Page 17 of Love Felt Like This

“Again?”

“Yeah, all right.”

We all watch the video in silence except for Ava, who laughs in that rolling childlike way where they’re unable to finish one laugh before the next one starts. Hell, I’ll admit that the part with Bernie’s door stunt is genuinely funny. With how I play along, you’d think I’ve been working with puppets for a while. By the end of that brief, messy skit, acting with him felt weirdly natural, like how making up songs about brushing teeth or bubble baths comes to me more easily than anything else right now.

Ava squeals, laughing.

“Daddy funny!” Ava says again.

Daddy’s funny.

I was tired on that show. Grumpy. But despite looking equally as exhausted, that woman puppeteering Bernie was just happy to be there. It was probably a dream come true. I know because her grin was the same grin I used to see on myself. Before the past year. Before losing Robin. Before every song felt like wrenching my soul from my body.

Bernie looks in the camera, and his beak contorts into an exaggerated frown.

“She’s good,” I comment.

“Who?” Jimmy asks.

“The puppeteer. She’s talented.”

“Oh yeah,” he responds, too focused on his phone and emails. “Apparently she was there to bring awareness to her revival. I think she’s tried pitching, and it hasn’t worked out.”

I turn on the piano bench, the leather squeaking under my thighs.

“What? Where’d you hear that?”

He waves his hand around. “I don’t know, she and Finch were talking about it backstage after.”

“Finch?”

Jimmy points his phone at the video. “You know. He’s one of the guys that created Birds on the Block. He’s a legend. But the show went kerplunk, and now it looks like their workshop is too.”

“Is she losing her job?”

“I think so, yeah. There was a whole article on it last week.”

“Show me.”

Jimmy sighs but taps over his phone anyway. After about thirty seconds, he hands the phone to me.

The article talks about how Flock Workshop, the nonprofit that creates Birds on the Block, is unable to keep the company afloat. The article speculates that to make the company operational again and to produce new episodes of the show, they’d need a partnership to fund staff, new materials, musicians…

Christ, I could help with music. All I write is children’s music nowadays. It’s the only way the incessant tapping in my fingers finds its relief.

“Well, did it work?” I ask, handing the phone back.

Jimmy side-eyes me, exhaling. “Did what work?”

“The variety show. This video’s everywhere. Did it help her get the funding she needs?”

He huffs out a laugh. “How would I know, Griffin?”

“I want to know.”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on the next album?” Poe chimes in. Despite his playful smile, my stomach clenches.

They need me to write. Without new music, my bandmates are out of reliable work. Sure, they get gigs as background musicians for other artists, but they’ve invested a lot of time in my career these past few years. They’re on my albums. They’re on my tours—specifically, they’re scheduled for the three-month international tour mid-March. They’re my band without being my band.