Caroline

In the comfort of my apartment, I grasp my cell phone tightly in my hand and will myself to call Ethan. He needs to know the truth, but there’s a part of me that’s afraid of his reaction. Will he be upset that they didn’t want both of us? My stomach aches thinking about him being sad. Or what if he’s happy for me? It’ll be good, but I’m still disappointed that we aren’t doing this together.

Every time I get a little bit excited about signing the contract and recording songs in a studio, I never feel one hundred percent happy about it because a piece of the puzzle is missing.

At the Freemont, Ethan didn’t perform his best. I worry that he was still in his head about my job and our fight afterward. Guilt weaves its way around me like a winter coat in the summertime. It’s stifling, hot, and can’t be ignored.

I’ve waited long enough. Taking my phone in my hand, I click his number and hope he picks up.

“Hi, sexy,” he says, his tone is hot-fudge-sundae-sweet. My heart breaks some thinking about changing his mood. I cross my fingers hoping this conversation will go well.

“How are you tonight?” I ask.

“Great, but better now that you called.”

I run my fingers through my hair and picture his handsome smile and the way he’d greet me if I were coming home from work now. He’d lift me up in his arms and twirl me around. His gray eyes would sparkle and I’d run my fingers through his blond hair. And if I focus hard, I can smell his cologne, citrus, and spice and all Ethan. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Everything okay, Linus? You sound sad.”

“No.” I try to recover. “But I do have news.”

“What is it?”

I take a calming breath and say, “I heard from Marcus Campbell.”

“No way!”

“Yup. And he wanted me to come in and sing for the team. So I did.”

He’s silent for a moment and I wonder what he’s thinking. “How did it go?”

“Good. They told me they were going to offer me a contract.”

It hangs there in the air. The unspoken truth. That I never said anything about him being included in any of it. I wait for a response, biting at a hang nail, my leg bouncing uncontrollably, but he’s quiet.

“I asked Marcus if you needed to be there and he said no. So I was going to surprise you with the news, but when I went and sang, the team said they were looking for a solo artist. And honestly, I’m crushed. I wanted it to be us.”

“Okay.” More silence.

“What do you think?” My tone is tentative at his lack of enthusiasm.

“That’s great.” But when he says it, it doesn’t sounds ‘great’ at all.

I bury my head in my hands. When I called Ethan I was expecting a reaction. Not the silent treatment, the anti-reaction. Now I’m at a loss.

“Will you please talk to me?” I plead with him.

“You know what? I’m tired and I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to catch up on. How about I call you in the morning?” He doesn’t sound mad or sad, but indifferent, and to me that’s worse.

“That sounds like a plan.”

“Goodnight,” he says.

“Goodnight.” Please don’t be mad at me.

* * *

There are open tables and several seats available at the bar. It’s a slow lunch shift by Lolita’s standards, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing considering the fact that I don’t really want to be here.

It didn’t sit well with me that Ethan never called this morning. And he didn’t answer when I tried calling him. He gave me a one word answer when I texted him right before my shift started. I asked him how he was today and he said, ‘great.’ I swear if he uses the word great to me ever again it’ll be too soon, because I know he’s not great.

With all the conversations we had about being open and honest with each other, neither of us seems to be doing a very good job of it. All I want to do is get on a plane with my sister today and go back to Pennsylvania so I can talk to Ethan face-to-face. Look him in the eye and tell him that I love him and that I’m sorry I haven’t been pulling my end of the bargain with communication and that I can do better.

Reggie, one of the regulars, is here. He’s one of my best tippers, but today all I see when he’s around is the look on Ethan’s face when Reggie put the cash in my bra strap.

“What’s got you down today, darlin’?” Reggie drawls when I bring his pint and chicken wings to his table.

“Nothing. I’m great.” Oh, man. I can’t believe I just said that.

He drinks a mouthful of his beer and puts an arm around me. “Is it boyfriend troubles? I saw you talking to a young man the other day. Looked like you two were fighting. You’re way too pretty to waste your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate you.”

I’m squarely stuck between wanting to defend Ethan by telling Reggie off and having to play nice because he’s a good customer. Reggie is in luck because I’m running low on energy today. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about me. All is well. Can I get you anything else right now?”

