Page 16 of Resurrection
"Maybe your manager," he shot back. "If you’re lucky. I’m expensive."
The back and forth went on, full of jokes and jabs that never felt mean. I showed him my other guitar, a battered old acoustic Fender I'd had forever. I thought it’d been Dad’s. Rumor had it, he’d proposed to Mom while playing a song for her on it. But construction work had ruined his hands and he'd given up music and had stashed the guitar in storage. He'd dug it out after I saw thatEddie Van Halen video. I’d learned all the basics on it for a year before finally getting the electric Ibanez.
Adri picked the guitar up, strumming a few awkward chords. We both laughed at the sound.
"I’ll stick to managing," he decided, setting it back down. "In any case, if you want to form a band, this kid, Jon Sheppe, plays drums. He’s pretty good. You should talk to him."
"How old is he?"
"Probably your age. You’ll meet him at school."
I saved this information in the corner of my mind.
We spent the rest of the afternoon talking music, trading stories about favorite bands and first concerts. Adri knew more than I’d expected. Despite that horrible nu metal obsession, his tastes overlapped with mine in surprising ways.
Eventually, he stood, stretching like a cat. "We doing this again?"
"Definitely," I said, the word easy and sure.
"See you around, Strings."
5NAOMI
I cutthrough the alley behind my house, holding my breath and pretending I don’t care about Tyler Brady.
How dare he even show up at my parents' house after seventeen years of nothing?
These past few weeks have been the hardest for the entire family. Sitting in the living room and debating whether it’s time to let the man who raised you and your brother die is the kind of agony I don’t wish on anyone.
Deep down, I get why the doctors ultimately insisted on pulling the plug. It was a long, draining brain death, and Dad wouldn’t have wanted to exist like that—hooked up to the machines, stuck between worlds while we watched him fade away.
Allowing him to leave with dignity was the best option.
And now that he’s gone, it feels like our family isn’t complete, as if there’s this massive void where he used to be. It’s like our family’s puzzle is missing a giant piece, and I'm clueless about how to fit us back together again. It’s weighing on my shoulders—this responsibility.
Tyler Brady entering the picture on top of it seems cruel and unnecessary.
After our conversation, I realized I couldn’t be in that house anymore. I left to get some air but, instead, find myself on the way to our old haunt—the park bench where he carved forever into the wood with a rusty pocketknife and way too much confidence.
That was another lifetime ago, back when I thought people kept promises and didn’t walk away when things got real.
When the park finally comes into view, the sun has already reached the horizon, and the people there are packing up their belongings.
I spot him right away. He sits in the distance on that same bench, the fading sun lighting up his messy brown hair while he talks on his phone.
Great. Just great.
I come to a halt and consider turning around. I don’t have it in me to talk to him again. I feel like an old dress that’s coming apart at the seams from hanging in the closet way too long.
He looks up, and my heart does a backflip.
I hate it. Hate myself for having a reaction to him after all this time.
"Hey," he calls, ending the call. "We meet again."
"Wasn’t my intention," I supply coldly. My chest grown tighter as I cross the grass toward the bench. There’s a thin edge of desperation in the way he fidgets with his phone.
We’re adults now, I remind myself. I can handle this. But all the years that have passed collapse into a single moment, and I’m eighteen again, still figuring out how to breathe in his presence.
