Page 25 of Every Shattered Note
“You slotted ‘The Chicken Dance’ between ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ and ‘Sweet Caroline.’That’s not just wrong—it’s a fucking war crime.”
“Alyssa did,” I say, tipping my chin toward the printed list.“I assume it’s a strategic move.Crowd control.People go from weepy to wasted fast.You toss in some flapping arms and forced smiles.No one notices Uncle Lou taking off his tie and doing air guitar on the dessert table.”
Alec chuckles, finally giving in.“He’s got a point.It’s Pavlovian.You flap.You laugh.You chug a drink, then boom—Neil Diamond.You’re reborn.”
Barret throws up both hands like he’s surrendering to a bad dream.“Fuck.We used to open for Jane’s Addiction.Now we’re choreographing poultry.”
He stares into the void like it might offer him a way out.
“Relax,” I say, turning Rosie in my lap and adjusting her tuning.“It’s one gig.We’re not signing a lifetime contract.”
“Uh-huh,” Barret mutters.“That’s what you said before that charity gala in ’98, and you ended up backing a Spice Girls cover band in sequin pants.”
He narrows his eyes.“And don’t act like you don’t remember Mrs.Crawford.She bid two grand for you at the bachelor auction and nearly took you home in a stretch limo full of retirement-age dominatrixes.”
That memory still makes my spine stiffen.“It was for a good cause.”
“And this?”
“I’m not dodging any grandmas this time.Hopefully.”
The printed playlist rests between a coffee-stained napkin and a half-eaten jelly donut.Alyssa sent it yesterday.Her email was precise, like she organizes dreams for a living.Which, I guess, she kind of does.
Required:
“At Last” — Etta James
“Wonderful Tonight” — Eric Clapton
“I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” — Aerosmith
Optional (Pick Two):
“Truly Madly Deeply” — Savage Garden
“Because You Loved Me” — Celine Dion
“Maneater” — Hall & Oates
Also include “The Chicken Dance.”Non-negotiable.
I smooth out the page and glance at the guys.“We’ll keep her list.Trim the filler if we need to.Maybe toss in a surprise or two if the vibe’s right.”
Alec leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.“You sure you want me drumming for this?I haven’t played live in a year.I’m out of sync.”
“You’re Alec fucking North,” I say.“You could keep time in your sleep—with one stick and a broken hi-hat.”
He scoffs, but his mouth twitches at the corners.“Still sounds like community punishment.”
“Then consider it atonement.”
Alec barks out a laugh, shaking his head.“If you ever expect me to do this at a real wedding, do us all a favor and don’t count me in.”
I throw him a look, then glance at Barret.“Did the roadies say they can help haul and connect the equipment?”
He nods, brushing his hair back with the edge of his palm.“Yeah.Shouldn’t be too complicated.They’re already halfway through inventory.”
I give a short whistle, flex my fingers, and nudge the setlist closer.The studio hums with that low, electric buzz—half caffeine, half nerves.Alec stretches, cracks his knuckles like this is just another session, but his gaze tracks every move I make.
