Page 79 of Call You Mine
“Good for you,” I tell her, lightly knocking my knuckles against her shoulder before going back to the records in front of me.
I’m about to say more, but I decide against it, feeling comfortable in the quiet calm that settles between us, the soft, grunge music playing over the speakers filling the silence enough for us. For the early afternoon, the place is pretty dead, so we spend the next few hours making our way through the bins until it starts getting dark.
“Ready to wrap up?” I ask Georgie. She’s tightly holding one of the records she kept circling back to against her chest as her eyes roam the old concert posters hanging all over the brick walls of the shop.
She nods. “I’m going to ask if they’ll hold this one for me until next week. Do you think you can bring me here again when you’re back from Las Vegas?" Her face flushes before she quickly adds, “If you don’t mind maybe bringing me here again. I could always ask Ava, too. I don’t know if you work or if you’re busy—” her voice trails off.
“Of course, G. I’d be happy to bring you back, but why don’t we get this one today?” Before we got here, I decided I wanted to keep the tradition alive that my dad started with me, so I was already planning on buying one of whichever record she wants. And then, we can listen to it when we get home.
“But I don’t have any money,” she says, her brows furrowing as I lead her over to the checkout counter.
“Consider it a thank you for coming with me to check this place out.” I take the record from her, loving her choice. The familiar black album cover with a hand holding a heart-shaped grenade has me grinning wide as we make our way over to the guy at the register.
I didn’t think I could admire this kid any more, and then she goes and grabs a Green Day album.American Idiot,no less.
Placing the record on the counter, I notice a small container of matchboxes with the record store’s logo. Remembering the small bowl I noticed at Ava’s apartment, I pocket one, realizing that I never asked if the collection was hers or Emerson’s.
“Are you sure?” Georgie asks, hiding her smile. She tucks a strand of her dirty blonde hair behind her ears, her eyes shining as she looks up at me, bringing me back to the moment.
“Absolutely.”
I’m just falling asleep when I hear the creaking of the hardwood outside my door. The footsteps carefully step down the hallway and into the living room.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I’m out of my bed, throwing on a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants over my boxers, and quietly opening my door.
Ava got home at the same time Georgie and I did earlier this evening, and it’s the first night since last Saturday that we are all home at the same time. Georgie and I picked up dinner for the three of us so I could make sure Ava had something to eat when she got home after working all day. I find that if I don’t keep the fridge stocked with leftovers from the meals I make, ready with a note that they’re for her, Ava won’t eat anything besides the bland protein bars she lives off of.
Georgie told Ava all about the record store while we ate, and then the three of us gathered around the record player in the living room, just like we did with that old Nickelback vinyl that first night they came over.
We listened to the entire Green Day album from front to back—Georgie even changed the record halfway through just like I taught her. I’d told her that she can use it when I’m not home, but I think it was the first time she used it since that first night.
I don’t know when it happened, maybe somewhere between agreeing to have Ava and Georgie move in and mentally reorganizing my space to fit them. But while the three of us sat on the floor, nodding along to the music, natural, easy conversation surrounding us, I stopped thinking about how this is all temporary—fake.
And it hit me that it never really was, to me.
Because it’s moments like tonight where I find myselfthinking not about how good we are at pretending, but about how real this is all starting to feel.
Both girls headed to sleep pretty early. It’s a school night for Georgie, and Ava said she wanted to get packed and prepped for our long weekend in Vegas.
But I think she’s actually avoiding me.
Ava and I haven’t talked about the moment we shared in the shower over the weekend, and if it were up to her, I don’t think we ever would. After reluctantly heading to bed when all I really wanted to do was get on my knees and beg Ava to keep herself open for me, I slept almost the entire day and halfway through the night. I think it was almost four in the morning when I woke up—my body finally feeling rested, along with my mind.
I figured Ava and I would have some time to talk in Vegas this weekend, especially since we’re sharing a hotel room under ourcurrently engagedfacade we’ve been hiding behind.
Opening my bedroom door, I peek my head out to see into the living room.
Maybe we can just talk about it now.
I start thinking about what I want to say—how I want to thank her for being there for me in that moment of vulnerability. For listening to me. For letting me lean on her, both figuratively andliterally, when I needed it.
But I’m surprised when it isn’t Ava I find.
It’s Georgie.
She’s sitting on the floor, just like she was a few hours ago. Only this time, she’s alone.
The vinyls are laid out in front of her, even though she’s got to have all of them memorized at this point, with how often she looks at them all.