“Nope. I’ll call you over when I need you.”

Painting on a plastic smile as I walk away, I say, “Enjoy your wings.”

A few hours later at the end of my shift, Steve, my boss, calls me into the back room before I punch out. It isn’t every day that you get called into his office. Prickles of concern creep up my neck.

He’s sitting behind his desk. He’s got male pattern baldness and doesn’t seem to want to let go of it because he’s using a strange hair paint, but it’s failed miserably, dark color at uneven patches at his temple. There are times when I find myself staring at his near nonexistent hair mess, like now. “What’s going on?” I ask.

“Everything okay with you today?” His eyebrows scoot up his forehead and it’s then I realize how bushy they are. Isn’t it a cruel twist of fate that you can have an abundance of hair in eyebrows and near nothing on your head?

“Yeah, I’m…” I stop myself from saying great. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Oh, well, the reason I’m asking is because Reggie mentioned that he thought you were off today. And I don’t like hearing complaints from the regulars. You do realize you can be replaced.” There’s a tinge of malice in his tone.

Steve is an ass. And was Reggie really complaining or was he making an observation? He still left me a giant tip and gave me a hug goodbye. “I apologize, Steve. I admit I’m a little tired and it’s my time of the month.”

His hands fly up in the air and wave around like he’s being robbed. “Stop. I don’t need to hear anything else about it. Your shift is over so you’re free to leave. And please remember to keep a positive attitude at all times during all of your shifts.”

“Got it. Have a great night.” Getting up out of my chair, I scoot out of there like the room is on fire.

As I’m storming out the front door, Cora is walking in. “Hey, everything okay? You’re running out of here quick.”

“I can’t wait to get home and get out of these clothes. Oh, and Steve is in a mood. I’d steer clear if at all possible.”

“Isn’t he always?” She rolls her eyes, highlighting the stellar job she did on her makeup. It’s no wonder she does so well here. She looks like a real live Barbie doll, curves in all the right places, perfect bone structure. I’d hate her if she weren’t my friend.

“You’re right. He is. Everything okay with you?” I ask, realizing she, too, seems a little frazzled as she searches the depths of her bag.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve had the craziest few days. Long story. I will fill you in but I’m going to be late for my shift and I can’t seem to find my phone.”

“Get in there before Steve catches you punching in late. He told me today that I could be replaced.”

She shakes her head and shrugs. “What a jerk.” She leans in and kisses my cheek. “Let’s catch up soon.”

“Let’s.” I watch her rush into the restaurant.

She is one of the few people I’ve met in Nashville that I call a friend. She’s got good energy. I’m going make sure we put something in our schedules to get together soon.

My apartment is so empty now that Rachel is gone for the weekend. I’m green with envy that she gets to go home.

The bottle of red that’s in the cupboard calls my name. I unceremoniously pour myself a large glass and have several sips and rehearse what I’m going to say to Ethan. What’s up with you? Why didn’t you call this morning when you said you were? I miss you. I love you. Please say that we’re okay.

Not talking to him is killing me. I drink more of my wine and enjoy the numb that starts to blur the edges at the bottom of my first glass. Changing my clothes, I tug off the uncomfortable heels and push up bra and replace them with sweats and a t-shirt.

I pour myself another glass of wine and drink a few more mouthfuls.

Screw it. I want to talk to him now. Digging through my purse, I find my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find Ethan’s number.

I’m ready to leave a message—that may or may not have been inappropriate—but he picks up.

“Hello.” His tone is cool and distant and my stomach sinks.

“Hi. How are you today?” I add as much color and liveliness to my voice as I can muster.

“I’m gr…”

“No, no. Please don’t say great because I know you’re not.”

He sighs. “Okay. How about good? Can I say that?”

There’s sarcasm there and I don’t like it. Right now I’m craving an honest conversation with Ethan. “If it’s the truth you can.”

“Yup.”

Several calming breaths don’t seem to calm me and my patience with him is almost nonexistent. “I thought you were going to call me this morning. You never did.”

“It turned out to be a busier morning than I expected. Dad wasn’t feeling good and stayed home. Someone had to pick up the slack.”

