Page 7 of The Music of Us
“I had my Uber drop me off here after my doctor’s appointment,” Mom admitted, reaching over to pet Figgy fondly. “You know I can’t stay away from this place for too long.”
“I know.” I felt the same way about being here with the cats.
“Now, how’s the café?” Mom asked, getting back to business. “What’s the total for today?”
I hesitated, not wanting to tell her the bad news, and Amber jumped in. “We finally got another cat adopted out, Diana! Snickers found a home with a really nice girl. I could tell it was love at first sight.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mom gushed. “That’s the best part about this job, isn’t it?”
“It really is.”
Mentally, I subtracted my daily wages and added it to the total of what we’d made today. Ever since freshman year, Mom had given me a paycheck like a regular employee because she said I deserved it with the work I put in, and other teens got allowances, anyway. But I didn’t mind giving it up.
“Here,” I said, scribbling down the new number in Mom’s business book and handing it to her.
Guilt flooded me. Mom and I had always been close—like Lorelai and Rory fromGilmore Girlsclose—and I’d never lied to her about anything big before. But I changed the total to help her, so there was no harm in that, right? Mom shouldn’t worry about the café when she was already in pain.
Mom nodded at the total thoughtfully. Amber did too, with a side-eye at me.
I masterfully pretended I did not see it.
“Wow, we’ve really slowed down this summer,” Mom muttered. “I think things will pick up in the fall. We just have to make it there.”
“We will,” I promised. “I won’t let you down.”
But I needed to figure outhow.
Chapter Three
You’re just another
Familiar stranger, ghostly specter
Full of near misses forever
—US Lyric Bot [@HourlyUs]
Welcome back to your favorite Somerset station, LUVR FM,” the local DJ boomed over my phone’s radio app. “Here’s a request from Sandra: ‘Familiar Stranger’ by the Usual Suspects.”
“Ugh, again?” Amber exclaimed from where she sat cross-legged on the café floor. “Someone’s allowed to request the same songthreetimes in one hour?”
“That’s a pretty sad ballad; Sandra must really be going through it tonight,” I mused, before raising my half-stale apple fritter toward the window in a donut toast. “Hope things get better for you, Sandy, whoever you are.”
“Wow, you get really into this.”
I shrugged, finishing the snack I’d raided from the café’s leftovers. “I like listening to what songs people request.”
It was nearly like hearing confessions. Music’s personal, like a treasure map to someone’s soul. If you listened hard enough, you could hear what people were too scared to say aloud.
“Well, I’m sick of this one,” Amber muttered. “She should’ve requested ‘Lovely, Aren’t Ya’ instead.”
Making a face, I dangled a purple mouse in front of Skittles, an orange tabby. “I’m glad she didn’t.”
Amber rolled her eyes. “Whatisyour problem with that song? It’s a great love song.”
It was. Italsohad Jake’s fingerprints all over it. When it first released, I’d known he composed it from the first fifteen seconds alone. Musicians couldn’t help but let their soul sink into their work.
I just didn’t want to hear what that particular song said.
