by Eli Lang
We were okay now. We’d patched some kind of relationship back together. We talked often, on the phone or through email. But I hadn’t seen him outside of a family gathering in years, and things between us weren’t like they’d been before.
It still felt good to sit next to him. He grounded me like the music did. He reminded me of who I was.
Zevi tipped his head away and stared down at the bar. I thought he was smiling a little, but I couldn’t quite see. His fingers played in the condensation on his glass. “You look good, Ava.”
I laughed. “You’re the first person who hasn’t told me how tired I look.”
He nodded and glanced back up at me. “Yeah, but it’s like the good type of tired, you know? Like you worked for it.”
I shrugged. Maybe that was true. Or maybe I was just worn down.
“How’s the band?” he asked, like someone would ask about family, and I smiled, because they were my family, as much as Zevi and my parents were, and Zevi knew that.
“Good.” I waved at the bartender and pointed at Zevi’s tea, signaling for the same. “Bellamy met someone new, like I told you last email. I like him a lot.” During our infrequent phone calls and frequent emails, Escaping Indigo and the people in it made up a lot of our conversation. He knew about Bellamy, and Tuck and Quinn, or as much as I felt I could tell without delving too deeply into personal things. Neither of us liked gossip, and I wouldn’t have done that to my band anyway. But when I worried about Bellamy or was heart sore over Tuck, or when I simply wanted to talk about the things going on with the people in my life, Zevi was there to listen.
“Good for him.” He leaned a little closer over the bar. “And Tuck? You still pining over him?”
His words were light, and I tried to laugh. “He’s still with his girlfriend. They’re totally in love.”
“Ahh, Ava. I’m sorry.”
I waved my hand between us. “It’s fine. It’s good.” I kept reminding myself of that. Maybe if I repeated it out loud to enough people, I’d actually start to believe it, in the tight, bitter place inside me, and not with only my logical brain.
He narrowed his eyes at me, and I figured he wanted to say more, or maybe ask me something, but he didn’t. He shook his head, and we went back to talking about everyday stuff, how our families were doing, and what the plan was for the rest of the week. Neither of us knew how long it would take to clean out our grandmother’s house, but we had a date in about two weeks’ time for when she was supposed to move in to the new place, so we at least had a rough time frame. I’d booked my return ticket, but I could always change it if I needed to stay a little longer.
While we ate, I told Zevi about the concert happening tonight, and he was eager to go. It had been a long time since we’d gone out together, and I think we were both excited about it, and maybe a little nervous too. It was different hanging out with someone when you hadn’t been together for a while. Trying to fall back into old patterns and habits that weren’t quite there anymore, didn’t quite fit, or fit so well it was surprising and unsettling. You never knew if it was still going to work, or if you were both going to end the evening feeling awkward and weird. But dinner together was good, and I wanted to spend more time with him.
We drove to the club separately but found each other outside, and once we’d paid the cover and were inside, we both, without any conversation, wandered up front and claimed spots near the stage. Zevi turned to me, ready to ask if I wanted a drink. He had always bought first round, I had always bought second. That was all we’d have—those were the days before Zevi had become an alcoholic. He opened his mouth, caught himself in that old habit between us, and a huge grin broke out on my face.
He smiled back at me, just as wide. “I missed this. It doesn’t feel any different.”
I shook my head, relieved to know that this could still work between us. “It’s good, right?”
“Yeah. What do you want to drink?”
I asked him for a soda, and when he wandered off toward the bar, I turned back to the stage. The opening band was climbing the stairs to take their places. They were young, but they had a confidence about them I liked. They already had everything all tuned and setup and ready to go, so there was none of the awkward faffing around that a lot of bands who aren’t quite used to being on stage do. They launched into their first song, and I thought they had a good sound, a nice hook with an interesting rock melody behind it.
I found myself swaying to the music, finally relaxing for the first time in a couple of days. For the first time since I’d left my band, when we’d finished our tour and we’d gone our separate ways. Music was where I belonged. This right here, this space by the stage, the heavy thump of the drums and bass, the slide of fingers over guitar strings, the heat and the dark, was the only place I wanted to be, the only time when I truly felt like myself, whether I was the one playing or listening. As long as I was in the middle of the sound and the pulse, I was home.
Zevi came to stand beside me again, handing me a soda in a sweating plastic cup. He didn’t try to talk to me or say anything about the band. He knew that when music was happening, my focus wasn’t on who was standing beside me. Zevi had always been good at understanding what people needed, and he’d always been good at reading me. Knowing me.
We watched the band perform a few more songs, and Zevi and I sometimes turned and smiled at each other when they played something really good. They had talent. Between songs, I watched the band grin at each other, and I peeked at the people beside me, wondering if they were enjoying the show as much as I was. They seemed to be, and I was happy for the band.
The second time I did it, my attention caught on short tawny hair, pink and blue under the lights. I craned my neck, trying to get a better view, telling myself I was imagining things because I wanted to see that very hair so much. I stood on tiptoes, and Zevi shifted beside me. I glanced over at him and he lifted an eyebrow, but I shook my head. I didn’t want to say anything and have it not be true, have him think I was imagining things.
