Chapter Fourteen
Gabby
Lauren’s head pops through my door as I fold a shirt and place it in the open suitcase on my bed.
“Want my help picking out your outfits? ”
Hands on my hips, I turn to face her. “What are you saying? You don’t think I can dress myself?”
She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes, propping herself against the doorjamb. “Please. You dress yourself just fine. But so far, every time you’ve gone out with him like this, you’ve asked my help. I’m just wondering why you haven’t this time.”
I study her for a minute, and she returns my gaze. Things have mostly gone back to normal between us since I declined the offer of playing in the pit orchestra, but a lingering tension has remained. The first week of their rehearsals, she barely spoke to me. After that, when my position was filled and there was no going back, she thawed and resumed our normal habit of having dinner and working on theory homework together. But things felt stilted, and I didn’t seek her out as much as I normally would’ve. The reverse was also true.
Finally, I drop my arms and gesture at my closet. “Knock yourself out. Since you were mad at me for going on this trip, I wasn’t sure you’d want to help.”
She’s silent for a beat before taking a deep breath, dropping her arms, and crossing to the closet. “It’s not that I’m mad at you for going on this trip,” she says as she slides a hanger over. “It’s just … you came back to school because you don’t want to give up on yourself, on your goals, your career. But the first extra opportunity that comes your way, you turn it down without even thinking. Without even talking about it with anyone.” I open my mouth to protest, but she doesn’t notice, her attention focused on my clothes instead of me. “And I get it. I do. I know you miss him. I know being away is hard. But you didn’t even talk to him, try to figure out something else.”
“His schedule’s been set for a while.” I sit on the bed, my arms and legs crossed. “People have tickets. And more shows are getting added every week since his album debuted at number one and both his singles are still in the Billboard top twenty. It’s easier for me to be flexible right now.”
She glances at me. “But what about you? Are you going to give in every time? When do your goals take priority?”
Crumpling forward, I cover my face with my hands. “What do you want me to do?”
Her hand slides over my back, and I lift my head. Her face is sympathetic. “I want you to do what you want to do. If what you really want is to be with Jonathan, then I want that for you too. But I want you to do it as a conscious decision, not because you feel pressured or just don’t know what you want.”
Looking in her eyes, all I see is concern and care. “Thanks.”
She nods and turns back to my closet. “You’re welcome. Anytime. Now, clothes. I’ll let you borrow some of my stuff too. I’d suggest going shopping, but it’s too late for that. You talking to Jonathan soon?” She casts a glance over her shoulder, her eyebrows bouncing and a sly smile on her face.
I smile back. “Yeah. He has a show tonight, so it’ll probably be kinda late.”
“I’ll be sure to put my earplugs in when I go to bed.”
I toss a pillow at her from my bed, and she just laughs, pulling out clothes and tossing them on the bed. Then she pulls everything out of my suitcase so she can see what’s there, examining it all to decide what she thinks is missing.
Stifling the protest at her undoing all my packing, I let her plan my outfits for the next few days. Although with the amount of clothes she has on the bed, you’d think I’m going to be gone for a week instead of just two nights.
Two measly nights after weeks apart. I swallow down my frustration at that on my way to the bathroom to pack what I can in there. At least Lauren can’t argue with me about shampoo and body wash.
But her words keep replaying in my head, they even phase with each other like some kind of twentieth century tape-looping composition.
What do I want?
The problem is, I’m not entirely sure anymore.
I thought I knew. At least, I had a vague idea at one point. The plan was to go to school, get my degree in violin performance, win a spot with an orchestra, and live happily ever after.
But laid out like that, that’s not any kind of plan. Auditioning for orchestras takes time and effort and money. And if I were to win a spot, most likely I’d need to start a private studio and take side gigs to make ends meet.
With Jonathan, he’s already set for life. He told me about the trust holding his share of earnings from Brash’s run over the summer. Even if he weren’t the hottest debut artist in the US right now, he’d be able to live comfortably anywhere he wanted.
And now? There’s no trust keeping him from his money till he’s twenty-five with his current contract. He could tour for a year and quit, never record another album, and have it made.
I could just ride his coattails and live the high life right along with him. But would I be happy doing that?
Because the reality is, he’s not going to quit after a year. He never quit writing music in the last seven years or so since Brash was famous. And even with his album out and touring and promotion, he’s still writing songs. He played two new ones for me last week, and I know he’s messing around with something else.
If I were with him, I’d be able to hear what he has. But since we’re apart, he wants it to be finished before he plays it for me, even if he wants my help to polish it.
If I were with him, I’d be able to help him polish as he goes, instead of after the fact. Help him with more interesting harmonies and melodic hooks from the beginning instead of changing it later, which I know he hates doing.
He’s a perfectionist. Even though I know he likes having me contribute to his writing, he wants it to be perfect after the first time through. He doesn’t like going back and changing things if he doesn’t have to, even if changing it makes it better. He’ll do it, but he’ll grumble the whole time.
Thinking about his grumpy mutterings when I make him redo something brings a smile to my face and a stab of longing to my heart.
I miss that.
I miss him.
I miss making music together.
But I’ll get to see him tomorrow. At least for a couple of days. That’s something.
“Okay, I think I have your wardrobe planned for the weekend,” Lauren calls from my bedroom. “Come see.”
I’m no closer to a decision about what I want than I was before. But I know I made the right decision about this weekend. Lauren’s having fun in the pit orchestra, and I’m happy for her. But I’m happier that I’m going to be with Jonathan this weekend.