Page 13 of Love Felt Like This

Chapter Four

The Guitar Guy

Griffin

The variety show clip was uploaded at six o’clock in the morning, and Ava and I have watched it no fewer than fifty times since.

My mug is in one hand, with my opposite arm holding Ava in my lap. Over and over, my daughter squeezes my phone between her tiny hands and giggles, leaning back and squealing when I shut an imaginary door in the face of Bernie Bird.

I take a sip of my coffee. Ava and I didn’t sleep, but that’s almost every night now. At least she’s laughing.

I smile and set her down before whirling myself around on the piano bench. I know I should be on my guitar. Jimmy’s gonna kill me if he hears me plunking keys instead, but I put down a few chords anyway.

The song isn’t bad. It’s kind of good. In fact, it’s sounding kinda catchy.

And…it’s “Bennie and the Jets.”

I drag my fingers down the keys, sending an erratic, discordant mess of notes echoing through the living room. A sippy cup rattles on the ledge of the piano. I have no clue when that got there. Just the other morning, I found a wrapped-up diaper beside my Gibson Les Paul instead of in the diaper genie right next to it. At some point, you accept that items end up wherever they want when you have a two-year-old.

I straighten my posture on the piano bench, as if that would help my muse. I’ve been trying to write music for months now, but no hit songs have sprouted from these tired fingertips. If I could send even one track to the record label, they might be breathing down my neck—and Jimmy’s—a little less. Agreeing to an international tour this coming March was supposed to make up for it, but the pressure hasn’t decreased.

I play again. The next combination of chords is no better, but at least it’s an original song: “Ava’s Jammies Jam.”

Ava’s head pops up. She bounces on her bottom to the rhythm. I chuckle, playing it again.

“Jammie?” she asks, pointing to the bedroom.

Educational songs for my kid are the only music I create now.

I shake my head. “It’s only two o’clock, munchkin. Not yet.”

She looks confused for a second, but it’s in one ear and out the other. She grabs the phone from the floor, taps the screen, and starts that variety show clip again.

Kids.

I’m not normally a technology dad, but Ava loves Bernie Bird. He was regularly scheduled viewing in our house before Birds on the Block was taken off streaming six months ago. We lost the five-bird crew: Bernie Bird, Penny Pigeon, Hector Hawk, Carmen Crow, Debra Dove…

I can’t believe I know all the names…

I shut my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. Sure, I watched Birds as a kid, but not to this extent. It’s funny how being a parent makes you an expert on children’s shows.

Ava stares at the phone, wobbling to her feet before toddling over to me. She gestures toward the screen, grunting out a noise that’s asking a question without words.

I twist around on the bench seat and bend down to pull her onto my lap again.

“You like Bernie, huh?” I ask, pressing play for her as she leans against my chest. She feels so tiny and fragile. Probably because her head is the size of my upper arm.

I cave and watch the video with her, seeing all two and a half minutes of me and Bernie.

Ava points to the screen.

“What’s up?” I ask.

She pokes the video the moment my eyes dart off-camera. Another unspoken question. I love her curiosity.

“Oh, I was just checking to make sure my shoelaces were tied,” I explain. “You know how we sing a song about that?”

She nods and settles back into the video.