“Oh my god.” I laugh. She knows exactly how to make me smile.
“Yeah. We’ll work on that one at rehearsal this afternoon. I’m totally serious.”
“I think it’s great,” I say.
She takes me by the hand. “Let’s go sing it to Paul.”
Twenty
At our Saturday-morning rehearsal, we are totally off. Evita is a little bummed because her date with Paul turned out to be kind of boring and uninspiring. (“He likes terrible music. Total dealbreaker.”) Somehow, she shoves that disappointment aside and is all business. But Theo and I are both a mess, and I think it’s affecting Alice, too, who keeps forgetting the lyrics. When Theo misses his entrance on a piece we’ve been playing for months, Evita just stops singing.
“Theo!” she says into the mic.
“God. Sorry,” he says, setting his bow on his music stand.
Evita shuts off the drum loop and looks at Alice. “You sounded great, though.”
“Thanks,” Alice says.
“Let’s take five. I’m gonna make some coffee and the two of you should get your heads out of your rears,” Evita says.
Evita goes into the kitchen. Theo looks at me sheepishly. “That was totally my fault. I just kept spacing out.”
“Oh! Are we talking to each other?” I ask him. Because it’s the first time he’s made eye contact with me since orchestra class yesterday morning.
“We weren’t not talking,” Theo says defensively.
Alice looks between me and Theo but doesn’t say anything.
“You’re being weird,” I tell him.
He nods his head toward the kitchen and gives me a warning glance. I roll my eyes at him. Sometimes it’s easier to be annoyed than hurt. I put my viola down and walk into the kitchen.
“I don’t get it,” Evita says. She’s leaning on the counter, watching the coffeemaker drip. “It sounds like we never practice. Like we haven’t been playing the same fucking pieces for weeks.”
“I know. We could work on that new piece,” I say. “I actually have a new riff we could try it with.”
“Which new piece?” Evita asks.
“The sexy one. Rocket. Or … rock. It. Two words. Did we ever decide?”
“Lacey Burke! You minx! I didn’t think you’d actually want to do that song!”
“Are you kidding? It was hilarious.”
“Alice!” Evita calls. When Alice joins us in the kitchen, Evita says, “Weigh in on these lyrics and if you would sing them.”
Evita sings it again, and Alice laughs. “That’s filthy.”
“We need some lines about consent,” Evita says.
“Enthusiastic consent,” I add.
“You are a broken record.” Evita laughs.
I can feel myself shedding layers of annoyance and confusion and stress, standing in this kitchen listening to coffee brew. Then Theo pokes his head around the doorframe of the kitchen.
“Guys, I think maybe I’m not feeling that great,” he says apologetically.
“Will coffee help?” Evita asks.
“I just don’t think I’m going to be that useful rehearsing when I feel like this,” he says. He’s back to not looking at me.
“That’s fine. We can work on writing new stuff,” I say, daring him to make eye contact. “Feel better.”
“Okay. I’ll see y’all later,” he says.
Evita looks like someone just smacked her. “Wait. Seriously? You guys, we have gig in exactly two weeks. I’m sorry you’re not feeling good, but…”
“Evita, it’s fine,” Alice says. “Maybe I can finally get all the lyrics down and we can work on a new song.”
“Can we please pick up tomorrow first thing?” Evita asks.
“I’m volunteering tomorrow,” I say.
“Seriously, guys?” Evita looks pissed. “If we don’t rehearse today or tomorrow, we wasted a whole weekend. Let’s just get it together and keep rehearsing.”
“I really gotta go. You guys keep working. I’m just not going to be actually helpful,” Theo says.
“You’re the backbone of the Sparrows!” Evita wails. “And Lacey, I thought you were just trying out volunteering last weekend, and you’re going again?”
“Yeah. Well, I changed my independent study to focus on being a doula so I can volunteer regularly. Last week was pretty amazing. And I want to be experienced when it’s time for Eli to be born,” I say.
