My Lullaby of You

by Alia Rose

  Silence. I opened my eyes.

  Will gave me a pained expression. “Seth, I don’t think it was a nightmare.”

  I stared at him, blinking a few times as the memory of the day before came back to me. I looked down at my hand, which ached. It was still clutching my mom’s diary entry.

  I stared at it, the feelings sinking back in.

  Amy.

  I swallowed, keeping my composure. I looked at Will. “Thank you.”

  Will nodded, his brow still wrinkled with concern. “What do you need?”

  I shook my head. “Right now?” I let out a pathetic laugh. “A ride to the beach would be great.”

  He extended his hand, and I grabbed it as he pulled me into a one-armed hug.

  When I reached the beach, all I wanted to do was throw myself at the water and never return, but as I made my way across the sand, there was one thing standing in my way.

  “You should have told me,” Amy said as I sat down next to her. She looked straight ahead, her hair in a messy bun, her arms crossed on her chest.

  “I know.”

  She whipped her head toward me. “How long did you know? Did you know before you got here?”

  “No! I didn’t even know John had remarried!”

  Her voice rose. “Did you honestly think I wasn’t going to figure it out?! I’m not stupid, Seth. You came to my house asking for him. Were you ever going to tell me?”

  I winced at the pleading sound in her voice. Her pain mixed with my own and the choices I had made this summer weren’t hovering anymore. They were exploding. I thought of my mom, wondering what she would tell me to do, tell me to say.

  Apologize. The word echoed in my mind. I inhaled sharply and squeezed my eyes shut before letting it out.

  “I’m sorry, Amy, okay!” I yelled back at her. “I’m sorry! I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t! I can’t change the fact that I’m John’s son or that he married your mom. I can’t change the fact that we met and that I hurt you.”

  “You should have told me,” she repeated, her voice raspy. I looked down at her and could tell she was trying not to cry.

  “I can’t trust you,” she whispered. “I wish I’d never met you.”

  “Amy.” Her words stung what was left of my heart. I touched her shoulder and she shrugged me off.

  “What if John never comes back, Seth? My mom can’t go through someone leaving her again.” She looked at me, terror in her eyes.

  At the mention of his name, anger flared through me. “Your mom deserves better than John.”

  Amy pushed herself off the sand. “My mom doesn’t want better!”

  She began walking away and I quickly went after her. “Amy, wait—”

  She turned around and I almost ran into her. “I’m leaving in two weeks!” she said desperately, crying. She pushed me hard in the chest. “She’ll probably kill herself like your mom did.”

  I staggered back and blinked, realizing what had come out of her mouth.

  I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. How dare she.

  I watched as she sucked in her breath and let it out sharply.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I…I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s done,” I said tightly, not looking at her.

  We stood there in silence. I stared at her feet, then her knobby knees. My anger began to fade as I realized that she had every right to be angry with me. She didn’t deserve this.

  I cleared my throat, breaking the silence. “I’m leaving tomorrow, so this is it,” I said finally.

  She looked up, a flicker of surprise showing on her face. She nodded.

  I hadn’t decided I was leaving until that moment. It felt like the right thing to say. She wanted me gone, and I wasn’t sure I could handle another fight in this town. Shelby, the town my mom had loved, was suffocating me.

  She let out a sigh and I looked at her face, everything I had grown so attached to. I wanted to take her pain away, the pain I’d caused, and go back to the nights lying on the beach. Those nights seemed so far away, and I didn’t want to let them go. Not now, not ever.

  “Listen,” I began, moving toward her. “I’m not leaving until evening. I want to make things right with you.” I stared into her glossy eyes, reaching to touch her cheek. Her skin was warm against my hand. “Meet me before I go?”

  She turned her face and I dropped my hand. “Or don’t, and I’ll understand.”

  She looked at me then and nodded again. I studied her face a moment longer before touching my lips to her forehead, lingering there until I couldn’t stand to be near her anymore. I walked away quickly, not turning back, breathing heavily and trying to calm myself down.

  We can make this work, I told myself.

  But as I reached my hotel room, the pit in my stomach hadn’t dissipated. There was something about Amy’s expression that left me unconvinced.

  And in the end, I was right.

  She didn’t come.

  WINTER

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Amy

  “There’s no fascia,” my professor criticized.

  I looked down at the sketch on my desk and then at my professor, who was sitting in my chair.

  “Do you see it?” he asked. “Or, rather, not see it?”

  I nodded and he continued, “See, you need a fascia.” He turned to the next page of my sketchbook and drew a part of my roof. “The fascia is what closes off the roof rafters. Without a fascia, you have no way of attaching the gutters and, without gutters, you are going to have water going straight down.” He demonstrated with thick arrows. I watched carefully and he looked up at me. “Do you know where that water will go?”

  I didn’t answer, waiting for him to answer his own question. He enjoyed that—he never really expected anyone else to know.

  “Straight into your foundation. And trust me, sunshine, you do not want that to happen,” he sighed, writing “sunshine” in capital letters under his arrows and giving it a bold exclamation point. He got out of my chair and asked, “Making more sense?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “All right, I want to see those fascias.” He tapped my desk and moved onto the next person.

