Page 79 of Things I Read About
“Is he your boyfriend or your buddy? I don’t know, maybe you kids are different.”
Kids?
Pfft. I walk past him, into the living room. “We’re just not into PDA, that’s not different.”
“Not into PDA.” He states it more than he asks it, clearly thinking we’re, or I’m, insane.
“I’m not. And he respects that.”
Nate laughs a small chuckle and walks down the hall toward Sadie’s wing of the house.
“What, like you’re some expert on relationships?” I call after him.
He yells back from what sounds like one of the equipment closets, “I’m an expert on sniffing out absolute bullshit.”
“Bull...?” I storm up to him, angry that he thinks I’m a kid. That he thinks he can read me so well. That he thinks he can weigh in on my life at all.What does he know?
“Just because you can scan a room like a security camera doesn’t mean you know people.”I’m yelling now and it feels good.“You don’t know me at all, remember? So, you don’t know what I like or don’t like. You wouldn’t know if I like PDA.”
“Ok-ay Sa-die. PlayingPDAby Scott Helman.”
“What?” I reply to the house. “No! Cancel!”
Nate just laughs and continues tinkering with some cord.
“Nate.”
“What’s that? Can’t hear you.” He is still laughing.
The song blares. It’s catchy and fun, but I am not in the mood for fun.
I march over to where my phone is resting on the counter, poised to shut it off but the first line of the song says, ‘Your mama was a doctor’.”
I freeze.
I have to hear the whole thing now.
It goes on, a fun, cute song that I know will be stuck in my head for days.
There aren’t any piano parts. My body moves to the library, to the piano, without conscious thought.
The speakers in here are blasting too, way too loud for such a serene space. But as I start to play along, creating a piano piece that weaves in and out of the tune, I love it. I wish they were louder.
The song ends, but I didn’t finish composing the counter melody in my head.
I look up at the ceiling, as if the house is God above. “Home, play PDA again.”
“Ok-ay Sa-die. Playing PDA by Scott Helman.”
I play. I play loud, full, complex countermelodies like I’m fighting with the speakers. No, not fighting—dancing, during the bridge especially. The song becomes just his voice and the guitar, and I’ve created a piano solo moment.
I am smiling and sweating. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I forgot how much I used to love doing this in my teens to whatever song Skye was obsessed with. She would play one song on repeat, and I would make up new piano parts each time. Samantha always cheered. Sadie would sing along.
I look up from the keys.
Cheese.
Wait, what?
