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“Come inside,” Caleb said. It was gruff but I detected a hint of pity, and the mortification struck deeper, reminding me of too many times in the past. Like when I’d asked Jenny Robinson, who I thought was the coolest person I’d ever met, if I could sit with her at lunch in seventh grade, and she waited politely while I stammered through the answer to every question, then smiled tightly and left. The time I’d drunkenly kissed Miles VanCamp at a party freshman year, and he pulled away, hands on my shoulders, and told me he just didn’t think of me that way. The time I’d come offstage after my first piano recital, smiling because I’d nailed the tricky part in the piece I’d been working on for weeks, and was met with twin pillars of icy dispassion. The night I’d suggested Ven, Ethan, Coco, and I get together for dinner after a writing session, and they exchanged startled looks, like they hadn’t expected having a new member of the band meant actually having to hang out with him.
I stumbled over the threshold, now wishing I were anywhere but here.
The door opened onto a living room, revealing a worn Shaker dining table with only two chairs, and a utilitarian kitchen beyond that. The kitchen had probably been painted white, once upon a time, and was now slightly yellowed, like aged ivory.
The walls of the living room were an unfortunate color that was likely meant to be gray but was more like lavender. It housed a brown corduroy reclining chair, stuck in what looked like a state of permanent semirecline, a card table to the left of it that held a coffee mug and a plate with smears of hot sauce or ketchup on it, a rickety floor lamp, and a dark blue velveteen couch. The couch was turned with its back to the room, facing the wall, as if it had been given a time-out. To sit on it you’d have to vault over the sides or clamber over the back.
“What’s with your—oh, thanks.” Caleb handed me a glass of water and stood, arms crossed over his chest, regarding me. “Your couch,” I finished weakly.
Caleb pulled it out from the wall and spun it around, powerful arms and shoulders flexing beneath his worn white T-shirt, tattoo peeking out from the neck. At his gesture, I sat down next to him.
He was looking at me warily, like he couldn’t quite believe I was here. And fair point to him, since I’d shown up out of the blue. There was something else there besides suspicion, though. I wanted it to be desire, but I thought it might be fear.
“Theo.” My name tore through me, a tender invasion. “Talk.”
The water glass was the kind of old-fashioned beaded yellow glass they’d used at my friend Eric’s house when I was a kid. The color made the water look brackish, medieval. Eric had been one of the only real friends I’d had who actually liked doing the things I liked doing, who I could talk to in more than insults and jokes. He’d moved away when I was fourteen and I’d never seen him again.
The cup disappeared and Caleb slid a hand into mine to replace it, squeezing for just a moment before letting go.
“Talk,” he said again. But everything was swimmy and it all sounded ridiculous.
“You know that thing,” I said, voice scratchy and tight with nerves, “where there’s a melody and you know you can construct a harmony because, duh, you always can, so you try a bunch of different things and some bits are right and others suck, and some of it is better with no harmony, and you work at it a lot before maybe you get something okay?”
I was talking to my knees, but when I glanced up at Caleb, he nodded.
“And then there are other melodies where even before you’ve heard the whole song, you can just sing the harmony because it’s already there, in the air, and it sounds great, and it makes the song better, and it’s as easy as breathing?”
Another nod, and Caleb’s eyes were looking into me so deeply it was like I could feel them on my skin.
“I’m not great with people. And when I try, usually it’s like the hard harmony. Making it up and it fails, or it’s okay but not worth the effort it took. But then, the other night, you and I…it was easy. The harmony was right there. And I just—I’m majorly fucking embarrassing myself right now, but I just wanted it. More of it. But you left with no note or anything and I probably should’ve taken that as a fucking hint, huh? God, sorry, I’m such a tool. I can’t even believe I came out here. Okay, I’m gonna go.”
