“This again,” he says, a corner of his mouth lifting in a lopsided smile. “You’ll never get over that.”
“It happened last week!”
He pushes his glasses up his nose. “You know, you got me thinking…”
“Shocking.”
His smile widens. “I know. But you did. I realized my dad marrying your mom after the way my parents’ marriage imploded was kind of like me continuing to play big shows even though I have to puke every time before I go onstage.”
“I can’t wait to see where you’re going with this.”
“It’s a leap of faith. He thinks it’s going to be different this time, and he wants it badly enough that he’s willing to try even though he knows what could go wrong.”
“How’s that like you and your band?”
He bows his head slightly, a curl falling out of alignment, and I reach forward and tuck it back—only realizing what I’ve done when I register the softness of his hair and hear his intake of breath.
I freeze, my hand suspended in the air, before I gather myself and return it to my side.
We’re silent for a moment, watching one another, a strange tension radiating between us.
“I guess I’d like things to be different too,” he says, relieving the pressure. “I love playing with the guys, and the crowd’s energy feels great, but I don’t love the actual crowd. Especially when it hits me that there are hundreds of people there who gave up their night to come listen to us. It makes me feel likeI’m doomed to screw up, and they’ll charge the stage. In a bad way.”
“Is there a good way?”
He considers this, then shakes his head. “No.”
“Try imagining them all naked.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Do you really want to stare at a crowd full of naked people?”
“I suppose it depends on who the people are. I tried it one time while doing this presentation at a bank with José, because he suggested it. It did make the bankers seem less intimidating, especially since I imagined the biggest asshole with a micropenis.”
“Imagining I’m about to get trampled by a horde of naked people wouldn’t make me less nervous, micropenises or not. I’d also feel secondhand embarrassment. Like the inverse of that dream where you’re running through the halls of your high school naked.”
“Fair point,” I say, my wheels already turning. “I’ll think of something that’s going to work for you.”
“Take your time,” he replies with a soft smile. “I’ve been trying to figure it out for thirty years. What’s a few more?”
It’s obvious he doesn’t think I’m going to come up with anything, which only makes me want it more. My wheels turn faster, and then I snap my fingers. “I’ve got it. You like video games?—”
“Who doesn’t?”
I laugh, because I imagine plenty of people don’t. They may be wrong, but they exist. “Well, imagine every person in the audience is an NPC. You know, one of those annoying, overly chatty guides they give you at the beginning of the game. Who could be nervous about playing for a bunch of people like that? Besides, if they’re dicks, or if they walk out midshow, you canjust tell yourself they had no choice. It was the will of their programmer overlord.”
His smile is slow this time, but I enjoy watching it spread across his face. “So you still play video games.”
Self-consciousness washes over me. Have I revealed too much? I remember how put-out he seemed when I asked him about hisHalf-LifeT-shirt.
“They’re pretty boring,” I fib, trying to deflect his intense gray gaze. When disappointment flickers in his eyes, I continue, “But I have been known to stay up until two in the morning googling conspiracy theories aboutHalf-Life 3. And sure, I still play The Sims occasionally. It feels good being able to control someone else’s life.”
“When you don’t feel like you have enough control over yours.” He nods. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I’d better go.” I’m saying it for myself as much as for him. For the first time in a long while, I’m in no great hurry to return to the brewery.
He hesitates, then, with a self-deprecating tone, says, “You had all that good advice about needlessly holding doors. What do you think…would it be okay if I hugged you now? Is that what most people would do?”
“It would be good practice for the double date from hell,” I say.
