“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said.
Outside, it was the picture of winter at the end of April. Ice covered every inch of tree and earth. The driveway was an ice luge. A few large tree branches littered the ground, glittering with ice.
“It’s bad,” I said.
I pulled out my phone and searched road conditions. “All the roads around Green Valley are closed. There are weather warnings not to drive for any reason.”
Kim’s eyes were wide. “I can’t believe this spring.” She walked to the fridge and pulled out last night’s leftovers. “I’m starving.”
Without discussion, or even manners, she grabbed a fork and started eating straight out the container. “Wanf som?” she asked around a mouthful of food.
I shook my head at her.
“What? No? And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you how to write your own music. It’s your decision.”
“Kim, stop. It’s good.” I took the container from her hands. “I wouldn’t have asked for your help if I didn’t want input.”
I wouldn’t make a big deal about it, but I liked seeing this side of her. The side that offered glimpses of her assertiveness, like I saw at dinner with Wes. It was what was missing at practice. She was not overthinking. She was just being herself.
We dug back in, chewing in silence, occasionally tearing off hunks of bread with our teeth from the loaf of French bread we passed back and forth.
After a few minutes we sat back with sighs against the sink. We hadn’t even made it to the table. In our defense, the clock read almost five. We’d played almost six hours without a break.
“I guess we were hungry,” she laughed, wiping her mouth. “I feel like I ran a marathon.” She rocked her head back and forth to stretch. I debated offering another massage but the last one had sucked years from my life.
“We’re making progress,” I said.
“Don’t hurt yourself with all that praise, over there.” She rubbed her slightly protruding stomach. “Look, a food baby.” She turned the side and stuck her stomach out even more, rubbing her hand over the area like a proud mother-to-be. The vision sent a weird warmth through me and an unsettling sense of déjà vu made me dizzy. I shook my head with a laugh and looked down.
“I think I’ll name her Ricotta,” she said.
“You look Prego.”
She looked up at me shocked. “You made a pun.”
“It’s less funny when you point it out.”
She crackled with laughter. “That was a good one.”
“I can be funny,” I complained, acting out a wound that I felt deeply. The price I paid for playing the bad guy.
“Youarefunny. You should show it more.” Her eyes widened as she realized what she said.
“Humor doesn’t get results,” I said. My smile fell.
She chewed her bottom lip and refused to meet my gaze.
“What? What are you trying so hard not to say right now?” I asked and crossed my arms, turning fully to face her.
“Nothing?” Her voice lifted at the end.
“Just say it.”
“You could soften a little at rehearsal.”
I growled.
She faced me now as well and her arms came up as though to settle me. “Hear me out. You’re so much more than this image you portray. You’re funny and nice and sometimes even a little patient. You come across as such an—”
