by Katia Rose
“But we had so much more in common,” I continue. “We liked the same music. We both went to McGill. Nabil is the one who got me playing live gigs in the first place. I don’t think we would have gotten where we are without each other.”
“But?” I look over and find Paige squinting at me.
“But what?”
“You sound, I don’t know, wistful? You sound like something changed.”
Everything changed. My whole life changed.
“Youssef?” she prompts. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
It’s happening again: that floating feeling, like I’m clawing at the bed just to keep from drifting out the window. It’s the same sensation that’s been taking me over for weeks, the one everyone keeps calling ‘shock’ or ‘imposter syndrome’ whenever I start to bring it up.
Somehow, I know Paige will listen—really listen, and even though we’ve already been through a lot today, maybe what I need is to be heard.
“I’m going to sound like a tool,” I admit, “especially to someone like you.”
“Like me?”
“Yeah.” I roll onto my side again. “You know exactly what you want, and you fight for it.”
The way she talks about rising to the top as a DJ is so matter of fact, like there’s no option but success.
“And you don’t know what you want?”
“I...I thought I did, but it’s like...It’s like the whole world is telling me to go one way, and there’s this single voice telling me to do something else.”
It sounds a lot like Jacob’s voice, offering me half of Schenkman Studios. I chuckle at the image of Jacob as some sort of little bald angel on my shoulder.
“What?” Paige asks.
“I was just thinking about my boss at the studio. He’s the definition of a crotchety old bastard, but there’s just something about that place. Nobody else gets why I still even work there, but when I’m there I feel...” I shake my head. “It’s crazy. All of this is crazy.”
I wait for her to agree with me, but instead, she bumps her leg with mine. “Hey. It’s not. When you told me you work as a mastering engineer, I could see it so clearly right away. It’s perfect for you. No one hears things the way you do.”
Her praise hits me hard, and I pause to let it wash over me.
“Thank you. That means a lot.” I’ve been holding back on telling anyone about this for so long that it all starts coming out. “Jacob, my boss, he, uh, kind of made me an offer. He’s giving me the chance to buy in and make some of the changes I know would take the place to the next level, but it’s like...I mean, I’m headlining fucking Luxe next month. If I’m not supposed to have some huge DJ career, then why is all of this happening?”
“Wait a minute.” Paige sits up a little straighter, her eyes flaring wide. “You’re headlining Luxe? How the fuck did I miss that? Didn’t they already announce the headliners?”
“The Sunday night act dropped out,” I explain. “You were probably too busy, you know, dealing with the aftermath of getting hit by a car to miss the official announcement.”
“Sunday night?” she repeats. I nod, and she starts laughing. “Damn. It was, like, the highlight of my career to get booked to play their pavilion that night, and you’re fucking headlining.”
This is more in line with the reactions I get from other people. I start wondering if I really do sound like a tool to her, but she doesn’t leave me hanging for long.
“Youssef.” She bumps my leg again. “I know this might not come off as the most trustworthy advice, considering...how much I tend to reside on the other side of the spectrum, but maybe you’re letting everybody else in a little too much. You say you’re in the middle of this huge dilemma, but I think maybe...maybe you’re a lot closer to the truth than you realize.”
I stay quiet for a moment, and it hits me. I haven’t felt this still in a long time. When I’m with Paige, what she’s talking about feels possible, like I could lay here by her side and let the truth approach us both. I’m grounded, not grasping and desperate but calm as I contemplate my choices: all the ones I’ve made, and all the ones that stretch out in front of me.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe the truth has been here all along, waiting for me like I’ve been waiting for her.
We lay there for so long I turn my head to check if she’s asleep, but her eyes are still open, fixed on the window across from the bed now.
“You’re very wise. Did you know that?” I joke to clear some of the heaviness from the air.
She looks at me and lifts her mouth in a lazy smile. “I have my moments.”
I can’t help it. I raise my finger to trace the edges of her lips. Sometimes she’s so beautiful it hurts. Her eyes close, her breath warm on the pad of my finger as the heat between us starts to build again. I trail my finger along her jaw, down her throat, and all the way to the little hollow between her collarbones.
“Damn it,” she mutters, squirming a little. “Will you please just kiss me again?”
“Paige.” I lean over her and speak the truest words I’ve said all day. “It would be my pleasure.”
Fifteen
Youssef
RADIO EDIT: A version of a song that has been adjusted to be suitable for radio play
“You seem unusually buoyant today.”
I chuckle, and the coffee mug in my hand shakes a little. I set it down on the makeshift counter in the Schenkman Studios break room and turn to face Jacob.
“Buoyant?” I repeat.
“You’re bobbing around like a rave kid on E. You sure you need that caffeine?”
He comes over and grabs his own mug to pour the remnants of what’s left in the coffeepot inside.
“Nobody calls it E anymore.” I raise my mug to him. “You better watch it. Your age is showing.”
“You better watch it,” he grumbles as he grabs the cream carton out of the mini fridge, “or I’ll put you out on the street.”
