Page 62 of Naz & Roz

“I can’t seem to play,” she whispered. “I sit at my piano, and I stare at the ivory. I hear these notes in my head, and I see them flying past like I always do. That’s how I compose, but then I sit down to play … and nothing comes out.”

Naz fought the urge to frown as he came to lean against the piano. “Why?”

“At first, I wanted to blame you. I thought because I was so distracted with you that my desire to make music was just … gone for a bit. But that was an excuse, and not a reason.”

Naz leaned over to let his fingers drift over the keys. He played a simple tune that only took three of his fingers, and a couple of keys. Nothing too serious. He wasn’t very fucking good at this anyway.

“So, what’s the reason, Roz?”

She glanced up at him, wild-eyed and scared. He thought she looked scared. He didn’t like that at all.

“I have a deadline coming up. The piece had to be original. Amazing. It’s a once in a lifetime shot, and the longer I took to feel right about this piece, the worse I felt about it. The more I changed. It wasn’t good enough, and because it came from me—”

“You weren’t good enough,” he murmured.

Roz shrugged, but stayed quiet.

“Roz, you have to know—”

“I’m my own worst critic, and you can tell me I’m the most amazing thing you’ve ever heard, but that’s not going to change what goes on inside my head. It doesn’t change what I tell myself.”

Naz straightened to his full height, hearing what she said and understanding that better than she knew. Maybe it was because he’d watched his mother go through her own battles throughout his life with things like anxiety and depression. But he got it even if she thought he didn’t.

“So, then we start by rewiring,” he said, coming to sit beside her on the bench. “For every negative thing we hear inside our minds, we tell ourselves five positive things. You hear, I’m so terrible. And so you say, No one else sounds like I do; no one else creates what I do; I am talented; I am worthy; and I can do this. That’s what you do. We can start now.”

Roz glanced over at him, and laughed. “Naz—”

“I can do it for you, if you want. You tell me the bad things, I repeat the good things.”

She shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

Not at all.

“I’ll do it but on one condition.”

Roz grinned. “What’s that?”

“For every time we have to do this—you say something bad, and I return something good—then you have to play that piece you composed for the audition in Australia.” At her curious glance his way, he shrugged. “Your brother mentioned it to me a while back, but when you didn’t say anything about it, I figured you didn’t want to talk about it. I take it that’s the once in a lifetime thing, right?”

Roz sighed. “I’m going to fuck up so bad.”

“You’re going to nail it. You’re going to have the whole fucking crowd on their feet. You’re going to be beautiful. You will be amazing. You are amazing, Roz.”

It took her a second, and then two.

He’d done what he said.

She said something bad.

He came back with five good things.

“I can do this all night,” he murmured, “but you know the deal. Your turn, baby.”

Her hands found the keys again, and music came out. Hesitant, he thought. He heard the missteps she made, but he thought that might have just been nerves because he was sitting so close to her, and didn’t she usually do this sort of thing on her own?

“That was horrible,” Roz mumbled when she finished.

“Better than what I can do,” he countered. “And it came out of your head, no one else’s. You did that. You created something. That talent is yours. You own this, Roz.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. Play. That’s the deal.”

Roz’s fingers hit the keys again, but this time, she looked at him while she played. “I love you, Naz.”

Naz grinned. “Good fucking thing, huh?”

“Can I do this?”

“If not you, then who?”