by Eden Butler
“Oh, right. Sorry, sugar.” Dad nodded at an expressionless Aly and shuffled the books together before he disappeared with them into the play room.
“Wow. Never thought I’d see the day that Kona Hale would pick up his own mess.”
“He can’t be that bad,” Aly finally said, making my mom and I both move our gazes to her.
“Oh, sweetie, he is.” Mom wobbled back to the piano, leaning on the shiny, black top. “I should have warned you about him. He’s total slob and, well,” she paused to stand up and arch her back, “I just haven’t had the energy to pick up after him or Koa. That’s why the house was such a disaster when you got here last week.”
“Last week?” I asked, standing next to my mother. That surprised me, given that Aly had seemed so hell bent on dismissing me the first time I asked her take the job. But then, Leann had texted me a couple of times since the night Aly and I danced the Kizomba to ask when I could help her practice. It shouldn’t surprise me that she’d lived up to her side of the arrangement, even though I hadn’t yet.
“Yeah,” Aly said. She seemed distracted, picking up her backpack and stuffing sheet music inside it. “I told you I’d help your fanmi. Been here almost two weeks.”
“And she’s a godsend, honey.” My mother’s smile was wide and I realized I hadn’t seen her looking that relaxed, that content in months. “Really, she came in here like a hurricane and just took over everything—the cleaning, the cooking, getting Koa his bath and making sure he eats everything.” I heard the small creak of her jaw popping when she stopped to yawn. “Hell, she even organized all my cabinets and that disaster of a play room.”
“Keira, souple, it’s nothing.” Aly’s light umber skin looked flushed at my mother’s compliment.
“It’s not nothing, sweetheart. I really…God, you’re just such a help to us.” She turned back to Aly. “So, you have the sheet music. And I can send you some MP3s with the instrumentals. You’ll need that for the audition and…” she paused to stifle another yawn.
“What audition?” I asked Aly.
She finally looked at me, pushing her bag on the piano bench. “Oh, I’m thinking about auditioning for the Theater program at CPU. A dance and song audition will increase my chances of getting in.”
“Thinking?” Mom moved her head, her eyes narrowing. “You’re gonna do more than think about it. With your dance experience and a little fine tuning with your vocals, they’d be crazy not to take you on.”
Again that small flush moved over Aly’s face and it occurred to me that she may not have been frigid all this time. Maybe she was just shy, and her inability to hear anyone say good things about her just made her seem cold. “That’s awesome,” I told her, meaning it. “And Mom offered to help you out?”
“Well, yeah. I mean when she has time.” She nervously tucked an errant strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear, and looked at my mother again. “I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage, Keira. This job is generous enough. It’ll, um, keep me from having to pick up shifts at the diner.”
“You work at a diner?” I had no clue about that, but then I was bad about not paying attention to details. Had always made the assumption that Aly worked full time at the studio, maybe was a student like me. I didn’t know many people our age that didn’t go to CPU. And none of the people I knew worked two jobs. Damn. I really needed to get outside of the private-college/rich-kid crew.
Aly did this little shrug thing where her shoulder jerked, and a casual dip of her head moved her chin down, like she meant to bypass anything remarkable or remotely favorable about herself. “Yeah. I mean, I love teaching for Leann, but instructors generally don’t make a lot of cash. So I pick up shifts at the diner, clean houses when I’m really strapped for cash, that kind of thing.” She smiled at Keira and that smile got bigger when my father returned to the room and kissed mom on the forehead. “And now this gig too.”
“Aly Cat’s a hard worker, that’s for sure,” Dad said, laughing when that flush warmed Aly’s cheeks.
Mom sent her elbow into my father’s stomach. “Stop teasing her.”
“Look at that blush, though.”
“Kona…stop.” But my mother’s fussing was half-hearted and came behind yet another stifled yawn.
My father nodded, rubbed my Mom’s shoulders as though her sleepy expression confirmed something he’d guessed at. He started to lead her out of the room before she stopped him. “Baby, why don’t you take a nap while Koa is down?”
