Page 75 of Love Felt Like This

I lean over the couch arm and grab my guitar, then set the body onto my thigh. I run my fingers down the guitar’s neck. The back of my hand bumps against Beverly’s shoulder. I clear my throat and lean away, ignoring the tickle of sparks once more.

“I think I’ve got something for it.”

“For what?” she asks. “The episode?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Just like that?”

“I follow inspiration.”

Her eyes light up. “Show me.” It’s not a command. It’s anticipation. Like the thought of witnessing someone else’s creativity is exciting.

“The letter of the day is E?” I ask, recalling the script.

She nods.

I swipe my fingers over the strings. I pluck and slide and search. I need a chord that vibrates through me. I try one. Another. Then, of course, an E chord. It appears like a thump against my chest, echoing up my veins, hitting that spot in my brain that feels just right.

“The letter E…” I hum. “Is exhilarating.”

I glance over. Beverly’s eyes are sparkling in awe.

“Go on,” she breathes.

I adjust the guitar again. My knees knock against hers. The corduroy catches on my sweatpants, which now feel embarrassing to be wearing. I swallow and strum. I try E minor this time. I don’t like it as much, so I change back to major.

“E is for exhilarating,” I continue. “Exciting. Enjoyable, like the elephant in the elevator.”

“Oh my God, I love it,” she breathes.

“E. Eagles. E. Elevator.”

Beverly’s laugh bubbles out of her.

“E. Eels. A fish in the sea.”

“They’re a fish?” she asks.

I grin and sing, “They’re fishes to me. Me me me. E.”

“E,” she sings, too, except her words are in a squawking voice reminiscent of Bernie Bird. “Entertain! Like Griffin Harv-E!”

I bark out a laugh.

“Daddy!” Ava calls over.

It’s probably not intentional on Ava’s part to also have it rhyme, but I strum and sing out, “That’s right. Dad-E. With notes making you happ-E!”

“Griffin,” Beverly says, barely making out words through giggles. “Stop, stop.” I keep strumming because watching her laugh is making more notes pop up in my mind—more rhythms, more lyrics, more beating, pounding, thumping in my chest. She reaches out and touches my forearm, and my hand slips, fumbling my fingers over the strings.

I clear my throat and strum a final, almost breathless, “E.”

The chord echoes through the guest apartment, lingering on the walls and the air, warming the room with our heavy exhales, out of breath from laughing.

“It’s wonderful,” Beverly finally says with a beaming grin. Beautiful. Stunning. Pressure expands in my chest, rising to my throat and heating my cheeks. It’s like a balloon refusing to pop despite needling with pain. Probably exhausted, Beverly’s face flushes too.

“Want to try for one more?” I ask.