Chapter Eight
Gabby
It takes me a second to get my bearings when I wake up the next morning, disoriented by the fact that I’m surrounded by Jonathan’s scent and tangled in his sheets, but he’s not here and the room looks nothing like I expect. The sight of the music stand next to the electric piano and my violin case on the floor makes everything lurch back into place.
After picking up Marissa from the coffee place last night and saying goodnight to Jonathan, Marissa and I went to bed. She was quiet, obviously not wanting to talk. I hear her moving around in the living room now. Did she talk to Peter last night? And how did it go?
I make my way out to the kitchen to find her at the breakfast bar, reading something on her phone and drinking coffee. “Morning.”
She raises her head and gives me a small smile. “Morning. Sleep well last night?”
“Yeah.”
Her grin turns knowing. “Yeah, you did.”
My face heats, but I ignore it. “What about you? Is the guest bed comfortable?”
She nods, sipping her coffee. “Yeah. Comfortable enough.”
“So you slept okay?”
She tilts her head to the side. “Not really. But that wasn’t the bed’s fault.”
Leaning my arms on the breakfast bar, my brow furrows in concern. “Is everything okay, Marissa? Did you talk to Peter last night?”
With a big sigh, she gets up and drains the rest of her coffee, moving to the sink so she doesn’t have to look at me. “Yeah. I did. Everything’s …” She shakes her head as she rinses her mug and sets it on the counter. “I’ll be fine.”
“Is there something going on with you and Peter?”
Her mouth twists. “Not exactly. Things are the same as always.”
The way she says that makes it sound like a bad thing, but when I open my mouth to ask more, she meets my eyes and shakes her head. “I don’t really want to talk about it, Gabby. Part of the reason I came here was to distract myself from what’s going on at home.” She comes over to me and places her hands on my shoulders. “Everyone and everything is okay. I’m just trying to figure some things out, is all.” With a little squeeze, she lets me go.
“Okay. But if you need to talk about it, I’m happy to listen. I mean, I know I’m just your baby sister, and maybe I can’t give any super smart advice, but I’m a good listener. And sometimes things are clearer if you talk them through.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh, Gabby. No. Don’t think I’m not talking to you because I don’t value your opinion. I’m just not ready to talk about it with anyone. But I’ll keep you in mind if I decide I need a sympathetic ear. Or another brain.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Breakfast?”
“Yeah. Jonathan’s coming to get me in a little while to go to his rehearsal. Will you be okay on your own today?”
She goes to the pantry and pulls out a box of cereal while I get bowls for us. “Of course. I’m going to go exploring. Once I figure out where I want to go, I’ll get an Uber. It’ll be fun.”
“You’re sure? I feel bad leaving you on your own like this.”
“I haven’t had this much free time all to myself in ages. I’m usually too busy doing what everyone else expects to get to enjoy whatever I want to do. It’ll be glorious. If I get bored, I’ll be sure to let you know.” She gives me a look. “But don’t expect that to happen today. Or tomorrow. Probably not at all this week.”
I give her a grin. “Okay. Glad to hear it. I’d say we should schedule a girls’ night, but no offense, I’d rather wait till we’re back home to do that.”
She laughs. “Of course. When we’re back home, we’ll definitely do that. You can whine all about how much you miss your boyfriend. And I’ll console you with ice cream and rom-coms.”
“Deal.”
Jonathan texts me an hour and a half later to let me know he’s waiting outside. Taking the elevator to the street level, I find his car parked next to the curb outside. He opens the door from the inside, grinning at me as I climb in.
When I lean across the center console for a kiss, his hand comes around the back of my head, and the simple greeting turns a lot hotter than I expected first thing in the morning.
He pulls back, still holding my face close to his. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” I can’t fight back the smile pulling at my lips.
With one more hard kiss, he lets me go and turns to the steering wheel, pulling into the street and heading for the rehearsal space. “What’s your sister doing today?”
“I’m not sure. She said she was going to go exploring.”
“Cool.” He’s quiet for a minute, his fingers tapping the back of the steering wheel.
That’s strange. He usually only taps like that when he’s nervous. But why would he be nervous?
“How are the guys for the backup band?”
“Good.”
That’s informative.
“I’m looking forward to hearing you guys. It’ll be a lot different than just you and your guitar.”
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Yeah.”
I grin now, unable to hold it back. “Are you nervous?”
A crooked grin slants his lips. “Maybe a little.”
Giggling, I lean closer to him. “Why? Shouldn’t this be less intimidating than when you play for me by yourself?”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “And you never get nervous to play something you’ve played a million times before?”
“Touché.”
“Exactly.”
