Page 62 of Love Scenes

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask.

“Water, please. And a tour of the kitchen, if you’ll give it.”

“Oh. Sure.”

He follows me with the same light, cautious steps. Watches me open my refrigerator and take out my filtered water.

“What’s new?” I ask, trying—and failing—to mimic the same ease my eleven-year-old sister just had.

He laughs at me, musical and lilting. “My fingers hurt.” He shows me the blisters he’s gotten from playing guitar.

I take his hand in mine to look closer. “When was the last time you played before this?”

“I had a band with my mates in Ireland when we were in primary school.”

Joseph is nearly thirty-three. A quick round of mental math tells me that has to be at least fifteen years ago.

“We called ourselves Boys a Dear. Never played a single show, but we practiced a few times a week at my buddy Cian’s house. Fancied myself to be a bit of a rock star in those days.”

My doorbell rings, startling us both. I drop his hand and scoot back, a new wave of nerves rushing over me. “That must be Emmy and her husband.”

“It’s a good thing you went and got us a few real professionals.” There’s a truth behind Joseph’s joke that I recognize, because I feel it, too. We are in so far over our heads with this performance.

Sarai answers the door, another of the countless gifts she gives me through her existence alone. “Welcome to the show!” I hear her saying, and I know without having to see them that Emmy and her husband are smiling. Sarai’s presence is an injection of happiness into the veins. She loves to meet new people more than anyone I have ever known. It’s comforting and startling, her ability to find the fastest route to a stranger’s appreciation. She’s shaking hands with Emmy and her husband, Garrett, when Joseph and I come to the door.

It feels unsettling to know so much about a girl I’ve never met. Someone whose name I’ve heard spoken like a curse. Whose music has caused more than one forced exit from various coffee shops.

Emmy has long red hair that grazes her exposed navel. A nose ring and a hypnotic rasp to her voice. It’s even more pronounced in her singing; her music sounds like Janis Joplin doing lullabies.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. Thank you for helping me.” I start for a handshake and she opens her arms to embrace me, which feels like the largest olive branch anyone has ever extendedme. Her hug is tight and intentional, saying everything words couldn’t.I understand how you got here. It happened to me too. I’m excited to make him pay.

Everything we’ve hinted at through texting wrapped up in one tight squeeze.

Her husband has the same gentle way about him. Dulcet toned with long shaggy hair and a Ramones tee that doesn’t seem overwrought or even ironic. There’s an honest-to-god coolness about the both of them that radiates. A quiet love humming in the space between their bodies, the kind of thing that seems sacred. Instantly I think of one of Kearns’s songs about her.

I spent years searching for

A truth I’d never find

You gave me access to your heart

Never access to your mind

I hope it’s the kind of line that makes Garrett laugh when he hears it.

We all come into my living room. Emmy immediately compliments both the banana leaf chair and Tyler’s art. Garrett notes the copper light fixture overhead, the first thing I ever picked out for this house. It’s these small kindnesses that bowl me over, filling me with a need to overcompensate. The fact that they’ve agreed to do this isn’t lost on me. It’s such a big gesture, as nice as it is satisfyingly vengeful.

There’s not a ton of small talk to be had in a group like this, which is good. It lets us get to the work sooner. Garrett will be our bassist. Emmy backs up Joseph’s guitar and harmonizes. Sarai on tambourine. Me on vocals, praying with every note that comes from my mouth that this will magically get easier by Sunday.That my decades of insisting I don’t sing will somehow dissipate and I’ll be reborn as the kind of person who hops into a song and belts a high E because they can, then sits back down and eats their dinner with everyone else, shrugging off the barrage of compliments.

After the amps are all set up and everyone is plugged in and ready, we start with “Night Moves.” I want to ask Emmy to sing with Joseph and let me fade into the background. Then Joseph looks my way when he starts the first verse and gives me this expression of utter gratitude, like there’s no one he’d rather fumble through this with than me.

Joseph’s dad can’t get into town until the day of the show. Lucky for us, drums don’t kick in until well into the first verse, and Sarai can hold down the tempo with her tambourine.

The second song we practice is what will actually be our opener, “Rock’n Me.” Joseph’s insistence we don’t do any Beatles songs proves to be a smart choice. These songs are fun and joyful and lend themselves well to a group performance like this. And Joseph is a decent guitar player. Emmy and Garrett legitimize the whole thing, of course. We’d be drowning without them. With their help, we sound pretty damn good. As good as Daniel ever was.

We need a drummer for this one, but it’s not too bad without him for now.

Joseph and I came up with a system for switching verses while sharing the choruses, and there’s at least ten seconds where we’re singing together and I’m not actively dreaming of finding a lightless cave to reside in for the next ten to twenty years.