Desperate Chances

by A. Meredith Walters

  “Um, sure. My dad isn’t home, so I guess it’s cool.” I followed her up the porch steps and waited as she unlocked the door. She flipped on the light and let me inside.

  It was a normal house, nothing out of the ordinary. I half expected there to be taxidermy animals or mummified family members hanging around.

  “The living room is through there. Just down the hallway,” Sophie instructed, pointing in the direction that I was expected to go. I went into the room that she had indicated and sat down on the plaid sofa.

  The room smelled like tobacco smoke and air freshener. The furniture was shabby but clean. Her dad was obviously into fishing if the rods hanging on the wall were any indication.

  “Here,” Sophie said, holding out a glass of water, even though I hadn’t asked for one.

  “Thanks,” I had said, taking the drink. “Sophie, I think you and I need to talk— ” I had started to say.

  “You’re breaking up with me,” she interrupted, taking a sip of water and appearing unbothered by the suggestion.

  “Well, uh, I just think that you and I are really different—”

  “Are we? How would you know that?” Sophie asked blandly.

  This conversation wasn’t going well, but I had exected it.

  But she had asked a really good question. How would I know that? I didn’t know much about her, except that she let me sleep with her when I was heartbroken and lonely.

  Sophie leaned over and put her glass on the table. She faced me, her hands folded in her lap. “Mitch, I like you. I’ve always liked you. You’re hot. You’re sexy. You’re incredible in bed.”

  “Uh, thanks,” I muttered, feeling self-conscious. Why was she listing my attributes? Where was she going with this?

  “You’re in love with Gracie,” she finished, a pained smile on her face. “I knew that from the beginning.” She shook her head. “What kind of woman gets involved with someone whose heart belongs to another woman?”

  “I’m so sorry, Soph. I’m an asshole,” I said, my head hanging low.

  “Yeah, you are,” she agreed and I winced. I deserved that.

  “But really, this is my fault. I thought I could give you time and you’d get over her. But she never. Went. Away!”

  “Hold on a sec—” I started to say, but she cut me off.

  “She was always around, talking to everyone like she belonged. Giving you those sad, I’m so tortured, eyes. Practically flaunting in my face that she had you first.” Sophie let out a growl of frustration. “You think I liked being the cuckold? Do you think I didn’t know that every time we were together, you wished I was her?”

  “That’s not true, Sophie. I really did care about you. I wanted to be with you. You helped me get through a really tough time—”

  “Give me a break, Mitch. Don’t come over to my house with your sob story and expect me to roll over and say ‘I understand. You love her. I get it. Go have a happy life together.’ Fuck that!”

  I recoiled in shock. I had never heard Sophie cuss before. But I had never seen her that angry either.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Just get out, Mitch. Leave,” she said, her anger fading away.

  Should I touch her? Give her a hug maybe? I’d never broken up with someone before. I didn’t know what to do. Should I have brought flowers or chocolates?

  Shit, I should have taken the dick way out and done this via text.

  “Okay, I’m leaving,” I said, getting to my feet. I turned to look at her before I left.

  “You’ll find someone—”

  “Ugh, Mitch, please don’t tell me I’ll find someone who loves me. Otherwise I’ll have to hit you. And I’d really like that right now.”

  I scrambled off the porch, glad that her dad wasn’t there to chase after me with a shotgun or something.

  Sophie stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.

  I stood in her front yard for a minute, looking up at the girl that I had been with for over a year. It was sad how easily our relationship disintegrated. It only reinforced that it shouldn’t have ever started.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. It was the only thing I could say. Because it was true. Sophie Lanier was my collateral damage and I felt like shit because of it.

  Sophie sighed and shook her head. “It hurts, Mitch.” I cringed, expecting that. Her face hardened, her mouth setting into an uncompromising line. “But you’re not breaking my heart or anything. You’re not that important to my life. I’ll survive. What you and I had wasn’t love. It wasn’t even passion. It was convenient,” she sneered, turning on her heel, and slamming the door behind her.