Normally I wouldn’t push his buttons any further than this, but he’s right—I am buoyant. One might even call me jubilant. A week has passed since that day with Paige in my apartment, and I still haven’t come down from the high. It’s been years since I’ve done Molly, but Jacob’s comparison isn’t too far off: everything feels softer, smoother, like there’s a steady trickle of dopamine in my veins rounding out the rough edges of the world.
Even the rough edges of Jacob Schenkman aren’t as sharp—and the dude has a lot of those.
“Speaking of old,” I say, making my way over to the battered leather couch and dropping onto one of the cushions, “when are you going to let me pimp this place out? If we moved things around, we could turn this room into a rehearsal space and then use the—”
“When are you going to give me an answer about my offer?” he interrupts. “I told you I would think about some of your propositions once you’re co-owner.”
I smirk to myself as I sip my coffee. He’s always complaining about this room too; he just likes to be a hardass about everything.
I gulp down the dark roast as he pulls something out of the fridge to microwave. It’s past 6PM, but I was up late last night and early this morning to finish mastering an album on time, and I’ll need the caffeine to get me through tonight. Nabil wants me to formally meet the waitress from the night of my ‘headlining Luxe party.’ They’ve been seeing each other ever since, and he told me I should bring Paige along too.
I figured it was way too early for any kind of double date, but when I brought it up as a joke, Paige shocked me by saying we should do it.
There’s been a certain caution to how we’re handling things, like we’ve glued a shattered vase back together and we’re scared to fill it up just yet. Most of the time we just hang around her apartment or mine and talk about anything and everything. Just sitting beside her on the couch and listening to the way she sees the world has been more fulfilling than the entirety of some of my past relationships. We haven’t slept together yet, but we’ve g
otten as far as we did that first day a few more times. I don’t know how I’m going to handle sex if it’s any more incredible than just the feeling of her skin on mine, her hands in my hair, her lips on my neck...
“Youssef! You gonna answer me or just stare into space like an idiot?”
I blink myself out of my daze and find Jacob leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his faded Pixies t-shirt as he glowers at me.
“Huh?”
He shakes his head. “Maybe you do need the caffeine. I asked if you’d given the offer any more thought.”
“Oh.” I finish my coffee and dangle the mug off one of my fingers. “You know what? I have.”
He raises his bushy eyebrows when I don’t go on. Jacob has serious eyebrow game.
I swallow before I continue. It’s true that I’ve been thinking about the offer—more and more every day. Whenever I’m here, I can’t stop myself from looking around and imagining this place as mine. I think about what it would look like, what kind of people would walk in the doors, what kind of sounds would be produced here before making their way out into the world. Whenever I’m holding Paige and getting way ahead of myself picturing a life with her, I end up imagining coming home from the studio with takeout for the two of us, or calling her from work while she’s off being a badass and touring the continent.
I hardly ever picture touring myself.
“If I did it...” I begin. “I’d have to stop touring, right? For a while at least? It’s not like I’d be one of those DJs who owns all these businesses and then pays someone else to run them.”
I’d have to give it all up: the shows, the publicity gigs, the record deals that would take me out of town for weeks on end. Even something like the single Mohammad is trying to arrange with Nautilus Records down in LA might be too much.
“You want to pay someone else to run it?” Jacob deadpans, calling my bluff.
I exhale and admit the truth. “No. I don’t. That wouldn’t really be the point.”
The microwave dings, and Jacob brings his plate of reheated shawarma over so he can sit in the chair across from me.
“I’m glad you see it that way. I didn’t make you the offer because I want an investor. I want you, Youssef. I’m...Well, I’m just going to come right out and say it. This business is what I leave to this industry, to the world. You know Liza and I don’t have kids, and I...Well, I...”
He clears his throat and stuffs his mouth with a huge forkful of beef, probably to assert that he hasn’t gone soft, but it doesn’t stop me from sitting there in stunned silence.
In a weird way, I’ve always thought of Jacob as a kind of second dad to me—a really grumpy dad who threatens me far too often, but a dad nonetheless. He’s been one of the steadiest things about my adult life, and he took a chance on training me to master when he could have hired plenty of people with actual experience. He showed me things about myself I never knew were there.
“Jacob, that’s—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He waves me off before I can keep going. “I just want you to know I’m not taking some smooth operator corporate guy coming in here on your behalf. I’m selling to you. Better the devil you know, eh?”
He chuckles at his own backhanded compliment.
“Wow, Jacob. Thanks.”
I get up and start washing my mug, my mind still racing with the possibilities—and the consequences. I know I could still gig in Montreal if I was running this place, but the thrill of the big crowds, of knowing my music is creating a storm to be remembered in the places I can only reach by leaving this city—I’d be losing that. I’d be losing all the things I spent years dreaming about just when they’ve finally dropped into my hands. I’d be losing everything the people I love cheer me on about every day. That weight alone is heavy enough to make my shoulders slump.
“It’s just a lot to sacrifice, you know? I’ve been working for years on my music, and now with this EP—”
Jacob scoffs loud enough to fill the room. He’s about the only person in my life who makes his disdain for my EP clear—other than Paige, although she’s more subtle about it.