“Come on! You know I’ll sound like a jerk if I argue with that.” Then Evita glares at Theo. “Bye, Theo. Just go,” she says, shooing him out.
“Don’t be mad,” he says.
“I’ll be mad if I want to. But feel better or whatever,” she says as he leaves. “Honestly. What is going on with him?” she asks. “Did he tell you anything?”
I shake my head.
“I hope this isn’t Lily Ann stuff. I will be so mad if she keeps interfering with the Sparrows from beyond the girlfriend grave.”
“He did seem kind of bummed,” Alice says.
“Let’s record some percussion tracks for this song,” Evita says. “Let’s fuel up. It’s half-caf,” she tells Alice. She hands us mugs and we all sit around with coffee and brainstorm lyrics. The song might have started out as a joke, but now the three of us are taking it seriously. When we have a couple verses, Evita wants to record all kinds of noises to make the beat.
I’m participating and recording the things she asks me to, but I only feel partially here. Between concentrating on clapping beats into a microphone, I try to guess what Theo is thinking. Maybe he left because he can tell I’m mad at him, and he doesn’t want to let me down. I’m so distracted by the idea that he might not actually like me like that. He might be acting awkward just because he doesn’t know how to say that. My hands feel heavy and lazy, and I have to give each pass I’m recording a few tries before I get it right. If Evita’s frustrated, she’s not showing it.
“Try that one again,” she says. “I’d rather have a single recording that’s a few measures long so any looping isn’t as obvious, and you keep falling behind the beat at the end.”
“Alice could try it,” I suggest.
Alice studies me for only a split second before nodding. “Sure. I can try it.”
“Lacey has the sharpest clap, though,” Evita says.
“Oh, let me try,” Alice argues.
“I’m gonna grab more coffee,” I say.
I shake my head, hoping to dislodge the worries. If anything that happened between me and Theo ruins our band, I will never forgive myself.
After Alice claps the beat (perfectly on her first try), Evita calls in to me. “Hey, Lacey, since Theo left his cello here, I don’t suppose you’d be able to pluck a little bass line for us, would you?” she asks.
I put the mug down on the counter and pop back into the living room. “Cello and viola aren’t the same thing. I’m not sure Theo would be super happy about it.”
“This is so pointless,” Evita says.
“Why don’t I just play it on the viola and teach it to him later?” I suggest.
“Okay. Or! Why don’t you try percussing on your viola some. Would putting fingers on the strings change the tones it makes when you tap on it?”
“I’ll play around,” I say.
When we pack it in for the night, I’m exhausted, emotionally more than anything. My eyes are starting to glaze over. Even after Alice leaves, Evita and I huddle around her laptop, layering parts together to build the track for the new song.
“I need to sleep,” I tell her, taking off my headphones.
“Yeah. You need to be up early, huh?” she asks.
I nod.
“I’m sorry if I was cranky about you volunteering,” she says.
“I get it. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to play music with you, though,” I tell her.
She leans her head on my shoulder. “I’m just a little worried you won’t want to be in the band when we graduate.”
“Are you kiddi
ng? I’ll always want to be in the band.”
“I don’t know. Maybe not if you go to nursing school, or if all your weekends are spent at hospitals. I get wanting to help Alice. I want to help Alice. I’d catch a thousand of her babies if I thought it would help her.”
“She’d be touched to hear that,” I say.
“It’s just that it’s like on the opposite side of the spectrum from music. Like, nursing is so sciencey and music is so artsy.”
“I don’t know if I agree with that,” I say. “Both are sort of about caring for people and wanting to connect with them.”
“That’s so cheesy and I love it,” Evita says.
Twenty-one
I’m helping a fourth-time mom named Jessica. She’s rocking the drug-free labor thing. The only reason she needs me is because her babysitter is sick and her husband is on childcare duty. I feel bad that her husband is out in the waiting room with three kids under the age of five. I offered to switch with him and watch the kids, but he told me that they were too much of a handful. And whenever I walk through the halls and hear the ruckus they’re making, I’m glad he didn’t take me up on the offer.