He reaches over and threads his fingers through mine. “Your opinion matters to me. I want you to like what we’ve done with the songs.” He glances at me. “I’m glad you’ll be able to hear it before we record. That way if anything’s wonky, we can fix it.”
I squirm at his confidence in my opinion. “I’m sure it’s great. You have professional musicians playing with you. I’m just a student.”
“Back to this again?” He shoots a glance at me.
“What?”
“Gabby. Regardless of whether you consider yourself equal to the musicians playing with me, you know the music better than they do. You helped write it.”
I shift again, but can’t argue with that. It’s true. “Okay.”
His thumb rubs over mine, and we continue driving in silence. Until something occurs to me. “Wait. Am I going to get credit in the liner notes? Since I helped write it?”
He chuckles, and I bask in the warm sound of his laughter for a moment. I missed these little everyday types of interactions. “Of course. All the ones you made a significant writing contribution to, you’re listed as a songwriter. And you’ll be in my acknowledgments as well.”
A satisfied smile comes to my face. “Oh yeah? What are you going to say about me?”
His eyes crinkle as he looks at me again, squeezing my hand one last time before letting go to navigate traffic better. “I haven’t written them yet, so I’m not completely sure. But something about how without you the album wouldn’t have been possible.”
“What? Of course it would’ve. You’re the one who wrote the songs.”
He shakes his head. “No. I couldn’t have done any of it without you. You’re the one who fixed the song that I played at the party where the viral video was recorded. You’re the one who inspired most of the songs on the album. Without you, none of that would’ve happened.”
His green eyes are intent when he looks at me again. And all I can say is, “Oh.”
That provokes another chuckle from him. “Why do you fight these things so hard? You’re important to me. I should hope you’re certain of at least that much by now.”
“I am.”
“Good.” He nods. “But you’re smart, Gabby. You know music. You know how it fits together. Your instincts are great. You need to trust them more.”
I don’t say anything to that. Because what am I supposed to say?
He sighs. “You know I’m right. Even your violin professor has told you that you need to trust your instincts and get out of your own way. Don’t overthink this. Come and listen. Give us your honest opinion, okay?”
“Okay.”
A few minutes pass in silence, then he drops a bomb. “I mentioned that you’re getting a songwriting credit. You realize that means you get a percentage of the royalties too, right?”
“What?” That thought never even crossed my mind. Like ever.
He chuckles at my shocked reaction, glancing at me with eyebrows raised. “I told you, most of those songs wouldn’t have been written without your help. You fixed them, polished them, made them so people can’t get enough of them. You deserve a cut. It’s a small percentage. But it should bring in a nice residual income for you.”
I’m stunned. My mouth hangs open, but no words come out.
He smiles. “I never thought I’d shock you speechless. Don’t worry about it. I’ll set up an account for your direct deposit. You won’t see anything until next year anyway. Royalties are paid quarterly, and only after each quarter ends.”
I blink at him, but still can’t come up with a response. So I decide to take his advice and not worry about it, because we’ve arrived at the rehearsal space—a nondescript, cream colored building that looks like part of a strip mall. Numbers on the building tell us the address, but nothing else indicates what it’s for. Jonathan leads me through a glass door, down a long hall full of numbered doors. Faint sounds of music filter through the air, fragments of songs and the sound of people tuning. About halfway down, he opens a door, the way he leans into it giving away how heavy it is.
Inside, everyone goes quiet and looks up as we enter. Acoustic paneling and egg crate foam lines the walls. Jonathan steps forward, and a tall man wearing a Dodgers baseball hat, a plain white T-shirt and jeans, with tattoos snaking over the tanned skin of his arms sets his guitar on the stand next to him and rises from his stool to shake hands.
“Hey, man. You ready?”
Jonathan nods. “Yeah. We just need to nail down these last few songs. The studio’s booked for the day after tomorrow.” He looks back at me and motions me forward. “This is Gabby. She’ll be sitting in today to help me make sure everything sounds right.”
The other guy holds out his hand to me, looking me up and down. “Nice to meet you, Gabby. I’m Shane. You play?” He quirks a dark eyebrow.
I nod. “Violin.”
His eyes flick down to my neck. “Right on. I’ve always loved a good fiddle tune.”
Jonathan rubs a hand over his mouth, and I know he’s covering a grin. We’ve talked before about the differences between violin and fiddle music, and how everyone assumes that because I’m from Texas I know fiddle music. I don’t. Never found it that interesting. At least not country fiddle music. I’ve never played The Devil Went Down to Georgia, and I never plan to. It’s become almost a point of pride at this point, because everyone asks me if I can play that stupid song.
