swipe open a new message and type it out.
I can’t do this.
My thumb hovers over the send button. Some phantom feeling tingles my hand, willing me to stop moving entirely. I move my thumb upward and tap the media file he sent a few hours earlier instead.
It’s the recording he promised me. The first verse and bits of the chorus were put down on paper last night, quickly performed by Jonah himself with nothing but his magnetic voice and acoustic guitar. I’ve listened to it enough times tonight to have it completely memorized but one more listen before throwing in the towel couldn’t hurt, right?
I lie back on the couch and close my eyes. For the first time ever, I can literally see him playing this in my mind’s eye. Sure, I’ve seen him perform in concerts plenty before but that doesn’t quite compare to the details one soaks up sitting alone with him in a hotel room.
“You say so long.
You say we’re wrong…”
I crumble to pieces all over again. The way he pinches his guitar pick. The way the veins pop out of his forearms as he gently twists his wrist to play. The way his voice sounds like a bucket of warm water being poured down my back.
“Marla.”
I flinch and open my eyes to find my mother standing in the front doorway with bags of groceries under her arms. I shoot up to sit and yank the buds out of my ears. “Mom, hey…” I say as I plant my feet on the floor. “You’re home.”
She fumbles with the bags as she tries to close the door. “Help me out, will ya?”
I stand up and grab a few bags before they slip through her fingers. “Late-night shopping?” I ask.
“Just a few things. The boys okay?”
“Yeah.” We quietly carry the bags toward the kitchen. “Still sleeping last I checked.”
She nods and starts unpacking the bags. I help her put it all away — milk, eggs, some cereal — and head back into the living room to gather up my textbooks sprawled out on the coffee table. There’s no way I’m getting anything else in tonight with this fatigue. Might as well get some sleep and read on the bus tomorrow.
I click my phone on to double-check that my morning alarm is set to find my unsent message staring back at me.
I can’t do this.
My thumb hovers over that send button but, again, I can’t bring myself to touch it. The thought of disappointing Jonah makes me more nervous than coming up with words.
The first words you put down are literally the first words you put down.
I reach into my backpack for Jonah’s notebook. Pages and pages of scribbled words, crossed-out phrases, fixed and arranged over and over again until they worked.
I delete the unsent message and flip to the next blank page of his notebook instead.
I can do that.
I don’t see why not.
Fifteen
Jonah
If I had a Marla Gorchinsky problem before, then Ira’s little omission at dinner last night made it a full-on obsession.
Before she was just my muse. A beautiful, wonderful, amazing source of hopefully endless inspiration. She still is all of that but now, I’m having even more trouble getting her out of my head than I did before.
How did I not see this from the start?
Of course she has a crush on me.
It might even be more than that and here I’ve been leading her on with jokes about taking her back to my hotel room.
I’m a dick.
And not only am I thinking even more about her, I’ve started thinking about her in more different ways.
How she laughs from the depths of her gut.
And that little half-smile she does when something amuses her.
The way she looks at me like she never wants to stop… and how much I like it.
Red lips, a red skirt, and bright red knees.
I’m a fucking idiot.
How do I fix this?
Well, I can’t act on any of these new thoughts I’m having, that’s for damn sure. That’s exactly what happened between Knox and Harmony. He fell for her hard but she didn’t see him as much beyond a few weeks of fun before moving on to the next big thing. I’d never do that to Marla, though we said the same thing about Harmony at the time, too.
The last thing I want to do is upset what Marla and I have right now. It’s refreshing and fun and brand new. A ni
ce, platonic partnership that will reap great things for both of us as long as I keep my dick in my fucking pants.
Someone knocks twice on my car window and I flinch. Addison stands outside with suspicious eyes and a crooked smile, indicating me to move my ass and show her some attention.
I wave and switch the ignition off before pushing the door open. “Hey,” I greet her.
“What’s up?” she asks.
“Not much.”
“You’ve got that shell-shocked glare thing going on.”