I looked again, and the hair, and then the rest of the girl, drifted for a second, with the slight movement of the crowd, into sight. Cara. It was definitely her. I’d only met her the once, but I recognized her, probably because I’d done so much thinking about her since early this morning.
I turned back to the band before she could see me, or catch me staring. I tried to focus on the music again—it was still good, still as listenable, and I was still as interested, but I couldn’t keep my focus anymore. The idea that Cara was there, standing somewhere behind me and off to one side, was completely distracting. I didn’t know what to do. Yeah, we’d shared a flight, and some good conversation, and I’d enjoyed meeting her. I’d wished to see her again. But I hadn’t thought it would actually happen, and when it came right down to it, we were strangers. It would be weird if I went over to say hello. Wouldn’t it?
The band wrapped up their last song, and as they were leaving the stage, I saw Cara move closer. One of the guitar players leaned over the side of the stage, and she reached up to hug him. Those same graceful movements, that elegance in the way she held herself. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, even though she was currently hugging someone who most definitely wasn’t me. Even though why she was here and what she was doing were really none of my business.
Zevi stepped closer to me, so our shoulders bumped. I looked over, up into his face, and he raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”
I nodded. I opened my mouth to tell him I was fine, but then I found myself grinning at how ridiculous I was being, how ridiculous, really, this whole thing was. “I met a girl on the plane.”
The eyebrow inched up even higher, and the other joined it.
I pointed, my hand at my waist so I wasn’t completely obvious, to where Cara was talking to the guitar player while he coiled cords and got ready to move his effects box. “That’s her. Right there.”
Zevi laughed, but when I smiled back, half-embarrassed and wholly
unsure of why I was telling him, or what, if anything, I should do, his laughs slowed and stopped. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“Okay.” He glanced back to Cara, then to me. “So, when you say you met her . . .?”
I chewed on my bottom lip. Zevi knew about me, and he’d never cared before, but there was always something a little bit nerve-racking for me about bringing it up. “We sat together?” I said, and it came out like a question, like I wasn’t sure of this basic fact. “She let me stretch out and sleep. And then we talked.”
He widened his eyes, and his eyebrows went even higher, which, if asked, I would have said was impossible. “And?”
I barked out a laugh, but it sounded almost more like a hiccup. “And what?”
He sighed. “And she’s gorgeous? And you obviously can’t stop staring at her?”
I shoved my bangs back from my face and sighed. On stage, the next band was setting up as quickly as they could, uncovering a drum set, bringing out guitars. It was a good club, run well, the kind of place where you wanted to see a show, and I wanted to lose myself in that, forget about anything else. But despite not even looking at her, I was so aware of Cara standing there. I didn’t know what it was about her, exactly, that made me feel like she was a magnet and I was a helpless bit of iron filing, but I did. It was as if she pulled at me, even when she didn’t know she was doing it.
I wanted to turn and glance behind me again, see if she was still there, but I was too nervous. I made myself concentrate on Zevi, his familiar face, those soft brown eyes that looked more grown-up now than I remembered. That looked like they’d seen something of life while I’d been gone. And right now they were giving me this look that was somewhere between frustration and pity. I wanted to do something to make it stop.
“What do you want me to do?” I kept my voice low, as if Cara might overhear me, even though there was no way she could with the rumbling shush of the crowd talking, the overhead music playing while the next band finished setting up. In a minute, it wouldn’t matter what Zevi thought I should do, because the lights would go down and the music would be too loud to talk over, and that would be that.
Zevi opened his mouth to say something, but before he did, I gave in to the tug and glanced over my shoulder. This time, Cara wasn’t gazing up at the stage, wasn’t carrying on a conversation with someone else. She was staring right at me.
I felt my mouth drop open, so I was standing there staring back like an idiot. But I was turning toward her too, my body twisting on its own. She raised her hand, slow, to shoulder level, and waved it once. It took a second, but then she was smiling, the shy grin spreading in tiny increments.
Zevi leaned over so his mouth was near my ear. “At least get her number, for Christ’s sake.” He gave me a very gentle push, his hand flat between my shoulder blades.
I laughed, surprised and nervous, and stumbled forward. I had to weave through people to get to the other side of the stage. I felt like I was on autopilot. Like I hadn’t really made the decision to walk over to her, but I was doing it anyway. I couldn’t decide whether I was happy about it or not. Cara had started to move toward me too, and we met in the middle, crowded by people, the next band doing a quick, loud sound check that made it hard to say anything.
“What are you doing here?” I asked stupidly.
Her smile went even brighter, lighting up her whole face. She gestured at the stage, to the side, where the first band had disappeared into the back. “That was my brother. His band.”
Not exactly what I’d expected. A rush of relief washed over me, and I berated myself for it. Simply because he was her brother and not her date did not make her available. “You didn’t tell me your brother was a musician.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t want to be one of those people who turns every bit of conversation back to them. I wanted to know about you.” It was nice to hear, but I immediately started wondering how often I did that, related things back to me and claimed them. Too often, probably. I felt myself flushing, for more than one reason.