“I told Aly I’d help her with the song.”
“Keira, non. It’s fine.” Aly seemed to have no problem with my parents. There was a softness in her eyes when she watched them, as though she’d do anything they’d ask of her and be eager to do it. I liked that about her. She seemed to understand that they were good people. “You get some rest and I’ll see what I can whip up for an early dinner.”
“No, this is your day off, Aly.” Mom tilted her head, bringing her hand on top of Dad’s as though she was giving up the fight to stay awake. “I only asked you over so we could go over that song.”
“I don’t mind. Really.”
“I can cook,” I told them. It was Sunday and I’d come here to see them. Being in the city away from my family, had me wanting to pull my weight. If Aly could swing it, so could I, but as soon as I’d made the offer, I regretted it. I could tackle, I could sack, I could play music and land a high GPA with little effort. Cooking, though, wasn’t really something I’d been successful at. And when my mom looked at me in disbelief, I realized what a stupid offer I’d made. Still, I didn’t want to look like too much of an idiot. “What?”
“What?” Mom repeated. “Bobby’s kitchen, Thanksgiving, six years ago.”
“The outside of the turkey was perfect.”
Mom did that pathetic little ‘Oh, honey, no,’ head shake. “Sweetie, the outside was ‘done’, but the inside was still frozen and the mashed potatoes managed to be runny and lumpy at the same time. And we won’t even mention how Bobby’s stove caught fire when you left the dishtowel on the burner.”
“Mom, that was…”
Kona’s laugh interrupted me. “We’ll call something in.” He looked at Aly. “You’re staying for dinner. No arguments. But for now, Wildcat,” he turned to my mother, “You need to nap.” He guided her out of the room by the shoulders and ignored her last attempt at a protest. “Come on.”
Aly’s gaze followed them as they walked away. I still hadn’t seen her smile, just a small dimpling of her cheek here and there, but as she watched my parents walk out of the room, I studied her. Today she wasn’t dressed in anything like what she wore at the studio. No baggy shirts or fitted dance pants. She wore a pair of denim capris that cupped her large calf muscles and a flowy spaghetti strap top with a trim lace that seemed to tease me into staring a bit too long at the smooth skin around her cleavage. Her hair was still pulled back from around her face, but rather than in a messy bun, it was in a loose braid that hung down her back.
When she looked back at me, her expression was still impassive, but not unfriendly. Still, she didn’t smile. I wondered if she ever did.
“So, Aly Cat?” I said when the awkward silence lingered too long.
Aly rolled her eyes as though the name had come from something simple and silly. “Kona came in a few days ago while Koa was having a temper tantrum.” I tried not to stare at her chest when Aly leaned against the piano. “Your mom was sleeping and he was being, well…”
“Himself?”
“Yeah.” Another swipe of that stray hair to behind her ear and I noticed she wore a silver bracelet with a single charm. A ballet slipper. “He didn’t want to eat his lunch and I didn’t cave so he was crying. I’ve learned that fussing at kids doesn’t work, and I tend to try the whole ‘be calm’ thing, but Koa…”
“Yeah, that shit won’t work on him.” My kid brother was a ball of energy and Dad tended to overcompensate by spoiling Koa rotten, despite
Mom’s complaints. It just added to his being incorrigible, even at nearly two.
“So, instead of fussing at him, I started making cat noises just to distract him.” A small lift of the right side of her mouth and I swore Aly almost smiled. She shook her head and that charm slid back and forth when she waved her hand. “Stupid, I know, but it worked and Koa just laughed. Your dad saw the whole thing go down and just started cracking up. Told me I sounded like an alley cat.” Aly moved her elbows to the piano top and glanced over her shoulder as though she wanted to make sure my father wasn’t around before she whispered, “I think he thinks he’s way funnier than he is.”