“Is he okay?” My heart twists in my chest and guilt seeps into my pores. Everything isn’t always about me and I’m ashamed that I put him on the spot when he had legitimate issues today.

“I think so.” Speaking about his dad takes some of the edge out of his voice. “He had chest pains last night, but he took pain medication and feels a little better now. Mom wanted to call the ambulance, but Dad shut her down. He insists it’s all stress. We’d all be better off if they closed up shop and moved on, but he’s as stubborn as they come and won’t hear of it.”

Closing my eyes, I push past the unease I feel when he talks about how bad things are at his parents’ insurance agency. And to think his dad is so stressed he’s having chest pains gives me a sense of what Ethan must be going through. I lower my voice. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. None of this is your fault.” There’s a sharp edge to his voice.

“Okay.” With every word of this conversation, it feels like another boulder is moving between us, broadening the wedge there. “Are we okay, Ethan? I have to know.”

“Christ. I think so. I mean… If I’m honest, I’m not sure if I know who you are anymore. The job you have isn’t you and I absolutely hate it. If I think about it too long I want to punch things. And you told me that you didn’t want to sing without me anymore, but as soon as the opportunity arises, you sell me out. It’s confusing me and fucking with my head.”

“But wait. That’s not true.”

“No. What’s not true is what you’re saying and doing. There’s no congruency.” A beep sounds over the line. “Shit, it’s my mother. I have to take this. As far as things go with us, I need a minute. Okay?”

I’m stunned silent and I have no words left to say. “Okay,” I whisper.

He hangs up and I stare at the phone as tears rain down my cheeks.

Another glass of wine and a half a box of tissues later, I’m sitting in my room with my guitar over my shoulder.

Without my sister here and my heart in pieces, I need an outlet. Music has always been it for me. It doesn’t matter what’s going on in my life, I can find peace in notes and lyrics, comfort in getting lost in the process of putting random chords together into something new and meaningful to me.

Memories of sitting on my dad’s lap with the guitar and his big hand over mine flood in. He smelled like spicy aftershave and spearmint. The scruff from his beard used to rub over the smooth skin of my shoulder and it’d tickle me and make me laugh. “This is how you play this song, watch me.”

I’d stare intently at every strum of his finger and mimic it the best I could. “Like this?”

“Good job, peanut. You’re a natural.” His praise and warm smile filled me with love and confidence.

Any spare time my father had, I’d beg him to teach me new songs and he never turned me down. It made him proud that I picked up music and loved it like he did. It was our special, unbreakable bond. Rachel would join us from time to time, but she didn’t crave it like I did. You’d never have to ask me twice if I wanted to play; the answer was always yes.

Ethan and my dad always got along, sharing their mutual love of sports, music, and me. Dad would tell me not to let the good ones slip away and Ethan was a good one. Funny how after his death, I did the exact thing he told me not to do.

So tonight, I have my father with me as I strum my guitar and write lyrics about losing love and finding it again and not letting it slip away.

It’s an easy write, and it flows out of me. Feelings and emotions that have been pushed down for years bubble up and spill out. It’s a cleansing experience, taking me through the first time I saw Ethan back in high school, to our first date at a Chinese restaurant, to our first kiss, when he took my virginity, the ups and downs with the band, to the day I said goodbye and left him behind, and rediscovering each other again. It’s like a movie playing in my mind, one I love and never want to end.

The song is the best I’ve written. I call it “Forever Just Us.” Ethan and I wrote a song called “Always Just Us” back in school. It was when our love was new and it’s deeply emotional. The song I wrote tonight is one I know Ethan would love and I hope he gives me the chance to play it for him.

“It’s a good song, Dad. I think you’d like it.” A tear slides down my cheek. “Thank you for teaching me to love music. When I play, I know you’re with me. But it’s time to let you go. I think it’s the only way I’m going to be able to let Ethan back in.”

I’m not foolish enough to believe that my father will ever be forgotten because he never will be. But when he died, a deep-rooted fear of losing anyone I loved wrapped its claws around my heart and I naively thought that the only way to protect myself from that kind of pain was to avoid it all together, to keep love at arm’s length.

I’m done with that. And now I’ve got a plan to change things around for me. I can only hope I’m not too late.