by Lauren Rowe
There’s a clatter in the kitchen. “Oh my gosh! I’m coming!” Mom calls—and in a heartbeat, she appears in the family room, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed, a glass of red wine in her hand. “I’m so excited.” She plops herself down on the couch next to Dad and puts her head on his shoulder (her patented move), and Dad clasps her free hand in his.
I glance at Josh and I’m not surprised to observe he’s absolutely transfixed by my parents and their easy show of affection. That’s right, Playboy, I think, warmth gurgling at my core like molten lava. Watch and learn how it’s done.
Dax returns with his laptop and hooks it up to the sound system and a few seconds later, his first song fills the room.
“Oh, your voice is gorgeous, honey,” Mom coos. “Smooth as silk.” She pauses, listening. “Oh, and that guitar—I love it.” She pauses again. “Oh my gosh, those lyrics—so clever. Beautiful. Oh, Daxy.”
“Ssh, honey,” Dad says gently, stroking Mom’s arm. “Listen.”
I glance at Josh again to find him still mesmerized by my parents. Damn, I wish I could read his thoughts.
The song ends and everyone enthusiastically praises it.
“How do you record a full song like that with all those instruments?” Colby asks, scratching his beloved dog’s head. “Did everyone in the band stand in a room and play the song together?”
“No, recording a song’s not like playing it live,” Dax says, and then he goes on to explain in detail how songs are recorded in a studio, each instrument and vocal methodically recorded one at a time onto separate tracks, and then layered, one on top of the other. “It’s like putting together a giant Jenga tower,” Dax explains.
“That’s so cool,” Colby says. “Well, however you did it, the song turned out great.”
I shoot Mom a relieved look about Colby and she returns it. Colby’s been staying at my parents’ house to recuperate, and this is by far the most engaged and upbeat I’ve seen him in all the times I’ve come over to hang out with him.
Dax plays his second song, and when it’s over, we all agree it’s a great song, no doubt about it. But when Dax plays his third song, the room catches fire. And I’m not surprised. When I heard Dax’s third song on my computer last night, I instantly became obsessed with it. And hearing it today over a nice sound system has only heightened my love affair with it. The song is ear candy and soul candy all rolled into one, one of those songs you hear to the end and immediately play again.
After everyone in the room has praised the song up and down, Dax tells Josh that all those stringed instruments we just heard on the track were nothing more than those two musicians Dax met at Josh’s house, each woman playing on about ten separate tracks to simulate an orchestra.
“Oh my gosh, those violins absolutely make the song,” Mom gushes. “I was mesmerized.”
“I guess it was kismet I met those ladies at Josh’s house when I did,” Dax says. He looks at Mom and Dad. “Kat asked me to deliver a dinner invitation to Josh at his house—she’d planned a surprise dinner for him at a restaurant, even though, unbeknownst to her, Josh had planned a romantic dinner for her at his house on the same night. When I got there, Josh had a violinist and cellist all set up to play for them during dinner, so I got the musicians’ phone numbers.”
I shoot a grateful smile at my baby brother, nonverbally thanking him for calling my note to Josh a “dinner invitation” in front of our parents.
“Well, that was sweet of you, Josh,” Mom says, putting her hand over her heart. “What a shame you put in all that effort and Kat never saw any of it.” She shoots me a scolding look like I somehow purposefully fucked up Josh’s big plans.
“How was I supposed to know he’d planned a romantic dinner?” I ask.
Josh laughs. “It’s okay. My brother Jonas and Sarah wound up enjoying the dinner I’d arranged, and Kat and I had a lovely meal elsewhere.”
I force myself not to snicker at Josh’s use of the phrase “lovely meal” to describe what we wound up doing with Bridgette that night.
“And, anyway,” Josh continues, his eyes shifting to me, “I’d only planned all of that stuff so I could tell Kat I love her for the first time—which I did that night, regardless.”
My heart stops. Oh my God.
“Because I realized,” Josh continues, his eyes darkening, “‘Hey, I don’t need violins and a private chef to tell Kat I love her—I can do that anywhere, anytime.’ So that’s exactly what I did.”