“That’s the truth.” She had Dad pegged already and I respected her for how quickly she seemed to discover that my parents weren’t the celebrities people tended to see them as. Aly, in fact, seemed pretty unimpressed by my father’s celebrity or the ridiculous near-mansion my folks lived in. That made her cool in my book. Her only response was to nod at me before she sat behind the piano.
The living room wasn’t where my mom typically did her work. She had a small office off the back of the house with a small recording studio, her desk and PC and enough instruments to outfit a full band. But the baby grand was too big for her studio, and besides, it begged to be put on display. Still, she hadn’t been playing much lately. As always, her father’s Gibson Hummingbird stayed at its usual place on a stand next to the piano along with the small amp she kept near it.
Aly tinkered on the keys, playing the slow intro to her song, but her timing was off and she missed several notes, something that set my teeth on edge. I’m not sure why I sat down next to her, and joined her at the keyboard. Maybe it was a bit of conceit. Maybe I wanted to show her that I had a connection to music, too, through piano instead than dance. Maybe I just wanted to be near her when she wasn’t completely freezing me out, for whatever reason.
“You play?” she asked, sounding surprised.
“Yeah, but I’m rusty.”
The keys felt cool and comfortable under my fingertips, and for a second I felt that calm settle into my chest, the same one that had always tampered down my rage when things became too much for me.
“You don’t sound rusty to me.”
Again that dimple dented her cheek and I figured that was as close to a smile as Aly ever got. I turned back to the song and messed around with the melody for a bit when a thought came to me. “Who decided on this song?” I asked, guessing I knew the answer to that question.
“Your mom,” she said, moving away from me when my elbow brushed her arm.
“Ah.”
“What does ‘ah’ mean exactly?” There was a mildly panicky tone to her question, one that had me glancing at her to see if she was freaking out.
The smile I gave her was part charm, part attempt at calm and I hoped it didn’t look forced. Me and panicky women? Yeah, that never ends well. “Relax, Aly. It’s just a general question.”
“No, it’s not.” She scooted closer, as though she forgot that her normal M.O. was refusing anyone inside her personal bubble. “Tell me what you’re thinking because I don’t want to screw this up.”
“Okay. Fine.” I stopped playing and turned my body toward her so that only my knee separated us on that bench. “My mom is a bad ass. She handles old rock stars who still think it’s the 60’s and cool to screw with women for being women. She’s racked up Grammies and made a lot of cash writing about cheating assholes and women kicking butt without anyone’s help.”
“Wi. Stuff I already know.” That dimple got deeper but I didn’t pat myself on the back. Wouldn’t do that until I saw an actual smile.
“Well, for all the badassery she manages, sometimes she forgets that the world isn’t in tune with her brain.” My mom had a process when she worked. It was one that you didn’t follow too closely. The best idea was to just sit back and watch her work her magic. Better yet, let her work and get out of her damn way.
“Modi, you’re saying she was wrong?” Aly’s smooth forehead became lined when she frowned. “About the song?”
“Maybe. I don’t think she got that this is a college audition and not a talent contest. Maybe it should be handled a little differently.” I closed the lid over the keys and moved my finger against the shine on the ebony wood until it smudged. In the reflection, Aly watched my face, as though she wanted to shake me a little to hurry up with my explanation. “I think sometimes Mom forgets that not everyone is a seasoned vet.” Aly blinked at me, making me feel like a jerk. After all, she was good. But even I could tell there was work to be done. “I just mean she hasn’t had to teach anyone for a long time.”
“You saying I need teaching?”
“Well, no.” I shrugged, feeling stupid, and moved my leg to the far side of the bench. The Hummingbird was just sitting there, still beautiful, still shiny, but the neck was worn with deep grooves from how much it had been played over the years, making it appear even older than it actually was. My mother had inherited the guitar from her father when he died, and despite a few dings and breaks over the years, it was still the guitar she used to compose with when the piano wouldn’t do.
I hadn’t touched it in months. Picking it up, cupping the neck and strumming along the strings felt like running into a friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. There were so many memories tied up in that guitar, so many tears and so much worry caught up in every string and fret.
