64
Alina
“Why, Miss Alina, don’t you look beautiful this morning,” Mrs. Vasquez says in a sweet voice, a wide smile crinkling her face as I approach the bus stop bench.
Despite Slater’s incessant teasing, I still prefer the bus to the thought of driving. I think it’s because I’ve always found it relaxing, and so much less of a hassle when living in a big city. But I did agree that if Happenstance continues to grow in popularity, I’d either learn to drive myself, hire a driver, or at least take Oliver, Slater’s main security guard, with me when I go out (a thought that makes me giggle, picturing that brooding hulk sitting with me on the TTC). Either way, even if it’s only to appease Slater’s worries, I’ll do it if it makes him happy. Luckily, my identity hasn’t been compromised so far (probably because I still mostly hide my face behind my hair onstage) and I haven’t had to make those decisions yet, so here I am, still happily waiting for the bus.
“Thank you, Mrs. Vasquez,” I reply, smiling back and accepting her compliment rather than fluffing it off like I have so many times in the past.
“It’s so nice to have you back, dear.”
“It’s nice to be home, I’m not going to lie.”
We’ve been home for two weeks now, and things have been going great. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Aside from working at the salon—a job I’ll be keeping until we officially sign on with Fallen Sound—I’ve also been writing a lot of music. Right after the tour, I was approached by Tommy, who’d asked if I’d be willing to write a few songs for Sicken Union’s upcoming album. Apparently, the guys really do like my lyrics, and they asked if I’d be willing to co-write a few songs with Fife, as well, something Fife and I had talked a lot about doing together while on the tour. Of course I said “yes”, then made fun of them for not having the balls to ask me themselves. I quickly learned that wasn’t the case at all, Tommy had just gotten ahead of himself, too excited. So between writing more, cutting hair, waiting on the final contract, and spending time with Slater, life’s been a whole lot different since the tour ended. I’m soaking in each new experience.
“Headed to meet the band?” Mrs. Vasquez asks from beside where I’ve sat next to her on the bench.
“Yes, we’re meeting at Rusty’s,” I say, then spend the next fifteen or so minutes telling her all about my songwriting, how Happenstance is waiting to hear if the Fallen Sound label is willing to meet the terms we added into the contract, and how I’m hoping this is the reason Paisley has summoned us this early on a Sunday.
“You need to bring that man of yours over for dinner again soon. He’s such a good eater,” she beams, leaning in, “and I really like him for you, Alina. I can tell he’s crazy about you.” Alejandra slaps her knee while laughing with her whole body like she always does, and it makes me smile. What a difference a few months can make, and yet, how much certain things stay the same.
“I’m sure Slater will have no problem coming over for dinner again soon. He loved your cooking,” I say as the bus pulls up, remembering how much fun he had trying to learn some Spanish while having a few drinks and eating the mountains of food the Vasquezes served us just a week ago when they invited Lucky, Teresa, Slater, and me over for a barbecue to celebrate my return. It was adorable how they both pretended to know who Sicken Union was.
The bus stops in front of us before she can carry on any further.
“You pick the day, and we’ll be there. Slater went on and on about your paella,” I say, as we grab seats at the front of the bus.
“I do like a boy who can eat,” she says, patting my leg, then adds, “and I especially love ones who make you beam like that, mija.”
*
“Hey, Rusty!” I grin at the familiar, grinning face of the man working the grill behind the breakfast bar.
“Hey, Ali, nice to have you all back. Your girls are already here, in your usual spot.”
“Perfect,” I nod, as I pass the lines of well-worn, red pleather stools, the smell of coffee and grease permeating the air as always. I stop to look at the selection of Rusty’s homemade doughnuts, making a mental note to ensure that Slater tries the Bavarian Kreme when he comes to meet me later. I might even suggest we grab a half dozen for tonight when we’ll continue our Friends-a-thon. Since we’ve been back, Slater and I have spent every minute of our downtime watching Friends. The guy’s become a bit obsessed. I swear I have more fun watching him watching it than I do the actual show.
“Hey, ladies. Sorry I’m a little late. Sunday schedule,” I laugh, because I tell them the same thing every week.
“No problem. We just ordered coffee. I got yours coming,” Roxie smiles, as I take the seat next to her.
“So, what did Fallen Sound say?” I ask, unable to wait for Paisley to start.
“Well, ladies, Tommy texted me this morning, and we got it!” Pais squeals, and we rise as one, jumping up and down.
“Holy shit, we did? And they agreed about the touring thing?” Shiv asks.
“Yep. And it’s a three-record deal, with an offer to opt in for more if we’re happy.”
“No way!” Roxie says in disbelief.
“Uh-huh, just like we wanted. And, Ali, you are welcome to write songs for other bands, but Fallen Sound are asking for the first look at your lyrics for their own artists.”
“That’s fantastic news, Al,” Siobhán says, coming over to hug me. “Such a talent. Look at everyone trying to get your songs. Good for you, sister. I’m so freakin’ proud of you.”
“What about the benefit for Covenant House? What did they say?” I ask, knowing that was going to be a harder sell—being the newbies we are—and the amount of money the label would need to invest in promoting it. But it means a lot to Shiv and the rest of us.
“That’s the best part!” says Paisley. “They loved it, and said they’d like to hold it annually, if all goes well, and in November, so Covenant House will have money to help people out in time for Christmas. And Sicken Union, Ullapool, and Douse, have all put in bids for spots.”
“We did it, guys. Holy shit. We did it,” Roxie says, just as Nelle comes over to take our orders.
After ordering myself French toast and a side of fruit, we spend the rest of the time talking and giggling, reminiscing and making new plans, and discussing everything from Zack and Roxie—who are slowly admitting to being more than friends—to Tristan and Paisley, who haven’t really hung out since we’ve been back from the tour. Time flies by, and I don’t even realize Slater has walked in, with Oliver trailing stoically behind him, until he’s sitting beside me eating a Bavarian Kreme.
“I barely recognized you, hot stuff,” Paisley says, laughing at the Blue Jay’s baseball cap and dark sunglasses he’s wearing. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a hat before. I like it,” she says, and raises her eyebrows up and down. We all laugh, shaking our heads.
“He’s trying to hide a little, Paisley. Keep it down,” Shiv chides.
“Oh, please. Do you not see the paps outside, and everybody in here staring? The jig is up, pal. I think you need a better costume.”
“Thanks,” he chuckles, “I’ll consider it. I actually just need a haircut,” Slater smiles, taking off his cap and glasses and placing them on the table before running his hand over his head.
“I think it’s sexy,” I say, leaning over to where he’s sitting so only he can hear me. Then I lunge in taking a big bite out of his doughnut.
“Hey!” he protests. “You’re lucky I like you.” He wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb before licking it, and pulls me onto his lap.
“Yeah, I am. The luckiest.”
“So, don’t make me wait. What did the label say?” he asks, and the four of us start to talk at the same time.
Thankfully, a few seconds later, the rest of the guys from Sicken Union walk in and everything gets repeated, so Slater doesn’t miss a thing, especially me stealing another bite of his doughnut. Life is good.