Like Gravity (11 page)

“I’m Officer Carlson. I’ll be taking your statements and looking around the place for any signs of a break in. Can one of you tell me what happened?”

Lexi got the officer a glass of water and I sat on the couch with him discussing the flowers and their mysterious arrival. After jotting down my statement in a small black notebook, he followed me into my bedroom and examined the bouquet lying in my wastebasket.

“Well,” he drawled, scratching his protruding belly, “It’d have been better if you hadn’t touched them, of course, but I can take them back to the station and see if we can lift any prints off ‘
em. It’s doubtful, though. Flowers aren’t exactly ideal for fingerprinting.” He snorted, evidently amusing himself.

Glad they sent out Charlottesville PD’s finest to help me through this ordeal.

After bagging the flowers and taking a cursory glance at the front door lock, Officer Carlson left. He promised to let me know as soon as they had any answers about the break in, but I certainly wouldn't be holding my breath. I closed the door behind him and walked slowly to my bedroom, ignoring the identical looks of concern plastered on Lexi, Tyler, and Finn’s faces. I needed to be alone.

Propping open my window, I slid out onto my rooftop and curled my knees up to my chest. I pillowed my arms on top of my knees, laid down my head, and closed my eyes, trying to regulate my breathing. Somehow, even my rooftop didn’t feel safe today. The creepy flower delivery had me more rattled than I wanted to admit
– not to myself and certainly not to the three people inside on my couch.

In fact, the only time I’d felt safe in weeks was when
Finn had swooped in like a freaking knight in shining armor and carried me away from Gordon and the panic-inducing crowds at Styx last night. I wasn’t sure why he had such a calming effect on me. I’d never needed anyone to save me before, and I definitely didn’t want to need someone now.

I was alarmed to recognize how much I enjoyed
Finn’s company – how often he made me laugh, how I’d find myself smiling against my will in his presence, how he’d forcefully reacted to seeing me hurt. Despite all that, I wasn’t sure he felt anything for me, other than desire to add me to the long list of bimbos he’d screwed.

I’m not sure how much time passed as I sat out on the rooftop. Dusk had begun to descend and the sun crept
ever closer to the horizon. I heard the sound of my window sliding open, and Finn’s muffled curse as he maneuvered his tall frame through small opening. I didn’t turn my head to acknowledge him as he settled in next to me.

He was on my rooftop. Lexi had never even been out here with me. I should’ve felt violated or incensed at his intrusion into my private space, but somehow it felt right to have him here. He’d shared his highway lookout point with me, after all.

I waited for him to speak, but he remained silent. After a few minutes, he slipped his leather jacket, which he must’ve found hanging in my room, around my shoulders and wrapped an arm around me. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until his warmth was pressed against my side.

“Want to hear a bad joke?”
Finn asked.

I turned my head to look at him and cocked one eyebrow. Was he being serious? He didn’t exactly seem like the comedian-type.

“I’ll take your silence as tacit approval,” he said, pausing to collect his thoughts. His eyebrows pulled together as if he were deep in thought. “What do you call a pony with a cough?”

I looked at him blankly.

“A little hoarse!” Finn laughed, evaluated my less-than-amused expression, and became contemplative once more. “Hmm, no luck with that one. Okay, why couldn't Dracula's wife get to sleep?”

Again, I failed to give him
a reaction.

“Because, Brooklyn, she was up all night with his
coffin
.” He sighed dramatically. “That one was obvious! If I didn’t know better, I’d think you weren’t even
trying
to answer these.”

When I still didn’t laugh,
Finn rolled his eyes. “Jeeze, tough crowd. Okay this is my last one. Mostly ‘cause I don’t know any more jokes. Baby, do you play Quiddich?”

I think my mouth fell open in shock. He couldn't possibly be making a Harry Potter joke…could he?

“‘Cause you sure look like a Keeper to me,” he finished, smiling broadly.

I couldn't help it -- I burst into laughter. “You like Harry Potter?” I asked incredulously.

“What kind of question is that?” Finn asked, his cheeks flushing slightly pink with embarrassment. “Everyone likes Harry Potter,” he grumbled. “Don’t you?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve just never heard a guy admit to it before.” I dissolved into giggles at his obvious discomfort. “Seriously, where did you get those jokes? They’re pretty terrible, just so you know for any future attempts at cheering up sulking girls.”