My mom is working today, and she’s Jessica’s nurse. I felt nervous at first, every time Mom walked in the door. I want to be good at this so she’ll be proud, but pretty soon, I’m too busy focusing on Jessica to even give my mom a second thought.
Jessica looks at me after a particularly intense contraction. Her forehead is sweating. Her arms are shaky. “Are you thirsty?” I ask her. She gives me a little nod, and I put the drinking straw to her lips. Even when she doesn’t want a back rub or anything, I’m just here, being present.
When Jessica’s labor becomes intense, I give her counter-pressure on her lower back as she leans over; I breathe with her; I give her ice packs for her head. And even though she’s doing the hardest work imaginable, she smiles and thanks me. After a contraction finishes, Kelly comes in and smiles.
“How are you feeling?” she asks Jessica.
Jessica says, “I think I might be ready.”
“Oh! That’s great; let’s meet this baby!” Kelly ducks her head out the door and calls my mom in. Then she washes her hands and puts on gloves. She tells my mom and me that Jessica delivered her last baby in two quick pushes. I feel special to be included in this little conversation, but then I realize that Jessica’s husband should be here.
So I tell Jessica that and duck out. Her husband jumps up when he sees me.
“She’s getting ready to push, so, really, let me watch the kids. We won’t leave the waiting room. It’ll be fine,” I tell him.
He looks flushed and excited, and it melts my heart. I’m sad to miss the birth, but I know my mom will fill me in on all the details.
“You sure?” he asks.
“Of course.” The youngest is asleep lying across two cushioned chairs and the older two are coloring.
As soon as the dad has gone down the hall, the youngest is awakened by howling from the oldest when the middle child bites him. “No biting!” I’m suddenly out of my depth. I fancy myself good with kids, but I don’t know these three, so I pull out the big guns. “Who wants to watch a movie on my phone?” This works as long as I’m holding the phone, which means I’m sitting on the floor cross-legged and holding it to my chest as they sit in three waiting room chairs, slack jawed and transfixed. I ignore my phone when it buzzes, because I don’t want to break the spell the kids are under.
Then it buzzes again. And again. Someone is sending me rapid-fire texts. And they just have to wait. Even though it could maybe be Theo breaking his silence, telling me how he actually feels instead of dodging me. I’m afraid I won’t like what he has to say, though, so I focus on the kids.
The movie is more than half over when my mom finds us in the waiting room. “Your mom and dad say you can come meet your new sibling,” she says with a smile.
“After this part?” the oldest boy asks, pointing to my phone.
“Movie’s going off. Follow the nurse,” I order them, and somehow they fall into line. “I’m just gonna wait here,” I tell my mom.
“Sure,” she says. And then she mouths It’s a girl and winks at me. I climb onto one of the waiting room chairs, suddenly feeling exhausted.
My phone reveals seven messages from Theo.
Lacey! We should talk. What are you up to?
Shit. You’re totally volunteering right now.
Sorry.
I hope this isn’t dinging while some poor lady is pushing with all her might.
Ding Ding Ding.
Sorry. I dunno. Call me when you get a chance. I’m crawling out of my skin.
Not literally.
He’s joking. Relief washes over me. If he’s joking, that must mean good things. At least it should mean talking.
I let myself smile as I type a response.
I’m volunteering. But I’m on a sort of break. What’s up? You still have all your skin?
As soon as I hit send, I cringe. Because I’m picturing all his skin. And I’ve seen a lot of it. I mean, not in sexual situations. Obviously. But just getting dressed and stuff. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit to noticing his skin. And his muscles, which always surprise me because of how thin he looks with clothes on. And …
Oh my god. I need to stop thinking about this. What if we never talk about that kiss again? Except I’m not about to let that happen.
A lull, like, you could have a visitor? Because I don’t want to have just wasted that five bucks to park …
My heart jumps.
Um. You’re here?
Dude. I fucking love hospitals. Being here reminds me of that time my grandfather had open-heart surgery that didn’t save him. Good times.
