Page 64 of Sing For Me

But Simon wasn’t there that night. No one was there but me. And it was glorious.

I hadn’t been able to bring myself to sing on Wednesday. On Thursday, either; however, I did venture into the live room.

And last night, I’d sat down on the stool, and I told myself I wasn’t going to leave until I opened my mouth and sang.

Just a single song, that was all.

The thought of it sent nerves clattering through my stomach like sharp rocks. But I’d brought liquid courage, dusting off a silver flask that came with a holster I used to strap to my thigh at music concerts in my twenties. I refrained from slipping on the strap. But when I pulled it out of my purse and unscrewed the top I felt rebellious, like I had a piece of the younger, braver Reese with me. The one who went to concerts with her girlfriends or sometimes even on her own. For the pure, unbridled love of music.

And I sang that song. Then I sang another.

Today, I don’t need the alcohol. I practically bounded out of bed to come down here. I’m itching to keep going, to try out the lines in the new song I started writing last night when I got home. But I don’t want to wreck my newfound voice. Also, I promised Michelle I’d join a call with her and the girls sometime this afternoon—they’re spending Christmas in London this year and taking my mom and dad with them. Our older brother Pietro lives there, and neither Michelle nor I have seen him in over a year. I know she’s going to angle to get me to come with them, even though I’ve told her I can’t leave L’Aubergine over the holidays.

So I head for the mixing room, where I left my stuff, and that’s when I hear my phone.

I grin. She’s so impatient.

But when I fish my phone out of my coat, it’s not Michelle.

It’s Eli.

For a moment, I consider not answering. Then I remember where I am, and that he built all this for me, and a shot of that bravery from before emboldens me to answer rather than send him to voicemail.

“Hey,” I say.

There’s a pause when I hesitate, not sure whether I should tell him I’m using the space.

But I want to tell him thank you again, just in case.

“Hey,” he says. “Listen, I’m sorry if it was weird to ask, I just thought since I don’t think either of us want to go to this O’Malley’s thing tonight you might want to do something else. But if you want to say no that’s fine, I get it, I just need to know. I need to be clear because I’m fucking killing myself over here, Reese.”

I’m still trying to parse through his explosion of words. “Eli…what?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Sorry, are you busy or something? I thought you didn’t work today—”

“No, it’s fine,” I say. I chew my lip, my pulse suddenly quickening. Part of me wants to tell him where I am. Why I feel like I’m beaming from the inside. Instead I settle on, “I wanted to thank you, Eli. For the studio.”I’ve conquered at least a small part of the fear I thought would live in me for life, thanks to you.But I don’t say that last part. Just, “It’s everything.” The emotion of the truth clogs in my throat.

There’s a long pause where I hold my breath, wondering if I’ve gushed too hard. Panicking, almost. But Eli just says softly, “Of course Reese.”

There’s a long pause, then my stomach squeezes as I remember what he’d rambled on about at the beginning of this call.

He was nervous too.

“Oh?” My voice squeaks slightly.

“Yeah. On a real date, Reese. Not for show. I mean, not fortheshow. Just because…well shit, because I want to.”

My first thought is to politely decline and quickly hang up. It’s cowardly though, and the fact is, I’m not sure I want to. Because the glow I feel from being in the studio didn’t come just from the studio. It came because of the man on the phone.

He’s the one who gave me this gift. Nerves bounce around in my stomach, but something’s changed in me too. I can do brave things. I know I can.

“Okay.”

“No shit!” Eli says, sounding clearly relieved.

I bite my lip to hold back my laugh. “No shit.”

“Okay. Great.”

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