  What she said didn’t sting. Not even a little. It probably should have. She had meant it to. But it didn’t, because she was right.

  I had driven home and gone to bed, hoping the guilt would lessen by morning.

  And it had. Somewhat. I worried about what kind of man that made me that I was able to end a year long relationship and feel so fucking neutral about it all. I felt the guilt but mostly I was relieved. I finally fixed a mistake that I should never have made.

  I couldn’t look behind me any longer. I could only go forward.

  I made myself a cup of coffee and went through the local want ads. I wasn’t expecting to find anything that I’d be interested in. So it was with surprise that I saw an opening for a guitar tech at a custom shop in Southborough. It wasn’t the sort of job that would bring me fame and fortune, but I had had my fair share of all that stuff.

  It was eight in the morning when I grabbed my keys and my wallet and left the house.

  Maybe I’d land myself a job.

  “Hey, Ma, how are you?” I gave my mother a hug as she let me inside.

  The day had gotten cold and they were calling for snow later. I had made sure to fill my car up and stopped by the grocery store to load up on the essentials. Bread. Milk. And of course beer. And a couple packs of Twizzlers just in case I was stuck inside for a few days.

  “Mitch! What are you doing here?” she asked, taking my coat and hanging it on the hook beside the kitchen door. She was cooking chili and my mouth immediately began to water.

  “I knew you had to be making some sort of snow day food. I was hoping to snag some,” I said, heading to the Crock-Pot and lifting the lid.

  My mother swatted my hand. “It’s not ready yet,” she scolded.

  I sat down at the kitchen table as my mother fussed around making me a sandwich, and pouring me a glass of iced tea. She put a plate loaded with food in front of me and sat down across the table.

  I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. I had forgotten, in my haste to leave the house, to get anything to eat. Now it was almost lunchtime and I was starving.

  “This is amazing, Mom. I wish you’d come to live with me at Garrett’s so you can make my meals all the time,” I said, giving her a toothy grin that I knew she loved.

  “You’re welcome here anytime and I’ll make you whatever you want,” she offered, giving me an indulgent pat on the cheek.

  “I got a job today,” I said without preamble, swallowing another bite of my sandwich.

  Mom frowned, looking confused. “You got a job? Doing what?”

  “As a guitar tech at Bobby’s Custom Sound over in Southborough. I’d be helping out in the custom shop. It’s a fulltime position with benefits and paid time off,” I told her, sounding tentatively excited. Because I was. It was a real job with real potential.

  “I don’t understand, Mitch. What about your band? Have you spoken with the label already?”

  I finished my sandwich and wiped my mouth with a napkin. I got up and carried my plate to the sink, washing it, and putting it on the rack to dry.

  “Mitch, what’s going on? You’ve been playing music since you were a boy. Why are you stepping away from it now?” Mom sounded worried.

  “I’m not stepping away, Ma, but I can’t depend on that particular gravy train anymore. Jordan’s having a kid—”

  “He an
d Maysie are having a baby? That’s wonderful news!” Mom cut in enthusiastically.

  I smiled. “Yeah, it’s great for them, but it also means he doesn’t want to go on tour or spend days in a recording studio when he has a newborn at home. Not that I blame him or anything. I also have a feeling Garrett’s going to move up to Boston to be with his girlfriend. Things are changing and I needed to change with them or get run over.”

  Mom looked thoughtful. “What does Sophie think of you getting this job? What are your plans?”

  “Sophie and I broke up,” I said, returning to my seat at the kitchen table.

  “My goodness, you sure like to do everything at once,” Mom commented, pursing her lips. “Though I can’t say that I’m surprised. There’s a reason you refused to bring her around to see your family. And when a man can’t introduce his lady to his mother, that says a lot.”

  “I didn’t refuse to bring her over, Ma,” I protested.