Seriously. Where are you?
The question, Burke, is: Where are YOU?
I smile.
Labor and Delivery. Fourth floor. I’m in the waiting room.
The elevator dings, and I stand with anticipation. But then I feel overeager and stupid, so I sit back down and try to look busy on my phone. It’s like I don’t even recognize myself, getting frazzled over my best friend, who—yes—I am massively attracted to, but who has known me since before puberty, and who knew when I had that first crush on a kid named Jake, which, looking back, was a horrible choice for me, since we had nothing in common and he is now a known marijuana distributor. Theo hung out with me that time I had bronchitis and had to keep spitting out phlegm because it made me want to vomit. He was the first person I ever played an original composition for. If I wasn’t nervous then, why am I now?
And yet, when he rounds the corner with a somewhat dinky bouquet of flowers, I can’t keep the smile off my face nor my butt in the chair.
“Hey!” I say.
“Hey there.” He crosses the waiting room in only a few long strides and sits next to me. Right next to me.
“Umm. You bought flowers?” He looks good. Happy.
“No. I was just wandering around on the main floor for so long, I took an awkwardly long time in the gift shop, so I didn’t want to not buy something, you know?” Then he shakes his head. “That’s probably stupid. I bet lots of people wander around the gift shop when they have time to kill.”
“Yeah. That’s basically what the gift shop is for.”
“Well. They’re for you.” He hands them over, like he’s glad to be rid of them.
“Thanks.” They are sort of pretty. But I don’t know what to do with them. They aren’t explicitly a romantic gesture. Right? “Maybe we can put them at the nurses’ station to brighten things up a bit.”
“This whole floor is bright. Compared to the morgue.”
“Were you ever in the morgue?” I ask, shocked.
“Well. No. But I’d imagine it isn’t as nice as this.” He slides down in his chair and puts his head on my shoulder. I think about resting my cheek on his head when he suddenly straightens back up. “Oh. God. I’m sorry. You probably have stuff to do, right?
Yeah. I’ll go. Unless you want me to wait till you’re done so we can … talk? Maybe?”
“Yes!” I say, probably way too eagerly. We’re going to talk. And he looks happy. Not at all like he’s preparing to let me down gently. Unless that’s what the flowers were for. “I mean, I’d like to wrap things up with this one mom. And my mom is here, but she probably won’t mind me cutting out a little early…”
He brightens considerably. “Yeah. Finish, and we can talk.”
“Where’s Evita?”
“She and Alice are practicing vocal stuff and working on lyrics until we can get there.”
“What time did you tell them you’d meet up?”
“Eight?”
I look at the clock. It isn’t even five yet. But I don’t think I’m going to get to another birth before seven. Theo and I will have three hours, just the two of us. The thought, honestly, makes me a little tingly.
“I’ll go wrap up,” I say. I can’t hide my dorky grin.
As I turn to leave with the flowers, Theo reaches out and grabs my arm. He stands, grasps a carnation whose stem is already a bit mangled, breaks it off, tucks it behind my ear, and nods approval. He’s grinning, too. I roll my eyes at him, even though I’m really thinking about how nice it feels when he tickles my ear.
I give the flowers to Jessica and her family. I admire her new baby girl. Jessica gets teary-eyed when she says good-bye to me. It’s really special, being with a woman during labor. I’ve only known her half a day, but we’re close somehow.
I stop at the nurses’ station and tell my mom that I’m leaving with Theo.
Kelly stops me right outside the waiting room.
“You did a great job in there. I mean it—you should start booking summer clients now if you think you want to attend births when school lets out. I know it feels far away, but you might want to try out the on-call lifestyle. And you could probably charge a decent amount with your experience now.”
I consider that. I hadn’t thought so far ahead as a summer job. There are a million other decisions I’ll have to make this year. Namely: college. Even though a summer job as a doula would be great, I’m just not ready to admit that the end of senior year is going to be here before I know it.
The Birds, the Bees, and You and Me Page 14