“Sacrifice is a strong word, Youssef.” I look over and see him waving his fork at me. “But who am I to tell you what’s a sacrifice and what’s not?”
I almost wish he would, but I know he’s right. That’s something only I can tell myself.
Paige meets me on the sidewalk outside her building later that evening, just as dusk is starting to fall. She’s wearing a baggy, grey long-sleeved zip-up that almost reaches the knees of her black leggings. Her right arm is crossed over her chest in its sling, and she’s chewing on the nails of her left hand when she spots me.
It’s pretty adorable.
She’s pretty adorable, and I get to take her out tonight. I don’t even know what we are to each other yet, but as that same buoyancy Jacob made fun of fills me up all over again, I don’t really care.
“Hey, wounded soldier,” I call as I jog the remaining few metres between us. “How is your ailing limb today?”
She fiddles with the edge of her sling. “I can’t wait to get this fucking thing off.”
“I don’t know. I think it’s a cute look for you,” I tease, knowing just how much she hates the word ‘cute.’
Sure enough, I earn myself a death glare. I raise my hands in surrender.
“Kidding, kidding. Forgive me for this grievous sin.”
She keeps glaring. “I’ll think about it.”
“So...” I lean my body in the direction we should be heading up the sidewalk. “Shall we?”
I start walking, but when I look back, I find her rooted to the spot.
“Paige?”
“Yeah, uh...” I watch her take a deep breath and close her eyes for a second. “I’m coming.”
She catches up with me, and I steal a few glances at her as we walk. Her mouth is set in a tight line, and I can practically feel the nerves radiating off her.
“You okay?” I ask when we’ve made it a block up towards Avenue Mont-Royal. We’re going to Taverne Toulouse tonight, since Nabil’s lady friend is meeting us after her shift across the street.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
She does not sound convincing.
“Paige.”
She ignores the ‘I call bullshit’ tone of my voice.
“Paige.” I stop, and she stops too, staring up the street ahead of us. “We don’t have to go, you know. I know it’s a lot, especially so soon. It’s just casual, and I told Nabil we’re only going as old friends, but I don’t want this to make things difficult for us.”
She looks at me, chewing on her lip for a second before she speaks. “I don’t want to make things difficult for...us.”
Us. Just two letters, but hearing them from her makes my pulse race.
“That’s why I wanted to do this in the first place,” she continues. “I want to be, like...normal, but I don’t know if—I’m not sure if—”
The tremble in her voice tugs on something deep in my chest. I see it now: just how much she’s struggling. I didn’t think much about why she agreed to coming out tonight, but now it’s starting to make sense, and the reason is breaking my heart.
“Paige.” I wrap my hand around her good shoulder. “Hey. It’s okay.”
“I just feel like everything’s changing,” she murmurs, her eyes on mine. “Everything I thought was true isn’t anymore, and I don’t know if I can keep up. I don’t have a lot of experience with...normal things. I want to be the kind of person you can take to meet your friends at bars. I want to be the kind of person you can...have...things with, and I hate that it’s so hard for me. You must hate it too.”
I slip my arm down to circle her waist and pull her to me as best I can without hurting her arm.
“You are normal, Paige, and there is nothing about you I hate,” I say with my nose buried in her hair. “We will take this at whatever pace we need to, okay?”
A knot of anger forms in my st
omach at the thought of all she’s been through, everything that’s made her think she’s broken or bad.
“We really don’t have to go tonight,” I say once she’s pulled back a little.
She shakes her head. “No. I want to. I do. I...I needed to hear you say that.”
“Anytime.”
I squeeze her hand and then let go; as far as we’ve come, I don’t know when Paige Rivera will be the ‘walking up the street holding hands’ type. We start moving again, but she’s far less tense now, and I let myself settle a little more too. We both deserve a night out where we can leave everything else behind.
When we’re a couple blocks away, I pull out my phone to see if Nabil has sent any updates. There’s nothing from him, but I do have a voicemail and four texts from Mohammad.
“What is it?” Paige asks after I let out an involuntary sigh.
“My manager,” I explain. “He’s not good at waiting for phone calls.”
We stop at an intersection, and Paige nods at my phone. “You can call him, if you want. I don’t mind.”
I shake my head. I don’t really feel like contemplating my career right now.
“It’s probably just his millionth Nautilus update,” I mutter as I shove my phone back in my pocket.
Paige freezes. “Nautilus? As in Nautilus Records?”
“Uh, yeah.”
The traffic light has already changed, but she doesn’t move or say anything else.
“I might be doing a single with them,” I explain, “or some kind of deal? I’m not even sure at this point. Mohammad is freaking out about it, and the details seem to change every day.”
She seems to reboot herself into motion mode again and leads us across the street.
“So that’s in LA?” Her voice is unnaturally even.
It doesn’t surprise me that she knows where Nautilus is based off the top of her head. I’ve never met anyone as dedicated to keeping up with the music industry as she is. She could give Mohammad a run for his money.