  “I met the girl twice, Mitch. Twice. You used to bring Gracie around all the time. Sophie seemed nice enough, she just wasn’t for you.” My mother got up and went over to stir the chili. “Does that mean you’ll bring Gracie over for dinner sometime soon? I miss that girl. She always loved my carrot cake. She has good taste.”

  My mother was observant. Way too observant sometimes. She had the mother’s intuition thing down to a science. “What makes you think this has anything to do with Gracie?” I asked, more for my own amusement than anything else. There was no fooling Eileen Abrams.

  Mom gave me a look that could only be described as a bitch, please. I covered my mouth with my fist and coughed to cover my laughter.

  “I may be old, but I’m not stupid, child. Now get into the cabinet and find the chili flakes for your dear mother.”

  I did as I was told and grabbed the spice she needed. “Sophie and I broke up because we weren’t right for each other.”

  “And it took you a year to figure out? It seems you’ve become a little soft in the head in your old age. Maybe it’s all that noise from your amplifiers. It short circuited something,” Mom teased.

  “You’re hysterical, Mom,” I deadpanned.

  Mom shook in a handful of red flakes and passed the container back to me so I could put it away. “I didn’t raise you to be a runner, Mitch. And it seems to me that you’ve been running a marathon.”

  “What did Charlotte tell you?” I asked, instantly suspicious. Charlotte knew something had happened with Gracie, even though she didn’t know the particulars. I was sure she and Mom had been having a good gab at my expense.

  Mom widened her eyes innocently. “What would Charlotte have told me, hmm?”

  I gave my mom a sideways hug. “You’re sneaky, Ma, I’ll give ya that. But I’ve grown immune to your machinations.”

  She put her arm around my waist and hugged me in return. “So, you didn’t answer my question. Will you be bringing Gracie over soon? I can make lasagna.”

  I kissed the top of my mother’s head. “I’ll work on it,” I said.

  “You guys had to know this was coming. It breaks our hearts to lose you,” Tate was saying.

  Cole rolled his eyes and Garrett yawned.

  Jordan was checking his phone and texting Maysie updates.

  The conversation was going exactly as we had expected.

  Danvers and Tate from Pirate Records had launched into a lengthy explanation about overhead costs versus incomings. Gross profit and other words I didn’t really understand. What I did understand was that they had other artists that were making them money. Generation Rejects, while a great commodity, wasn’t hitting their key markets. Blah, blah, blah.

  Neal tried his hardest to push them on elements of our contract but it seemed it was all there in black and white. Pirate had the right to terminate our contract with notice. End of discussion. We didn’t push too hard though. We were all in agreement that the ride was over.

  “Guys, do you have any questions?” Tate asked. He sounded distracted and more than ready to conclude the conversation. Not that I blamed him. Dumping bands had to be the sucky part of his job.

  “I think the guys understand everything,” Neal piped up. We had spoken to him before the phone call and laid some stuff on the table.

  Jordan told him that he had taken a song writing position with a smaller, independent label. He would be mostly working from home, which would be perfect once his kid was born.

  Garrett had also used that time to drop the bombshell that he was moving to Boston to be with Riley. None of us were particularly surprised by that one.

  Neal hadn’t been thrilled with the news that Generation Rejects were disbanding. “You guys can still go places. With your talent and sex appeal, we can find you the right market. I think you’re selling yourself short here.”

  “Neal, we appreciate everything you’ve done. We really do. But at this point, we’ve got to move onto other things. We’ll always be Generation Rejects but we can’t commit to any projects right now,” Garrett told him firmly.

  “Uh, well you’re still representing me,” Cole spoke up. We had all looked at him questioningly.

  Cole had shrugged. “You guys all have other shit going on. I’m a front man, guys. It’s what I want to do. So I hope you all are cool with me maybe going out on my own.” He seemed nervous and for good reason. Last year we had been fucking pissed when he had left to do that very thing.

  Now, it seemed the right thing for him to do.