“Just tired.” I close the door and look up at my family’s guest residence just off the main house. The others seemed to have arrived one-by-one during my private freak-out just now. “Everyone here?”
“Just waiting on you.”
“Great.”
We walk along the circle drive on the way to the front door. It opens before we reach it and my mother steps out with an empty silver tray nestled beneath her arm.
“Oh, good,” she says at me. “You decided to show up to your own meeting.”
I roll my eyes. “Seems like.”
Addison throws out her arms and picks up her pace to reach my mother faster. “Hi, Mama B!”
My mother accepts her enthusiastic embrace and laughs. “Better get in there before Bronson eats the ham and swiss I made for you, hun.”
Addison groans as she detaches and bolts inside. “Bastard…” she mumbles.
“I’ll bring out some more!” my mother promises as the door latches. “Any requests?” she asks me. “You’re my blood so I’m obligated to make up something special just for you.”
“No, not very hungry today,” I answer. “Thanks, though.”
She lightly taps my cheek and smiles. “Have fun, then,” she says. “Work hard!”
I nod and she passes by on her way back to the main house.
With a deep breath, I walk into the guest house. Voices instantly rise from deep inside, traveling into the foyer from the east wing. I step forward, slowly following them until I reach our practice space.
It was never meant to be a practice space for a band but it certainly became that over the years. It’s actually a sitting room but the acoustics were perfect for our frequent jam sessions back in high school. The habit stuck, much to my father’s disapproval, but he didn’t mind so long as he couldn’t hear us — ever — and we put everything back where it was supposed to be if one of his business partners came to visit.
“Jonah!”
Jordan announces my name loudly as I walk in and everyone turns on their couches to look at me. Addison and Katrina sit together on a loveseat with tiny sandwiches sat atop napkins in their laps while Knox and Bronson take up more than half a three-seater opposite of them.
Jordan stands in front of them with a clipboard in her hands. “You’re here,” she says at me.
I squeeze into the empty seat next to Knox. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask.
She twitches slightly but her smile doesn’t budge. “No reason.” Her throat clears as she looks at her clipboard. “We were just chatting about the show next week. As usual, the Sin and Sand is giving us a sixty-minute set but the encores usually stretch that into eighty and no one complains, so expect that going in.”
I nod. “All right,” I say.
“And on the way over here, the girls and I thought it’d be great if the first encore could be new material, so…” she claps her hand against the clipboard and grins between me and Knox, “whatcha guys got for us?”
The girls shift to stare at us. Bronson raises his head, his jaw still chewing away at a sandwich.
Knox nods. “Kat and I have been working on something,” he says.
“It’s not nearly ready for a show, though,” Katrina says, killing the suggestion outright.
“How about you, Jonah?” Jordan asks.
I shake my head. “Not really.”
Knox nudges my arm. “What about that song you played for us at the bar?” he asks. “That was good. Right, Bronson?”
Bronson nods. “It was good.”
“And simple enough to learn before Tuesday.”
My breath catches. “Actually, it’s not—”
“Simple is enough for me,” Addison says. “I’m in.”
Katrina shrugs. “I’d have to hear it first before I agree.”
Knox snorts. “It’s all we’ve got, Kat. Don’t be a snob.”
“I’m not a snob.”
Jordan tuts. “Guys…”
Knox taps my arm again. “Do you and your girl have anything else for us? In case Kat kills this one, too.”
“Girl?” Katrina blinks twice. “What girl?”
“Jo’s co-writing with some girl,” Knox says.
“Whoa, hold on.” Addison glares at me. “Are you serious? When was this decided?”
“What do you mean decided?” I ask.
“I mean since when do we collaborate with outside people without talking about it with the band first?” she asks.
“I did talk about it… with Knox and Bronson.” I point at them. “And they met her. She’s cool. You guys liked her, right?”
Knox nods with squinting eyes. “She was cool… from what I remember of that night…”
“I liked her,” Bronson says.
“Thank you,” I say. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
“No,” Katrina says. “Still plenty to worry about. Are you dating this girl?”
“No,” I say quickly.