Oh my effing God. I just had an orgasm, right here in front of my parents. And, apparently, so did my mother—she literally just made an unmistakable “O” sound, God bless her.
For a brief moment, there’s an awkward pause in the conversation as Mom and I flutter and twitch and coo and then giggle uproariously at how much we’re completely embarrassing ourselves—all while the male members of my family exchange looks that say, They’ve definitely got vaginas.
In the midst of my momentary meltdown, I glance at Dad. He’s smiling at me—a full smile that reaches his eyes.
I glance quickly at Colby and he’s looking at me with twinkling eyes—the first time I’ve seen light dance in his eyes since the accident.
And then I look into Josh’s beautiful eyes mere inches from mine—the eyes of the man who just declared his love for me in front of my entire family (minus Keane, but he doesn’t count), and I’m instantly home—even more so than inside the physical walls of my beloved childhood house. This beautiful man is my safe place. He’s where I belong. Always.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you, too,” Josh whispers back, almost inaudibly.
I kiss him on the cheek, my crotch burning, my heart fluttering, my very soul soaring around the room.
Mom clears her throat. “Well, that was very sweet of you, Josh.” Oh, man, her cheeks are flushed. Get that woman a cigarette. “Very, very sweet.”
There’s another awkward silence, which Colby rescues by redirecting the conversation back to Dax. “That third song blew me away, Dax. By the end, it sounded like you had an entire orchestra playing behind you.”
“That third song’s my favorite of anything you’ve ever done,” Mom says.
“Mine, too,” I say. “And you know how much I love everything you’ve ever done.”
“Hey, I don’t know if Kat’s mentioned it to you,” Josh says to Dax, “but my best friend from college owns an independent record label. I’d be happy to forward your songs to him if you’d like. He’s always scouting new talent.”
Holy fuckburgers. Jackpot.
Dax’s eyes immediately dart to mine, and there’s no mistaking the elation in them. And I’m right there with him. I’m literally jiggling on top of Josh’s lap, unable to contain my excitement. Not only will Dax’s songs find their way to Reed, exactly as we’d hoped and schemed, but Josh, not me, is gonna give them to him. And, best of all, it was completely Josh’s idea, with no prompting by me. This is truly the absolute best-case scenario.
“Wow,” Dax says, somehow managing to keep his composure (sort of). “That’d be amazing, Josh. Thank you.” Oh my God, he’s practically hyperventilating. “You think I should wait ’til I have all ten songs recorded on the album or send these three now?”
Oh God, I can see Dax’s chest constricting from here.
“It’s up to you,” Josh says calmly. “I’ll forward whatever you want, whenever. Just lemme know.”
Dax looks at me, obviously trying to keep his eyes from bugging out. “What do you think, sis?”
“Send these three now,” I say definitively. “Reed won’t need ten songs to know you’re amazing. Strike while the iron is hot.”
Dax’s face lights up. “Awesome. Thanks, Josh. I’ll send you all three MP3s now. What’s your email address?”
Josh gives Dax his email address, just as a timer goes off in the kitchen.
“Oh,” Mom says, hopping up. “Everyone up, up, up. It’s time to eat!”
One Hun
dred Six
Kat
“Kat didn’t exaggerate, Mrs. Morgan,” Josh says. “This is the best spaghetti sauce I’ve ever had.”
Mom’s face bursts with joy. “Thank you, Josh. I simmer for ten hours and put red wine in the sauce—oh, and a little dash of nutmeg, that’s the secret. And, please, call me Louise.”
Josh’s smile is absolutely adorable.
“Mom, Josh has been to Italy, so if he says it’s the best sauce ever, that’s a huge compliment,” I say.
Mom is positively beaming. “Well, thank you. Where in Italy have you been?”
Josh shifts in his chair. “Pretty much all over.”
“Oh, how nice. I’ve always wanted to go to Italy. I think I was Italian in a past life.” She grins. “So Kat tells us you’ve just moved back home to Seattle?”
Josh has just taken a huge bite of spaghetti, so he simply nods in reply.
“Josh came home to start a new company with his brother Jonas,” I say. “Rock climbing gyms.”