“They were really good,” I said, but just then the next band started up, and their music covered my words.
I glanced at the stage, then back to Cara. I wanted to talk to her, but it was unbearably rude to leave or talk over a band, unless they were rude themselves. Not everybody understood that. But it seemed she did. She smiled at me and turned to the stage, and I was even more relieved. I tilted my head the other way and looked for Zevi. He was standing where I’d left him, and I felt bad for ditching him. I’d come here with him. Talk about rude. I tried to catch his eye, and when I did, I waved for him to come over. He smiled and shook his head, though.
Cara and I watched the set together. She swayed to the music, and sometimes her hip bumped gently into mine, but I didn’t move away or give her any more room. I’d have been an idiot to do that, even if I was being obvious. I wanted her to touch me, wanted her to put her hand to my shoulder like she had on the plane, wanted her to dance her way into me, even if it was by accident. I wanted to feel her, wanted to feel, maybe, a touch that wanted me. As simple as that.
The second band was good, although not, I thought, as good as Cara’s brother’s band. Those kids were going to go far, if they could get through all the nonmusical bits that came with being a band. I immediately felt old for thinking that, and for thinking of them as kids. I remembered one of the first times I’d been on stage with Tuck and Bellamy. We hadn’t even had a name then. But I hadn’t felt like a kid, and I didn’t think they had either.
I tried to pay more attention, but by the time the current band got off the stage, I was yawning and couldn’t stop myself. The long day and night before were catching up with me. As much as I wanted to listen to the last band, and be with Zevi, and talk with Cara, I was going to embarrass myself if I stayed any longer. This was my chance, while no one was on the stage, to go.
I turned to Cara and found her staring at me, laughter playing along her lips, before her own yawn had her covering her mouth.
“Been a long day, huh?” I felt some of that easiness that had been between us on the plane.
“Like you can talk.” We stood there, on the verge of exhaustion, grinning at each other like fools, until Zevi came up behind me and touched his hand to my arm.
For a second, an expression of complete confusion crossed Cara’s face, and then she smoothed it out, her face going blank instead. She nodded at Zevi. I could tell without even looking at him that he was probably grinning from ear to ear, but Cara didn’t smile back. She seemed . . . almost jealous, except jealousy wasn’t an expression people really wore. But the careful way she was keeping her face blank, the way she had her arms crossed over her chest, made me think that was it. I wanted to laugh, because there was no reason at all to be jealous of Zevi, but at the same time, something warm and sweet swelled inside me. Maybe she really was into me after all, or at least interested.
“This is my cousin,” I said, a little louder than we’d been talking before, so she couldn’t mishear the words. “Zevi. Zevi, this is Cara.”
And there was what seemed to be a tiny flash of relief. There and gone so quickly I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like that, and I wanted it to be enough that I was going to go with it. She unfolded her arms and stuck out her hand. “Hi.”
Zevi reached around me to shake with her, and when they pulled apart, he turned to me. “I probably need to get going. Early day tomorrow.”
I nodded. “I should go too.” I wasn’t sure if I was telling Zevi or Cara or myself.
Zevi poked me in the side, not so subtly, and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Get her number. Or I’ll do it for you.”
I was probably going beet red. I looked up, and I knew Zevi hadn’t whispered quite quietly enough. Cara was smiling again, and her own cheeks were a darker pink than normal. I cleared my throat.
“Umm.” You’d think I’d be better at this, have a little more confidence in myself or something. Rock
star, toured the world, stood on stages and listened to people scream for my band, but when it came down to it, I was afraid to ask a pretty girl for her number. I guessed rejection never really got easier, no matter what else happened in your life or who you were. “I’m only here for a little while,” I started, because I figured that was only fair, to remind her. “But I’d like . . . I’d love to call you and maybe . . . get coffee sometime?” I wanted to kick myself for sounding so formal, and phrasing it as a question. Behind me, Zevi tensed, and I figured he either wanted to do the same, or he was trying not to burst out laughing.
Cara was staring at me, and I opened my mouth to start babbling some more, to forestall her saying no. I didn’t want to hear it—it was perfectly all right for her to say it, but for some reason, I knew that it would crush me. It had been such a long time since there had been anyone I’d want to call. I slept with a lot of people. There were always fans on the road willing to throw themselves at a band. I wasn’t perfect, and sometimes I got lonely. Maybe if I’d done it often enough, or maybe if I’d been kinder, paid more attention, talked more, there might have been someone among all those shifting faces who I wanted to see again, whose number I wanted to have in my phone. But as it was, there was no one, had been no one, in what felt like forever. And Cara . . . no, I didn’t know her. Had barely met her, really, but I knew already that I liked her. And I wanted her to like me enough to say yes.
She held up a hand as I took a breath, cutting off whatever inane thing had been about to pop out of my mouth. She grabbed her cell out of her back pocket and handed it to me. “Here. Put your number in.”