But I ignore Jonathan, because I don’t want to be rude to Shane. “Yeah. Me too.”
Shane turns his attention back to Jonathan. “We’re just waiting on Ruby and Max, and then we can get started. You gonna play today, or just be the pretty frontman?”
Chuckling, Jonathan shakes his head. “Just the pretty frontman today. Gabby’s heard me play on my own plenty of times. She knows how the songs all sound with just me. I want her opinion on the mix with everyone. Make sure we’ve got it all dialed in so we can lay everything down right in the studio.”
“She knows all the songs, does she?” Shane’s eyebrows climb beneath the brim of his hat as his dark eyes return to me. “Interesting. And how is it that she’s so familiar with your body of work, Jonathan?”
A guy with shaggy blond hair pops up behind Shane. “Yeah, J. How is she so familiar with your oeuvre?”
Shane turns and shoves the other guy in the shoulder. “What’s with the big fancy words now, Trent? Trying to impress the girl?”
With a chuckle, Jonathan catches my eye and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “Gabby, this is Trent. Our drummer. Trent, this is Gabby. My girlfriend.” He emphasizes the last word.
Trent’s brown eyes widen, and he holds up his hands, palms out. “Hey, man. Good for you. I wasn’t trying to scam on your chick. Just asking a question is all. And I don’t get to use the word oeuvre very often.”
Shaking his head, Shane looks at the ceiling, then at me. “I got this guy a word of the day calendar for Christmas. So now he tries to work the words from it into everyday conversation as much as possible. Sometimes it’s ridiculous, but at least this time I guess it makes sense. Even if no one talks like that.”
Trent grins widely. “I just want you to know I’m using my Christmas present, man. I thought you’d appreciate it.”
“Holy fuck. I’m never getting you anything ever again.”
Before Trent can respond, the door opens and a tall, thin black woman walks in carrying a hard, rectangular case. She’s dressed all in black—a clingy tank top and skinny jeans—which makes her short, dyed blond, pink, and purple hair stand out even more, as well as her bright red lipstick. A white guy comes in behind her, dressed casually in tan shorts and a faded olive green T-shirt, pushing his dark hair off his forehead as he closes the door.
Shane nods at them. “Alright, we’re all here now. Gabby, this is Ruby, our bass player, and Max on piano. Guys, this is Gabby. She’s going to be sitting in on today’s rehearsal. Both as J’s girl and as an extra set of ears. According to J she knows the songs as well as he does.”
“She helped write them.”
Shane glances at Jonathan. “Well, there you go. A valuable addition, then.”
Jonathan grabs me a chair and sets it across the room, facing them, while Ruby and Max get set up. I’m unaccountably nervous as I sit down in the metal folding chair, waiting for them to get started, and I rub my hands down my thighs. Jonathan shoots me a smile as he takes a seat on a stool next to Shane.
Once everyone’s tuned up and ready, they all look to Jonathan. “What’re we starting with today, J?” asks Shane. He seems to be sort of the unofficial leader of the band, like maybe he’s the one who put them all together. It’s an interesting dynamic. Almost like Jonathan is the outsider, or the boss. That’s it. Jonathan’s the boss, and Shane is like the middle manager. Or Jonathan is the conductor, and Shane is the concertmaster. That makes sense. The band looks to Shane, and Shane looks to Jonathan.
I missed what Jonathan said they should start with, but I recognize the melody of “Pretty Obsession.” It’s familiar, but strange at the same time. The melody starts in the guitar, but there’s a simple beat on the drums and the root of each chord hits on the downbeat in the bass. Once Jonathan joins in with the lyrics, the accompaniment gets more complex, the piano playing a counter melody that I haven’t heard before. It’s subtle, just enough to show off Jonathan’s voice in a different way. And it works so well, I wish I’d thought of it. Which is how I feel with a lot of his songs. Sometimes I make melodic suggestions that he loves. Could I maybe write something original just for me?
But I push that thought aside for now, planning on revisiting it later. I’ll have plenty of time to myself on this trip while Jonathan’s recording and otherwise working. Time to practice. And maybe time to write. I have access to his electric piano and all his blank staff paper too. For now, I need to focus on listening to Jonathan’s music.
They sound awesome. If I didn’t know they’d only been playing together for a few weeks, I’d think they’ve been a group forever. When the song finishes, I clap, even though I’m only an audience of one. Audience etiquette has been drilled into me from a young age. You always clap after a performance.
Jonathan smiles and gives me a nod. “Any notes?”
I shake my head. “None. That sounds amazing. I love what you’re doing with the piano. Y’all sound great together.”
