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I look up from the knot of wood on the floor I’ve been staring at since I’ve been lost in my own thoughts.
“I’m sorry…what was it?”
“What are you excited for? It can be anything. An event. Big or small. Or a milestone, maybe.”
I look around the circle at the faces staring back at me. I can tell by the nervous, jittery energy that they’re not a talkative bunch today, which is why she’s asking me. I sort of like talking and starting the conversation. Even if it does usually end up in tears and grief, at least by the end we’re laughing and smiling.
“Umm…I have a gig tonight at this piano bar I love. It’s like…a showcase they have once a week. They’re going to let me play my own songs…as long as I promise to play the classic covers too.”
“Did you finish your song?” the moderator asks.
“I finished a couple, actually.”
A few people around the circle clap and aim their tight-lipped smiles in my direction.
“How do you think your mom would feel about your songs?” she asks in a follow-up. My chest tightens at that question.
“Umm…” I smile to myself, thinking about the fact that some of my songs definitely make reference to the same man she was in love with nine years ago. But all of that aside… “She called me her favorite songwriter. So I know she’d be really proud.”
“Sheisproud,” one of the older women in the group adds, and I grin at her.
“Thanks,” I reply.
From then on, someone else answers and then another, and soon, we’re all talking about the things we’re excited about, encouraging each other, and you almost wouldn’t recognize us as a grief counseling group.
Which I guess is sort of the point.
* * *
As it turns out, healing from grief and a breakup at the same time is really exhausting. Which means when I’m not at counseling or working or writing a song, I’m sleeping. And every moment I’m not sleeping, I’m wishing I was.
“Daisy,” Geo calls, tapping on my bedroom door. I roll over and check the time on my phone, “It’s seven. You don’t want to be late.”
Actually, yes, I do.
I think I might have lied when I told the group I was looking forward to this night, because I’m actually dreading it. This will be the first time I perform any of my own songs in front of a crowd that’s not my mom or Ronan.
“Big risk, big reward, Daisy,” I mumble to myself, imagining it’s my mother’s voice harping at me to get out of bed and go to the bar. I only have to tell myself the same line about ten times before I finally sit up and pull on my pants. And since I took a little too long, I now have to rush, throwing my wild hair into a long, messy braid over my shoulder. Then I slip on one of my mom’s old band tees that’s been ripped to make it more of a crop top.
I toss my journal into my new backpack and rush out the door. Geo is standing in the hallway waiting. He’s dressed up tonight, and I pause as I take in his whole look. He looks fine as hell in those black leather pants and a pair of high-heeled boots, making his slender legs look longer than they already are. The black eyeliner brings out the green in his eyes and his shirt is so tight his toned biceps are on display. It makes me wish he’d dress up like this more at the club.
“Daaaaaamn,” I drawl as I let my gaze sweep up and down his body. “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy as Fuck.”
“Oh, stop,” he replies, and I laugh as I throw my arms around his neck.
“You got dressed up for me,” I mumble into his ear, and I feel him smile against my cheek.
“Of course, I did, Daisy Moon. This is your big night. And we all know I’m your only friend.”
When I pull away from the hug, I give him a shove. Then I take his hand in mine, our fingers entwined, and even I’m surprised to find I’m the one pulling him to the door.
It’s a short walk from Geo’s apartment to the bar, but I feel like I’m practically running all the way there. I don’t want to be late, but I’m also terrified to arrive, so every step feels ominous and exciting at the same time.
When we finally arrive, my hands tremble as Geo pulls open the door. It’s not nearly as crowded as it normally is on the popular dueling piano nights. But there is a nice little crowd of people lingering around the tables. When I spot a familiar face standing at the bar, I freeze.
Eden St. Claire is holding a martini glass next to a grinning blonde. It takes me a moment to recognize Garrett’s fiancée, Mia. I coast their way with a look of surprise on my face.
“Oh my God, what are you doing here?” I ask as I put my arms around Eden.