“Oh, believe me, I know how bad they are. My little sister taught them to me a while back, though, and I can’t seem to forget them. Plus, they made you laugh…eventually.” His eyes crinkled up as he grinned playfully at me.

He was gorgeous all the time but seeing him like this, so boyish and lighthearted, made him even more attractive. My heart seemed to turn over in my chest as I took in his profile: the chiseled jawline, his perpetually messy dark hair,
that freaking adorable dimple, and those stunning cobalt eyes. I leaned into his side and pressed a feather-light kiss to his jawline, settling my forehead into the hollow of his throat before he had time to react.

“Thank you. Again.” I laughed. “It seems like I’m always thanking you for something these days.”

Finn kissed the top of my head and shrugged. “What are friends for, right?”

Hmm.
So we were still just ‘friends’ in his eyes. I pocketed that little nugget of information away for future dissection.  

“So you have a little sister?”

“Step-sister, technically. I was adopted when I was ten.”

“Oh.” I wanted to know more, but was afraid to ask. If he told me his story, would I be obligated to tell mine?
             

“Yeah, my biological parents died when I was
eight. Car crash. I spent a handful of years in foster and group homes before my adoptive parents found me. They saved my life.” His tone was reflective – there was no sadness in it, just a contemplative acceptance of his past. I didn’t apologize for his loss, because people had been telling me how sorry they were for fourteen years, and it had never changed a damn thing for me.

“I
—” I broke off, cleared my throat, and tried again. “I spent some time in a group home too.” Turning my face into the crook of Finn’s neck, I blocked out the world and my voice dropped to a whisper. “Eventually, my biological father came and took me home with him. I’m not sure why he bothered; its not like he had any interest in raising me.”

We fell into silence for a time, watching as the stars slowly began to emerge in the darkening sky. We’d both left things unsaid, but it didn’t feel strange. It was oddly comforting to know that he had things he wasn’t read
y to share yet either.

“It’s nice up here,”
Finn whispered. “Peaceful.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, closing my eyes and thinking my rooftop had never felt so safe.
I put the flower incident out of my mind, and tried to savor the feeling.

Finn
and I eventually made our way back inside, joining Lexi and Tyler for pizza and a stupid Will Ferrell movie that was on TV. It was a blissfully normal ending to a horrible day.

Worthwhile Fears

The next week was remarkably boring. It was a refreshing change after the drama of my panic attack and the appearance of the sinister bouquet. Lexi and Tyler were still attached at the hip, but were spending more of their time at our apartment. I think they were worried about leaving me alone, which was sweet but completely unnecessary.

I filled my days with homework and classes, and occupied my nights by knocking some books off my lengthy TBR list. I didn’t see Finn at all, and I tried to convince myself that it didn’t bother me. I did, however, see Dr. Angelini again. I told her about the flower incident and how Finn had cheered me up with corny jokes afterwards.

“You’ve mentioned
Finn several times now. Is he someone you’re interested in romantically?” Dr. Angelini asked.

“I don’t date,” I responded instantly.

“That wasn’t my question, Brooklyn.”

“He’s different,” I said, struggling for the right words. “When he looks at me, it’s like he sees past all the bullshit barriers I’ve put up and gets a glimpse of the real Brooklyn
– the one nobody knows. The one even I forget exists sometimes.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Scared shitless, if I’m being perfectly honest,” I said with a grimace. “That can’t be healthy right?”

“Well, in my experience, it’s usually the things we’re
most afraid of that end up being the most worthwhile,” Dr. Angelini said, a small smile curving her lips.

“That’s deep, d
oc,” I teased, falling silent as the weight of her words washed over me. “The thing I’m most afraid of is forgetting her,” I murmured.

“Your mother?”

“Yes. I have a few photos of her, so I can still see her face when I want to. But the little things – how she smelled, the sound of her laughter – those are the things I feel slipping away.”

“What is it you remember most clearly about her?”

“Singing. She was a musician. I don’t have many memories without her humming under her breath as she composed a new melody in her head. We used to sing together.”

“Do you
still sing?”

“
Only in private, and only when I’m feeling particularly masochistic. I have an old guitar I found in an antique store a few years ago. I taught myself to play in high school, thinking it might make me feel more connected to her memory.”

“Did it work?” Dr. Angelini asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, shaking my head back and forth. “I never really pursued it.”

“I think you should.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I think
you should find a coffee house or a karaoke bar or even a street corner and perform. Just once, to see how it feels. In fact, that’s your assignment before you come back to see me.”