  I continued to stare at my sketch, now looking completely wrong without the fascias. I flipped to a new page and began sketching again. I could hear clattering around me as others shared their ideas and thoughts.

  “That looks like a barn, Mel.”

  “It does not. And even if it did, so what? What is wrong with a barn?”

  “It’s not a house, usually.”

  “There are barn-shaped houses!” I looked up at Mel, who was protectively holding her sketchbook away from Tina. Tina rolled her eyes and tucked back a stray piece of her blond hair.

  “Oh, give it a rest, Tina,” said Dan, who sat at the table next to me. I peeked over at Dan’s sketch, which was, of course, perfect. Fascias and all.

  “Hey, do you want to grab some pizza with a bunch of us?” Dan asked me three hours later. The studio was practically empty now. Only he and I were left.

  I shook my head. “No, thanks. I’m good here.”

  He nodded, and I went back to sketching. He stood there for a moment. I could feel him watching me before heading out into the hallway.

  I glanced up at the empty room and let out a deep breath. I set my pencil down and looked at my sketch again. It was better but not great. I looked around again and then plugged in my earphones. I put my iPod on shuffle and a slow piano followed by guitar filled my ears. I froze for a moment before changing the track, allowing the next one to drown out the previous. I turned to another blank page and began again, knowing that practice makes perfect. Over time, new pages cover up the past ones and those improved images would allow the old mistakes to be forgotten.

  I left the studio around ten and headed out into the busy streets of Chicago. Even this late, the city was still alive, not giving me too much uneasiness as I
boarded the L, to head one stop further downtown. Chicago was a lot different from Shelby and all that I was used to, but that was exactly what I loved about it. There were so many people, strangers with unfamiliar faces, all with stories of their own.

  I got off the train at Lake Street and walked past several people waiting for the next train. Coming and going never stopped in this city. After watching people get on and off, walk quickly and talk to nobody, I wondered if they ever got tired of it or if they found it as exciting as I did. The residence hall I lived in was only half a mile from the Art Institute, or SAIC as everyone liked to call it, so I easily could have walked, but I liked taking the train at night.

  When I reached the dorm one block later, Cassie opened the door before my hand reached the brass doorknob.

  “You will not believe what just happened,” she said. I raised my eyebrows. It wasn’t the first time Cassie, my roommate, had bombarded me with such a statement about news involving people I didn’t know. Not that she bothered to stop and ask herself whether her roommate really cared about her drama. Nope, she just shared it with me anyway. She reminded me of Kelly in that sense, only Cassie seemed to have never-ending energy.

  I walked past her into the room we shared. She continued, following me. “Okay, so Mark was dancing pretty heavily with Brittany, who, you know, is Dan’s longtime girlfriend from high school.”

  We entered the bedroom and I pulled out a pair of sweatpants.

  “Anyways,” she began again, with her back turned to me so I could change, “Apparently he saw her dancing with Mark. Although I wouldn’t call it dancing—it was more like animals mating. Dan didn’t say anything to Brittany until after the party was over.” She turned around, facing me. “Which, by the way, you should have gone to. Mel said she heard Dan tell Brittany to do whatever she wants and that they are over.”

  “How exciting,” I said dryly. Cassie didn’t seem to notice.

  “I know!” she practically squealed. “Now Dan is on the market and he is cute!” I walked past her, going into the kitchen.

  “Wait,” she said, following me. “You haven’t heard the best part.” I opened the fridge and grabbed the yogurt and orange juice. I noticed Cassie had stopped talking and was looking at me expectantly.

  “What?” I said, opening the freezer and grabbing the frozen strawberries.

  “Mel said that Dan told her he already had decided he was going to end things with Brittany because someone else has caught his interest.”

  “Huh,” I grunted, putting all the ingredients into the blender. I didn’t blend while I waited for Cassie to finish. Cassie was my only roommate, which I was glad for. It was less expensive to room with three other people, but I had made my case for wanting just one roommate, and my dad had agreed to it. I was glad he was the one paying for it instead of my mom, especially since she didn’t want me going here in the first place.

  “She also said that Dan asked if you were coming to the party and wanted to know where you were.”

  At this I looked up. My mind flashed back to his pizza invite and the way he had watched me sketch. Dan and his perfect fascias.

  “Really?” I said, trying not to act too surprised.

  “Yup. It was a bit of a hint.”

  “I doubt it,” I said, looking down at the blender. “We have two classes together, and he’s barely ever talked to me.”

  “Yeah, well,” Cassie said. “You never know. But that means you are coming to the next party.”

  I pushed the ice-breaker button on the blender and drowned out Cassie’s voice. She stood there a moment longer watching me before going into the living room.

  I watched my smoothie blend and turn pink. I waited until it was smooth before taking it out and pouring it into a cup. With my smoothie in hand, I sat at the counter on a stool and took a sip.

  Three months, two weeks, and five days was how long it had been since I had last seen Seth. I wasn’t keeping track because I was completely miserable—I just liked knowing. I took another sip of my smoothie. It was missing mango and Kelly’s special touch. But for now, it would do.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Seth

  My phone was ringing and Mark’s name lit up on the screen.

