Page 34 of Last Chorus

Rye’s mom, Kat, follows the pair. With deft precision, she circumvents her daughter-in-law to pick up the nap-escapee. She murmurs to Lily, then gives us a cheerful wave before carrying a squirming Emma back down the hallway.

Lily flops onto a love seat. “Your mom is a godsend, full stop.”

Rye, his mouth full of peanuts again, wisely nods instead of speaking.

Lily rolls her eyes, then yawns so hugely her jaw cracks. “Sleep regression is brutal.”

My mind still mid-spiral, I squint at her. “Sorry, sleep-what?”

“Regression. Remember when you watched Emma last week and she refused to nap? Imagine that twenty-four seven. We’re a minimal-sleep household at the moment, hence the leftovers in the pantry.”

“And why we told you to pick the farthest bedroom from us,” adds Rye. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Ah. Thanks.” I glance at my watch. “Not to be totally self-centered—sorry about your parent life—but can we get back to my question? I don’t want to make Evangeline uncomfortable. Do you think I should leave?”

Rye grins. “No way. If you bail, it’ll be super obvious to everyone that you’re a big baby chicken.”

“Wow,” I deadpan.

Lily snorts. “Stay, Wilder. She knows you’re going to be here. And you want to see her, don’t you?”

I palm the back of my neck, squeezing to relieve the tension that’s been there since I woke up. “Of course I want to see her.”

Rye sits up, finally realizing I need him to take me seriously. “What are you worried about?”

“I just have a bad feeling,” I admit. “I know you said she’s been acting more like herself the last couple of weeks. Sophie and Matt told me the same thing. But you guys heard the recording—all the foul shit Clay saidabout her. And now suddenly she’s writing Glow’s next album, wants to come up to Seattle to record this summer, and is hanging here solo all day? Something isn’t adding up. What’s changed?”

Lily chews her lip. “I don’t know. I haven’t asked about Clay because I haven’t wanted to scare her off. At the risk of sounding naive, maybe she’s finally realizing what a monster he is and is gearing up to leave him?”

“Maybe.” Though I try, I can’t keep the skepticism from my voice.

Rye glances between us. “Let’s hope for the best.”

Not wanting to kill the mood any more than I already have, I nod a few times before turning to gaze out a giant picture window at the ocean.

When I heard Evangeline was reaching out again to her friends and family, that she was working on Glow songs, I was initially optimistic. Unfortunately, overthinking is my brain’s default mode. It wasn’t long before I was chewing on other, darker possibilities, the worst of them being that because of my meddling, Clay changed tactics. I know damn well he didn’t trip and land on how to be a good person. What worries me is that he’s pretendingto be one and she’s falling for it.

Beyond the glass, the Pacific glitters in the morning sunlight, blue water mottled by stretches of foam, seaweed, and darker currents. I follow a set of waves,tracking its transformation from distant swells to whitewater on the beach. Then I find another set and another.

My awareness of the room fades, the vastness and rhythm of the ocean reminding me that I’m one fleeting, fragile life on a planet four and a half billion years old. Measured against the scope of time, my worries are minuscule and absurd.

But I guess that’s part of being human—the intrinsic struggle between irrelevance and ego. Even though I can accept that my emotions aren’t facts, they often feel tangible. Powerful and overwhelming, like a never-ending set of waves pummeling my shore.

Lost in a mini-meditation where I imagine that instead of sand, I’m a wave indifferent to fear or heartache, I miss the soft chime of the doorbell. I don’t notice Rye and Lily leaving the room. Nor do I hear a single set of footsteps approaching me.

But then, like my cells are coded to react to Evangeline’s nearness, I sense her. My skin vibrates, the hairs on my neck lifting. My lungs instinctively expand to bring her closer.

My missing piece.

Her advance is tentative, with several long pauses during which I struggle not to turn around. As hard as it is, I wait.

Come here, baby,I coax silently. I won’t bite.

When she finally appears a few feet away, I give myself permission to look at her. Baggy sweatpants, white T-shirt, and flip-flops. Hair in a messy bun, no makeup covering the sprinkle of freckles on her nose. Arms crossed tightly over her chest. Eyes on the ocean. Chin slightly uplifted. Lips lightly pursed.

You’re so fucking gorgeous, Fairy.

Like she hears my thought, her gaze flickers to me. The moment our eyes meet, hers snap back to the window.

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