  “That’s cool, dude. You know you have our support,” Jordan said. Garrett and I both nodded in agreement. Cole looked relieved.

  “Thanks, guys. I’d been freaking the fuck out about what you were going to say,” he admitted.”

  “Cole, of course I’m going to represent your solo career. Let’s talk again about those solo gigs next week,” Neal had broken in. The rest of the conversation had been pretty standard after that.

  “I know this has to all come as quite a blow but it’s in no way indicative of your talent,” Tate went on.

  Garrett made a jerking off gesture and I tried not to laugh my ass off.

  Yeah, we were all done with playing this stupid fucking game.

  “No, we don’t have any questions,” I said into the phone. I figured some mild back patting was in order though, so I put on my Chapstick and kissed some ass. We didn’t want to burn any bridges. “But we do just want to say thank you to everyone at Pirate for believing in the band and our music. I’m sorry this couldn’t have been a long-term relationship for all of us.”

  “This doesn’t mean that if we see the market change or you come back to us with something new we can’t try again. We’re your biggest fans,” Danvers said.

  We all looked at each other. I saw the same thought reflected on everyone’s faces.

  Were we doing the right thing?

  Could we really walk away from this dream we had shared for so damn long?

  How could we possibly say goodbye to the Rejects?

  Then the moment passed and we all knew that the time had come to travel a different road.

  Even if it took us in opposite directions.

  “Thanks, guys,” Jordan said, neither committing nor refuting the idea.

  It was always good to leave a door halfway open.

  When we hung up the phone, the four of us sat in silence.

  “That was sort of painless. I thought it would feel a lot worse,” Cole remarked, looking thoughtful.

  “I did too,” I admitted. Because when all was said and done, I felt the same as when I broke up with Sophie.

  Relief.

  “I mean I do feel shitty about it. We worked our asses off to get a label to notice us. Now it’s over. The whole thing feels a little anticlimactic,” Garrett said.

  “I had hoped for at least a little yelling and an f-bomb or two,” I remarked dryly.

  “Guys, hey, I’m still here,” Neal’s voice came through the phone, startling us. We had forgotten about him.

  “I
t’s been a real honor working with you the last year. I do think that you’re an amazing band and there’s still a lot out there for you guys. So don’t shelve the band entirely.”

  “We won’t Neal. Thanks again for everything. You’ve been a great manager,” Jordan told him.

  “I hope one day to represent you all again. And Cole, we’ll talk next week. I think we can make something great happen for you.”

  Cole grinned and I was happy for him. There wasn’t any bitterness. Things were turning out the way they were supposed to.

  We hung up with Neal and I sat back on the couch, folding my hands behind my head.

  “So that’s it,” I said.

  “Yep. That’s it,” Jordan agreed.

  Garrett pulled out his guitar. He held it in his lap for a while then started strumming a few chords. We all listened to him for a few minutes before Jordan grabbed a pair of drumsticks he had left on the coffee table and started to tap out a beat on his thigh.

  I grinned and grabbed my bass, giving it a quick tune before joining in. Cole, not about to be left out, hummed the familiar melody of our most popular song to date.

  “Your touch is toxic. Your heart’s a mess. Which is why you’ll always be my perfect regret…”

  We jammed together for hours, going through our entire catalog of songs and even riffing on a possible new one. The music flowed effortlessly. There was no pressure. No stress. We were just four guys hanging out, doing what we loved.

  How it was in the beginning.

  I didn’t head up to my room until almost midnight. Cole and Jordan had left hours before, but Garrett and I had stayed up playing video games.

  So it was only after I had taken off my shirt and threw on a pair of shorts that I saw the note that had been left on my dresser. It had been propped up against the wooden box and the hair ties that I had kept all these years.

  I opened it and stared down at her familiar handwriting, knowing exactly what this was.

  It was a chance.

  One that I wasn’t going to pass up. Not this time.

  Chunky Monkey.

  -Gracie-

  She needed me.