They all murmur their thanks and move on to another song, with Jonathan counting them off this time. I get to listen to almost the whole album, apart from the two songs that will be just Jonathan and his guitar. A few places I give my input, suggesting a harmony that needs changing or simplifying, sometimes offering notes on balance so that the lyrics don’t get drowned out in Jonathan’s lower, and quieter, range.
They really don’t need me or my input. But Jonathan still wraps me in a hug when they’re done, lifting me off the ground and kissing me hard. “Thank you. So much. Your help is appreciated, as always.”
Laughing, I cling to his shoulders. “You’re welcome, as always. My pleasure. I don’t think I said anything earth-shattering, but I’m glad you found it helpful anyway.”
Shane is smiling at us as Jonathan sets my feet back on the ground, latching his guitar case closed. “Jonathan’s right, you have great ears. Thanks for giving us your input. How long are you here for?”
“Just a couple of weeks.”
He makes a sound of disappointment. “That’s too bad. Another gig I’m playing for next week needs another violin. We have a small strings section, but one of the violins backed out.”
“Oh, uh,” I look between Shane and Jonathan. “I’ll still be here next week.”
“Awesome. Do you have any recordings you could send me? If you can play in tune and sound good, the gig’s yours if you want it.”
Jonathan nods. “Yeah. I have some stuff. I’ll send you one later.”
My eyes widen. “What? How do you have recordings of me?”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “Oh, uh. I recorded you playing the Bruch when you were practicing at my place the night before your juries.”
“You what?” My voice has a high, squeaky quality that I’m not fond of, but I can’t help it right now. “How did I not know this?”
With a laugh, he presses a kiss to my lips, but I don’t respond. “You were in the zone. And you were killing it. I needed to have it so I could listen to you play whenever I wanted to feel close to you.”
His reason makes me melt. At least until I hear a loud, “Awww,” from my other side. That’s Trent. “You guys are so sweet I might be sick.”
Jonathan flips him off, but they’re both grinning. “You’re just jealous, and you know it.”
“Yeah, man. I do.”
Shane shakes his head at them and holds out his hand to Jonathan and then me. “Alright. I gotta go. Send me that recording and text me Gabby’s number. Gabby, I’m sure I’ll be in touch with the details.”
I watch everyone file out, until only Jonathan and I are left in the room, and I turn to him with wide eyes. “Um, did I just get my first job as a musician?”
A wide grin stretches across his face, and his eyes are practically glowing with happiness. “Yeah, little diva. I’m pretty sure you did.”
I can’t contain my squeal, and this time when Jonathan kisses me, I kiss him back.
Jonathan sends Shane an email from his phone with the covert recording of me playing the Bruch Concerto in G minor. Even though I’m not thrilled to find out he has secret recordings of me playing, I do have to admit that I killed it on that piece. The memory problems that plagued me during my first semester were gone by the end of the spring. And I’ve managed to hang on to the newfound give-no-fucks attitude toward performing I picked up after breaking up with Jonathan.
Yes, my insecurities and performance anxiety rear their ugly heads still. They’re not completely gone. But I know how to psych myself up for a solo performance better instead of psyching myself out. Clara, my violin professor, gave me one tip that sounds dumb on the surface, but actually kind of works. “Instead of telling yourself you’re nervous, tell yourself you’re excited. You have adrenaline dumping into your system either way. It’s your brain that’s in charge of the why.”
I laughed at her when she said that the week before my first time playing in Strings Seminar during spring semester. But she just watched me laugh, her face placid, and said, “Try it.”
And she was right. It helps to tell myself that. Plus, I always remember how it felt to nail a performance like I did for my jury at the end of the first semester.
My second semester performances had all been far superior to anything I did first semester. And even though I took the first few weeks of the summer off, I have my violin so I don’t lose my chops, and I’m going to find someone to work with for the rest of the summer once I get back to Texas.
“What do you want to do now?” Jonathan’s voice brings me back to the rehearsal room, where he reaches for me, drawing me against his body. “We could go get a late lunch and then go to a beach. You’ve never seen the Pacific, right?”
I shake my head. “No. Only the Gulf. South Padre and Corpus Christi for family vacations. We went on an orchestra trip down to Galveston once. But still the Gulf. I hear it’s not the same.”
He shakes his head before lowering his mouth to mine. “Not the same at all. Come on. Since your sister plans on exploring, I’m guessing she’s fine on her own for the day. I don’t plan to take you home till late. Any objections?”
“None.” I press up on my toes to kiss him again. For the first time in weeks, I can kiss him whenever I want. At least for two weeks. But I push away thoughts of how short this trip is, determined to enjoy the time I have with him, even if it isn’t enough.