“So you’re just writing songs with her? How is she qualified for that?”
“She’s… a fan,” I answer.
“A fan?”
“A big fan.”
“So you’re writing songs with some random fan?”
“She’s not random.” I exhale hard. “Can we just back up here a second?”
Katrina sighs at Knox. “I’m just saying all of this is sounding uncomfortably familiar to the rest of us.”
Knox notices. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Addison snorts at the ceiling. “Oh, puh-lease. You know damn well.”
“Guys.” Jordan whips out her stern voice. “Jonah’s right. Let’s just back up and—”
“Excuse us for not wanting to get straight-up Yoko’d again, Jordan.”
Knox raises his hands. “Don’t I have the right to defend myself here?”
“Me, too?” I ask.
“No!” Katrina and Addison say in unison.
Knox laughs. “At least save your judgment until you hear the songs. I’m telling you, ladies, Jo writes good on this girl.”
Finally, they go silent and all eyes lock on me.
Jordan takes a half-step forward. “Well, Jonah. Let’s hear it.”
I hesitate, though I’m not sure why. It’s not stage fright, obviously. It’s something deeper, more primal and protective.
Still, I reach into my pocket for my phone. “Unique Utopia,” I say. “That’s what it’s called.”
The others settle in as I swipe through my files to find it. I push play and I instantly flash back to the moments that birthed it.
Walking down to the lobby and spotting that red hair behind the desk.
Seeing the grief in her eyes as those assholes tried to con her out of something that could easily have cost her her job.
Admiring her strength as she told them no.
Feeling tepid rage when they refused to see how wonderful she was.
Christ, how did I not see her this way before?
“Wow.”
I look up to find the others still staring at me. The song is over now, the final strummings playing out and filling the room with a stiff silence.
“You wrote that?” Katrina asks.
I shove my phone back into my pocket. “Yeah,” I answer.
“It’s deep,” Addison muses, then quickly shrugs. “I’m still in.”
Bronson, having heard it before, gives me another thumbs up.
“See?” Knox says, smiling. “It’s all good. And J
onah’s a responsible boy. He’s keeping it all strictly professional, right, Jo?”
I swallow hard. “Yup.”
“Kat.” He eyes his sister. “You’re the final hold-out. You in or out?”
She lets out a light scoff. “I guess it has potential.”
Knox raises his hands. “Then, that’s it. We hunker down here and learn it all by Tuesday. Surprise folks with a new song. Let’s do it.”
I jolt from a nervous sucker punch. “Actually, I was thinking of recording this one solo,” I say.
They all fall to a pin-drop silence again. Smiles vanish and Knox twists into a defensive stance.
“Wait, what?” he spits. “Solo?”
I glance between their confused faces. “Like we said before, it’s different.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Maybe too different for Records.”
“Since when do we do anything solo?” he asks. “We made a very distinct pact not to make decisions that affect the band without talking to each other first.”
I scoff. “We were in fourth grade!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he hums sarcastically. “I didn’t realize childhood pacts came with an expiration date. Please, by all means. Launch your solo career. Have fun.”
“Knox, this is me talking to you about it first, all right? Nothing is set in stone here. I’m just thinking about loud, trying to do what’s best for all of us.”
“So, it’s true then,” Jordan says, her eyes wide. “You are thinking about leaving the band.”
I bite down hard. “For fuck’s sake, Jordan! Why is it either in or out with you?”
“Hey!” Addison glares at me. “Don’t yell at her, Jonah. She’s right. We’ve all talked about it. When you’re here, you’re not really here anymore.”
“Well, Addy, burnout’s a bitch,” I argue. “I’m tired and pissed off and maybe a few nights of sleep without the weight of the whole fucking band’s future on my shoulders would be nice.”
“He’s right,” Katrina says, forcing Addison to spin toward her in surprise. She shifts timidly before continuing. “We put a lot on him. It’s not fair.”
Bronson nods in agreement.
“Still doesn’t give him the right to plan out a solo move behind our backs with some fangirl,” Addison says.