The Hummingbird had a warm, crisp sound. The reverberation of the strings tickled my fingers like the practiced stroke of fingernail over my skin. It was comfortable and sweet, and I started to play a song I hoped Aly would recognize, moving through the melody until a hum bumped around in the back of my throat.
Two chord changes and I leaned over the guitar, closing my eyes. “I sort of picked up all of this on my own.” When she didn’t speak, I shot a glance up at her, stilling my fingers at her head shake. “What?”
“Is there anything you can’t do? Football, learning Kizomba after seeing it once, music.” She looked down when I smiled and started to strum again. There was no dimple on her cheek then, but her features had softened as I played. “You’re kind of intimidating.”
“Me?” I laughed and Aly looked up at my face, searching for what I might have found so funny. “Please. I just have a lot of energy to burn. That tends to make me focus when I’m learning.”
She made a chuckling sound deep in her throat and suddenly, it was Aly that I was focusing on. She had full lips, the bottom just a bit wider than the top and as I watched her, it was those full lips I thought about.
She didn’t shy away from me then. Still no damn smile, though, she seemed stingy with that. As I got caught up in the mesmerizing way she moved her lips together, Aly cleared her throat, and dropped her gaze to my fingers on the strings.
“So you think your mom was teaching me the wrong song?”
“She might have been too ambitious,” I stopped, returning my attention to the guitar and a different song. “You don’t have a lot of experience singing, right?” She narrowed her eyes at me and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Your pitch is natural, but not clean. Your voice is strong, but not that well supported. That tells me you haven’t had any lessons. Am I right?”
Aly shrugged yet again and distracted herself by picking up the cord to the amp coiled on the floor. She fingered the silver tip and kept her eyes down. “Everything I know I had to teach myself. Dance, music…”
“Wait. Dance?” I asked, not understanding that or why Aly only nodded. “But you teach.”
“Yeah. So?”
“You’re just, you’re good.” I liked that shrug/head dip thing she did. It made her seem humble. Not many people I know are remotely humble. “I’ve seen you with your students. You just…you’re self-taught?”
She made a small noise, similar to a soft grunt and then nodded at the guitar. “And your mom taught you everything?”
“No,” I said, smiling. “She didn’t.” Aly moved her lips together
again and that time I didn’t let my eyes linger on her mouth. Instead I cleared my throat and started on another tune. “Anyway, she shouldn’t start out with one of the most popular and hardest songs on Broadway. Besides, I bet you those professors at the auditions will have heard something from Les Mis about fifty times before the auditions are over. You should try something unexpected.”
“Like?”
“Wild Horses” by the Rolling Stones was older, but perfect for what she’d need. Aly’s range and the sweet, high pitch of her voice would sound like a damn angel in that auditorium singing this song.
“You know this one?” I asked her, taking the plug from her. The pick up on the bridge of the guitar would give the tune an ethereal quality that would balance her high voice. When she didn’t answer and my humming got not reaction from her, I started in on the first line, keeping my voice low, watching her face until she moved her eyebrows up as recognition filtered into her mind.
“Sing,” I encouraged when I finished the chorus
“Um, okay, but…just let me…” and she turned, her back to me, returned her posture to that uncomfortable-looking too straight way she held herself. I let her try for a few bars, watching what I could see of her chin and long neck. She had a sweet tone, but her voice wobbled again as she rushed to get the words out before all the air left her lungs.
“Hold up,” I said, putting the guitar back on the stand.
“What?”
She tried to turn but I sat behind her, my legs on either side of the bench, putting my hands on her shoulders to keep her still. “I won’t give you shit about not looking at me when you sing. Although, you had your body pressed tight against me at the studio and didn’t look one bit nervous.”
Aly glared at me over her shoulder. “That’s different. That’s…” she turned back around. “That’s me in my element. I sort of get lost when I dance. No one makes me nervous in the studio.”