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Grace talks about the concert, commenting on the special effects Elias and Caelan use and asking if I know how they pull any of it off. I don’t. No one does. That’s something they keep very much under wraps. They’ve baffled a few of the techies on the fan forums who tried to work it out themselves.
As we continue to eat, that unsettled feeling won’t let me be. I know Grace is still feeling the adrenaline from the concert, but I don’t want to talk too much about Goëtica. I need time to process my own reaction first.
The food was my suggestion, but I now realize it’s doing nothing for the churning in my stomach. What if someone spiked my drink? That could explain why I suddenly felt so off, although I can’t think of any potential opportunity for that to have happened.
“You okay?” Grace asks after I spend too long silent with my own thoughts. “You’ve been kind of out of it.”
“Ah… yeah. Just thinking about the concert.”
“Mmm. Why am I not surprised? Youlikethem.”
I wince. Or there’s that possibility. “Maybe a little, I guess.” But even when I had crushes on people before, relationships back when I still bothered trying with that, having feelings for someone has never been a cause for outright dissociation.
The whole thing is weird. I don’t want to talk about it. So I direct the conversation toward the support band instead. Grace knew them, but I’ve not heard their music before today, and she’s happy to share their work like I played Goëtica’s songs on the drive.
She pulls out her headphones and we each take an earpiece, watching some of their music videos on her phone while we eat.
By the time we’ve finished, most partygoers have already left. So it’s far quieter, almost softer somehow.
We head back toward the concert hall where we parked, and I can finally sense myself relaxing. It’s a shame I can’t see the stars—the light pollution is far too great.
The world is muted and quiet as my ears still haven’t quite adapted back to reality after the blasting music of the concert.
To fill the silence, I sing one of Goëtica’s songs under my breath.
“Your voice is pretty good,” Grace says.
Despite the compliment, I wave her statement away in embarrassment. I like singing. I don’t like people actively listening to me. “Sorry. Habit. I always sing.”
“So I hear.”
Oh no.That makes it sound as though people have been talking about it. About me. I can take a pretty good guess at who, and I cringe as I duck into the passenger side of Grace’s car. “Oh, jeez. I’m sure that’s not in a good context. Angela?”
Grace only laughs, and I rub my face.
“You don’t get along with Angela?” she asks.
Angela is a work colleague, one I share an immediate workspace with.
“Ah, it’s nothing. She’s not fond of my singing. Or… me in general.”
I give Grace the address for my motel since I’m staying longer, and she drives westward. It’s not far, only fifteen minutes by car. I still don’t like making her go out of her way just to give me a ride, but it’s better than the almost hour-long effort it would take on public transportation at this time of night.
Bringing up Angela turns the conversation back to work. Safe territory. It’s what we always talk about, given that’s where we met and always see each other, though we work in slightly different areas. I’m still working in the laboratory’s reception area, receiving, processing, and preparing samples for testing, but not actually running anything. Grace is much more qualified and runs the analytical machines on the other side of the lab.
She keeps encouraging me to progress to a similar position once my master’s degree is complete, but honestly, I’m far more content to work my way up slowly. If ever. As much as I enjoy my work, it’s far from a passion, and career progression isn’t a priority of mine. I’d rathernothave the stress of responsibility I don’t feel ready for.
We chat about the workload, daily issues like one of the centrifuges being out of use, and the gossip Grace has picked up about other biotech firms based in the area.
Standard things.
Safe things.
Boring things.
Disconcerting as that one moment was, it seems like a fading memory already. I find myself missing the high of being at the concert.
“Is this the right place?” Grace asks, turning off into a parking lot. It’s a generic roadside motel with no defining features, a dime a dozen. It was the cheapest and close enough to public transportation for onward travel tomorrow.
