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Alwin and I look at each other. “That tracks,” we say in unison.
“You should see the stuff she’s written lately,” he continues. “Might turn us into a cheery pop band.”
We both let our mood slip back to seriousness, and Alwin places a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll hash it all out together tomorrow.”
“Yeah, all right.”
“What about you and Sara, then?”
I shrug but can’t help smiling, even just at her name.
“Holy shit,” Alwin says. “You’re in love.”
“I’m not—she wouldn’t—fuck.Totally,” I admit.
Alwin groans. “You will be the worst. All happy and in love. Is she going to tour with us?”
My smile slips. “Tour with us? I doubt she’ll want to tag along with the band. Besides, she’s got her daughter moving back stateside before Christmas.”
“Do you think she’ll forgive you for the bonbon?”
“Me? It’s your fault. You better hope she forgives you.”
“She’ll forgive me,” he preens. “I’m charming.”
I shove his shoulder again, but Alwin catches my hand and pulls me into him, wrapping me in his arms.
“Love you,” he says, cheek squished against my shoulder.
“Love you too.”
Something somewhere crashes, and we pull apart, sighing.
I twist the doorknob and open the door. “Let’s go check on Ram.”
When I get back to the party, I dig out my phone and send a quick text to Sara.
Chris
How’s our little pothead?
Sara
She’s much better. We’re going to bed. See you tomorrow.
Chris
I’m glad she’s okay. I’m sorry about the guys.
Sara
It’s fine. We’ll talk after the band meeting.
We’ll talk. That doesn’t sound great, and I don’t know if it’s my guilt projecting onto the messages, but Sara seems short.
Which is fair.
I admire her dedication to her daughter. My mother was like that too, and growing up, I knew how important I was to her. I’m glad Sara and Zoe have that kind of relationship.
