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“I bet you do too. Turn the light on, E.T.,” I quip.
She laughs. It’s the most carefree sound I’ve heard from her in so long. And it feels good to know we’re not as far apart from each other as we were just a few hours ago.
“Trust me, Carter, I am not fit for public consumption,” she says, and damn I wish I could reach through the phone and turn the light on.
“Good thing I’m not planning on eating your pussy tonight, then.”
She sputters a scandalized laugh. “Oh my God. Don’t talk like that!”
“Why not? Don’t you like it when I eat you?” I drawl teasingly, and she gasps.
“Carter… please. I mean it. I can’t.” There’s censure and pleading in her tone.
I should tell her it’s okay.
It should be okay.
My life isn’t exactly settled and I have no business disrupting hers.
“Okay. Friends.” I sound like a kid who’s just agreed to eat his vegetables, and she laughs.
“Would it be so bad just being my friend?” She sounds like she’s cringing as she waits for my answer.
Very, very bad.
“You cheat at scrabble, and you chew too loud, but otherwise, guess it’s not all bad.”
She giggles.
I’m glad one of us isn’t miserable.
“So…I heard you bought my piano.” Her voice is even and matter-of-fact, and I wish I could see her eyes because I can’t tell if she’s glad or if she wishes I hadn’t.”
“He’s had it for ten years…I wasn’t sure you’d still think of it as yours.”
“I’ve been looking for it for years. I can’t believe it’s been right under my nose all this time.”
“You didn’t know where it was?”
“Nope, my father sold it after he kicked Jude out of the house.”
I frown. “Why did he do that?”
“He blamed her for my accident and because he could. But the house is mine now. Just like the piano is yours.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. And until your house is ready for it…I was thinking, you could keep it here. Use it whenever you like.”
My first instinct is to throw myself at her feet and thank her. I’ve been aching to play again. Since that night at Corks, I’ve been writing lyrics, rifts, and bars in every spare minute I have. For the first time in years music is bursting to get out. “You don’t mind me coming over every day??”
“As long as you don’t mind that I’ll be in the studio with you.”
“And… we’re just going to be friends while I’m here?”
“Yes.”
I pretend to think it over. But there’s nothing to think about. If I’m going to get my life back, I need to see if I can compose again.