“Wow, cool,” Ryan says. He asks Josh several questions about Climb & Conquer, which prompts Dad and Colby to chime in and ask a few, too, and Josh answers every question with obvious enthusiasm.
“How wonderful to start a business with your brother,” Mom says. “Is Jonas older or younger?”
But, once again, Josh is scarfing down a big bite of spaghetti just as Mom asks her question.
“Jonas and Josh are twins,” I say. “Fraternal.”
“Oh. Sorry, Josh. I keep asking you questions right after you’ve taken a bite.”
Josh swallows his food. “No, I’m sorry. I’m acting like a caveman. I can’t control myself. This is the best spaghetti I’ve ever had.”
Ryan chuckles. “Oh, man, Josh. You just bumped Keane out of the number one spot.”
“I don’t have a number one spot,” Mom says defensively. “You’re all in the number one spot—except for you, Ryan, for saying that.” She scowls at him.
“And if she did have a number one spot, it certainly wouldn’t be occupied by Keane, for crying out loud,” Dad adds.
We all burst out laughing—Dad never joins in on razzing Keane.
“Nice one, Dad,” Ryan says.
Mom wags her finger at Dad. “That’s not funny, Thomas. Don’t encourage them.” She addresses all of us kids. “You guys stop picking on Keane all the time. He’s more sensitive than he lets on.”
We kids all roll our eyes.
“He is,” Mom insists. “He used to write me poetry when he was little.”
Ryan laughs. “What was it? ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, but enough about flowers and shit, Mommy, let’s talk about me?’”
Everyone laughs, including Mom.
“‘And, by the way, can I borrow twenty bucks?’” Dax adds to the poem.
Everyone laughs again.
“Mom, Peen asks for it and you know it,” Ryan says. “A guy can’t act like he does and not expect to get razzed for it. He’s made his choice.”
Mom’s expression is noncommittal, which is tantamount to admitting Keane deserves every bit of razzing he gets.
“Mom,” Dax says, “I love our penile brother more than anyone in this family, probably, and I still think he’s an idiot.”
Oh, now he’s crossed a line—but not because he called Keane an idiot. “You don’t love Keane more than anyone,” Mom says, scowling. “I’m his mother—which means I love him more than anyone. That’s the very definition of ‘mother.’ ‘She who loves the most.’”
I put my hand on Josh’s thigh under the table.
“Really?” Ryan asks. “That’s what ‘mother’ means? You mean, like, in Latin or something?”
“No. That’s my definition—I made it up.” Mom sighs reverently. “She who loves the most.”
Ryan chuckles.
“And just to be clear, I love all my kids the most, not just your penile brother.”
Everyone laughs, even Dad. Mom’s never called Keane a penis before. Could it be my darling mother’s already well into her third glass of wine?
Mom shoots Ryan a scolding look. “See what you did? You dragged me into the muck with you. No more referring to penises at the dinner table for anyone—and that includes me. It’s just not nice.”
We all laugh again.
“So anyway, Josh,” Mom says, pushing a lock of her blonde hair away from her face like she’s just kicked someone’s ass in a street fight. “Sorry about that. We’re a bunch of hoodlums in this family—completely out of control.” She takes a sip of her wine. “So Kat says you’re originally from Seattle?”
Josh is smiling from ear to ear. “Yes.”
“What part?”
Josh’s smile vanishes. He clears his throat. “Medina,” he says evenly, apparently trying to make that word sound as ho-hum as humanly possible.
I glance around, gauging everyone’s reactions to the revelation of Josh’s hometown—and it’s immediately clear everyone fully understands the implication: it means Josh Faraday could use hundred-dollar bills to wipe his ass every day for the rest of his life and still afford to buy himself mansions all over the world. Surely, my family must have at least suspected Josh has cash to burn when he drove up in a freaking Lamborghini—but now they know Josh could buy an entire fleet of Lamborghinis if he wanted.
“Oh, Medina’s very nice,” Mom says politely, but it’s plain to see she’s flustered. “Some of the homes there are spectacular.”
“Was Bill Gates your next-door neighbor growing up?” Dax asks, going straight for the jugular as only my baby brother can do.
