Page 18 of Love Felt Like This

They’re acting like good sports about my lack of motivation, but I know they’re getting antsy.

Ava giggles again.

“Daddy funny,” she whispers.

Yeah. Funny Daddy can talk to a puppet, but he can’t write anything but children’s music. Can’t help his friends. Can’t—

Huh.

I can write children’s music.

“I wanna talk to her,” I blurt out.

Jimmy freezes. “What?”

“The puppeteer who’s reviving it,” I say, flicking my eyes over to him. “Get me in touch. I want dinner with her.”

Jimmy runs a palm over his face, tugging down his cheeks and the bags under his eyes and everything in between.

“Why?” Jimmy pleads.

“I just do.”

“Please,” he says, tossing his phone to the side and clutching his palms together. “Please, dear Lord above, please just write new songs, Griffin.”

“That’s what I intend to do. But maybe I gotta get these songs out first.”

“What songs?”

“Songs for children’s television, I guess.” My mind is already thrumming with ideas. I need to make new music, and if this is what I can get, I’ll take it. “It’s better than nothing, right?”

“Griffin—”

“I wanna talk to her,” I repeat.

Poe barks out a laugh. Royce stretches his arms to the sky with a smile.

“You’re kidding,” Jimmy says.

“I don’t think he is,” Poe says, grinning.

Ava is still laughing at Bernie and me in the video.

This will rejuvenate things. My music career. My bandmates, who need work. My daughter, who hasn’t laughed this much in months. Bernie Bird, needing a new home. This is the solution; I can feel it. I’ll create something fun, something I’m already able to do well, and then I’ll move on. Once it’s out of my system entirely, I’ll have nothing left but new chords to explore.

Jimmy taps his finger on the couch’s arm. “You’re behind on the deadline you promised the studio six months ago. You’re destroying your reputation interview after interview. And now you want to do this? Meet with the creator of a kids’ show?”

Dom, my silent drummer, finally clears his throat. Despite the grit still crackling between each syllable, he says, “Griffin did look like he was having fun with that bird. Maybe it’s worth a shot.”

Jimmy shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s not—”

“Jimmy?” I interrupt his breakdown.

He groans, peeking at me through a squint. “Yes?”

“Get me a dinner with her.”

Chapter Five