  I sighed, staring up at the bright lights. I knew what they wanted, and I didn’t have it.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Seth?” Mark said on the other end. “Listen, we at the label are so glad that you were able to push your graduation a semester early. I’m here with Phil from A&R—remember him?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I said, waiting for him to continue.

  “I’m having him fly up to you for your last couple of weeks to get some demos done. We are hoping we can get demos of three new songs for your album before you come out here.”

  I was silent and he continued, “We realize that might not be as easy as it sounds, but we really want to get this going so it’s ready by the New Year.”

  “Okay, I’ll do my best,” I said. “I’m working on a new song at the moment, and I’ll try to get two more in before I fly back to Asheville after graduation.”

  “Great! Phil will contact us when everything is ready.” He paused. “Good luck, Seth.”

  “Thanks.” I hung up the phone and ran a hand through my shaggy hair. I needed a haircut badly. Three songs? No way.

  “Andy!” I yelled to the studio, which came out more like a whine.

  Andy looked up.

  “Three songs,” I mouthed, gesturing a gun to my head. He shook his head and motioned to me in the studio.

  “What did you expect?” he said, raising his eyebrows. He played a part of the demo I was currently working on. “This sounds pretty good.”

  “I didn’t expect to have to come up with three good songs, new songs, and make demos for all of them in a three-week period.”

  “Four weeks,” Andy corrected.

  “Whatever,” I said.

  Andy was a senior in vocals. We had met our freshman year, and he managed the school’s sound booth now. It was supposed to be used for educational rehearsals, but Andy let me sign up for an appointment a week to work on songs. When I first told him about getting signed to a label, he was surprised and congratulated me, but he had that same look my professors gave me. What about jazz? You’re throwing your talent away.

  He threw a guitar pick at me and said, “Let’s try and get this song done today, okay?” He handed me the headphones and I looked at them for a moment before putting them on and grabbing my guitar. Andy went back into the booth and I waited for his signal. I began playing a few chords as the track of my recorded music filled the studio. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and began to sing.

  “Hey, Seth!” a voice behind me said once I got into the hallway. I turned around to see Lisa jogging up to me. I always liked when she wore yoga pants.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  She smiled. “Just wondering if you wanted to grab something to eat…or something.”

  Or something. “Ah, I’m sorry, Lisa,” I said, lifting my guitar. “I really can’t. I have a lot to do.” I hoped I sounded convincing.

  “Oh. Right,” she said, disappointment clear in her voice. She quickly smiled and said, “I’ll see you later, then.”

  She turned around and walked away. I watched her go and wondered when she would get it that I wasn’t interested. Not anymore, at least.

  I walked quickly in the opposite direction, through the double doors and into the cold, refreshing air. It was close to seven in the evening now, and I rushed to my car, the wind blowing, the cold stinging my eyes. I drove over to my usual diner, Mac’s Coney Island. It was a little place with amazing onion rings. There were four other cars in the parking lot, and I pulled into a spot by the front door. I could see how slow it was, like always. I got out of my car, pulling out a notebook to take inside with me just in case I got some inspiration.

  I slid into my usual booth by the window and glanced at the menu.r />
  “Hey you, the usual?” Sandy asked. Sandy had worked there long before I started coming in. I had been a regular for the past four years, starting when I moved into the neighborhood as a college freshmen. It was strange to think that in four weeks I wouldn’t be coming here anymore. I would miss those onion rings.

  “Yeah, but can I get one of your tropical smoothies too?”

  “Sure,” she said, marking it down. Sandy was only a couple years older than me, but she had a three-year-old daughter. Sometimes she would sit with me after a long day and vent about her life. Usually I didn’t care to hear about other people’s problems, but with Sandy I didn’t mind. She wasn’t overly dramatic about things, and she was funny. I figured she didn’t have anyone else to talk to.

  I ate my burger with onion rings alone, staring at the blank page in my notebook. It was begging to be filled with words, but I had nothing.

  “So are you going to write something down or what?” Sandy said, handing me my smoothie. I looked at the familiar orange-pink color.

  “Can’t think of anything,” I said as she looked around for her manager before sitting down.

  “Well, how come? It’s obvious you’ve had a lot on your mind lately, things that seem to be worrying you. So why not write about those?” she suggested.

  I sighed. “No one wants to hear about my pathetic life. I don’t want to be one of those singers that complains and whines all the time.”

  “Well, I’m sure you will think of something. And you’ll word it in a way that doesn’t sound all whiny or complainy.”

  “Complainy,” I repeated. “Great word.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Good luck.”

  I grinned. “Thanks.”

  She got up when a couple appeared at the front of the restaurant. I rested my head in my hands and thought about Sandy mentioning “a lot on my mind.” Is it that obvious?

  I thought about summer, how the best and worst had happened within the same week, and how everything had changed. We couldn’t go back and change it. We couldn’t walk away and ignore it. It was done, and here I was still thinking about it. I took a sip of my smoothie and savored it. It wasn’t like the smoothies in Shelby, not even close, but it would do for now. I picked up my pen and tapped it against the paper.