My stomach clenches. Shoot. It didn’t even occur to me to tell everyone to refrain from asking Josh questions about his childhood.
“No. Bill Gates lives about three miles from where I grew up,” Josh says.
“Where did you go to school?” Mom asks.
“St. Francis Academy.”
“Oh,” Mom says, obviously surprised. “Catholic school?”
Josh nods. “Yeah. I went there from grade school all the way through high school. Sixty-two people in my entire graduating class. After that, I couldn’t wait to get to UCLA. A student population of thirty-five-thousand sounded awfully good to me.”
“Oh, I bet,” Ryan says.
“I had total anonymity for the first time in my life—I absolutely loved it.”
Of course, I know Josh landed at UCLA immediately after the death of his father and institutionalization of his brother—which means it might not have been the best of times for him, despite the way he’s portraying it right now. But my family certainly doesn’t need to know about any of that.
“Are you a practicing Catholic?” Mom asks.
Josh smiles from ear-to-ear like Mom’s said something highly amusing. “No,” he says simply without elaboration. He takes a huge bite of his food. “This is so good, Mrs. Morgan.”
“Louise.”
“Louise. Thank you. This is delicious.”
Mom beams a huge smile at him. “Thank you. Actually, feel free to call me Lou.”
My heart stops. Only family and very close friends call my mom Lou. I rub Josh’s thigh under the table. Three down, two to go, I think.
“So before you decided to open rock-climbing gyms with your brother, what did you do for work?” Dad asks.
Josh proceeds to politely tell everyone about Faraday & Sons—a topic I’m sure he has no interest in, since he’s never once talked about it with me. As I listen to him, I learn a lot I didn’t know, actually—and also realize, hey, Josh is pretty damned smart. But my attention span quickly evaporates and, while Josh is explaining something horrendously boring, no offense, I steal a glance at Colby. He’s studying Josh intently, listening to every word he says, nodding occasionally. There’s color in Colby’s cheeks, I notice—a sparkle in his eyes. In fact, Colby looks remarkably close to his former self—as good as he’s looked since the roof so horribly caved in on him, literally and figuratively, four weeks ago.
“So your father started the business, then?” Mom asks. “He’s the ‘Faraday’ in ‘Faraday & Sons’?”
Josh’s thigh tenses under my palm. “That’s right.”
“And do your parents still live in Medina?” Mom asks.
Josh’s thigh twitches under the table and I squeeze it.
“Mom, Josh doesn’t wanna talk about that,” I intervene.
“No, it’s fine,” Josh says, patting my hand under the table. He clears his throat. “My parents have both passed away.”
There’s a palpable shift of energy in the room. Instantly, the air is thicker—heavier—and every member of my family, without exception, suddenly looks some variation of ashen, somber, or flat-out devastated.
“I’m so sorry,” Mom says.
Everyone follows Mom’s lead and mumbles some form of condolence.
“It’s okay,” Josh says. “It’s been a long time.”
“How old were you?” Mom asks. “Did they die together in some sort of accident?”
“Uh, no, not together. My mom died when I was seven. She was murdered in our home by an intruder. And my dad died when I was seventeen.”
Josh’s last sentence hangs in the air. Clearly, everyone is waiting for Josh to identify the cause of his father’s death the way he identified his mother’s—but Josh doesn’t say another word.
“What happened to your father?” Dax asks after a moment.
Mom puts her hand on Dax’s shoulder as if to quiet him. “Unless you don’t want to talk about it, honey,” she says, her voice awash in tenderness. “We totally understand.”
“No, it’s fine,” Josh says. “Uh. My father suffered from severe depression after the death of my mother.” Josh bites his lip. “He never got over losing her.” He presses his lips together and leaves it at that.
For the first time, I’m seeing exactly why Josh once told me he hates telling people his life’s story. Everyone suddenly looks at me funny when I tell them, he said. Like they think I’m “laughing through the pain.”
And now I see exactly what Josh meant. Of course, I know my family members are looking at Josh with nothing but deep sympathy, but I’d shut the hell up over time, too, if people constantly looked at me the way my family’s looking at Josh right now.