Page 91 of After We Fall

Our activity for the evening is a conversation through music. Luke bought a double headphone adapter so we can listen from the same phone. The rule is, we aren’t allowed to say words. We simply turn on a song from our respective music libraries and allow the lyrics to speak for us.

We play with the caveat that if I get the slightest hint of a headache, I must stop the game.

Noise-canceling headphones are glorious. They block outside stimuli, creating a baseline of silence. Then the speakers provide a crisp sound. Somehow, the combination allows me to listen to songs on low volume without irritating my auditory sensitivity.

I don’t anticipate having to play the headache card during this game.

Luke started our musical conversation with REO Speedwagon’s “Roll with the Changes.”

I countered with “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.”

He grinned and played “I Got You, Babe.”

“Why is this in your music library?” I asked while laughing.

“Shh. No talking during the game.”

My response was Colbie Caillat’s “Never Gonna Let You Down.”

Luke rubbed my palm while the sweet melody of “You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma” floated through the headphones.

And then I responded with Olivia Newton-John’s “Let Me Be There,” the perfect song, in my opinion, to tell a wanderlust that wherever they go, you want to be there with them. Which led to Luke grabbing my phone out of my hand and harassing me about my ONJ playlist.

“Fine.” I cross my arms in a fake huff. “I like her old stuff. Sue me.”

Luke chuckles, scrolling through the playlists. His head shoots up. “No wonder you landed in Colorado, land of the granolas. You have an entire playlist dedicated to John Denver.”

“John Denver is an acclaimed artist.” Whose tenor voice could cause the most staunch city slicker to love nature and, yes, made me feel right at home when I settled at the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.

It seems my mother’s bohemian influence seeped into my life choices without my realizing the extent, a fact that settles well in my soul.

Luke stares at the screen. “What else can I find in here?”

“Give that back.” I reach for my phone, and he holds it high above his head. “If you can’t respect my secret music stash, you lose the privilege of looking through the lists.”

“Oh, baby, I respect the lists. I respect all of your lists. But I’m starting to realize you have an inner wild child that might want to be freed.”

“That’s preposterous.”

His flirty eyes shift to awe and affection. “The beauty’s in the wild,” he whispers. “And you, Penelope, are beautiful.”

I smile at him, then look down to pick a nonexistent piece of lint off my jeans, the fancy house shoes glittering at me from my feet. “Have you eaten dinner?” I ask.

“You gotta keep tryin’ to help everyone else, don’t you?”

Another thing I don’t care for in this healing process. No one lets me do anything for them.

“Besides, it’s date night,” he says. “I’m in charge of the culinary details.”

“Culinary details?”

“Yeah. My date traded down to hang out with me, so I have to sophisticate things.”

“She must be very patient with you.”

“She is.”

Not wanting our game to end, I say, “Play me a song that represents your childhood.”