“You’re giving me homework?” I asked, incredulous. “You
’re my shrink, not my professor.”

Dr. Angelini smiled placidly. “Your time for today is up, Brooklyn. I look forward to hearing all about your musical debut at our next session.
“ She stood and ushered me into the hallway, closing the door firmly behind me. I stared back at her closed door, my mouth hanging open in shock.

This was going to be a disaster.

I wasn’t sure if my time at therapy was helping or not, but for once in my life I had someone I could discuss my problems and my twisted history with. I could talk freely because it was confidential and Dr. Angelini wasn’t a friend – she was just doing her job. I didn’t burden her and she didn’t judge me.

And while I was dreading getting up on a stage and singing in front of a crowd, I knew Dr. Angelini wouldn’t have recommended doing it
unless it served a real purpose. Shockingly, I trusted her.

Our discussion of relationships had me thinking about sex as I drove home from my appointment. It had been months since my last random hookup, far longer than I typically lasted between boy-binges. Sex was the ultimate mind-numbing escape, reserved for situations where tequila alone couldn't block out my emotions.

I couldn't help but wonder if my sudden prudish tendencies had something to do with a certain new male
friend
, who sang like an angel and told jokes any five year old could top. I dismissed that unwelcome thought, pulled into a nearby liquor store parking lot, and began making plans for a much-needed Friday night out with Lexi.

***

“Lex?” I called, walking into our apartment and dumping two grocery bags full of ingredients onto the kitchen island. I could hear music thumping from her speakers, an auto-tuned pop track I’d never heard before. Lexi and I didn’t exactly share the same taste in artists.

She emerged from her room, hips gyrating in time to the beat as she crooned the lyrics into a hairbrush.

“Could you be any more cliché?” I asked, giggling at her as I removed several bottles of tequila, margarita mix, and two fresh limes from the grocery bags.

“Margarita night?” Lexi squealed, dropping her pseudo-microphone and pulling the blender down from a cabinet.

“Yeah, I was thinking we could head over to The Blue Note in a little bit.”

“The karaoke bar?” Lexi asked,
her nose wrinkling in confusion. “But you don’t ever want to go there.”

“I thought we co
uld change it up tonight, try somewhere new.”

“Works for me,” Lexi said, always agreeable to a night of debauchery. She was f
iring up the blender with our first round of margaritas in two minutes flat.

After a brief cheers, I
left the kitchen and headed into my room to prepare for the night. Picking an outfit was the least of my worries; I somehow had to convince myself that singing onstage in front of a crowd of random strangers wasn’t going to be a total train wreck. Sipping my margarita, I hoped a bit of liquid courage would keep me from backing out at the last minute.

Finn
’s jacket still hung on the hook by my closet – he must’ve left it here after the night of the flower delivery. Before I could talk myself out of it, I crossed the room, grasped the supple leather in my hands, and held it up against my face. Inhaling, I could detect the faintest aroma of falling leaves and crisp apples – that uniquely autumnal, masculine scent Finn seemed to carry everywhere he went. Ignoring the pang in my chest, I dropped the jacket onto my bedspread and scolded myself for acting like such a girl.

The truth was, I missed him.
I’d gotten used to him being around, and not seeing him for over a week was a slow form of torture. I wouldn’t seek him out, though. It wasn’t in my nature to chase after anyone’s affection.

After changing into a sparkly fitted grey blouse, dark skinny jeans, and a pair of black
high-heeled leather boots, I pulled my guitar from a long-neglected back corner of my closet. It was out of tune; it had been months since I’d last played.

After making some adjustments, I
strummed a few chords experimentally. For an old guitar, it had a nice sound. I smiled as I began to play the opening melody of one of my favorite songs, singing under my breath as I reached the chorus. Enthusiastic applause greeted me as soon as I trailed off; Lexi was standing in my doorway, watching with rapt attention.

“Does this mean you’re going to play tonight?” She squealed, clearly excited by the prospect.

“I was thinking about it.”  I didn’t mention Dr. Angelini’s assignment, as that would’ve required me to tell Lexi that I was seeing a psychiatrist.

“
Ohmigod! Brooklyn, I don’t know what inspired this but I’m so happy you’re going to play! I’ve been telling you for years, you could be a professional with pipes like yours.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said, strumming softly. “My mom was a singer, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Lexi sighed. “But that’s because you never talk about her. I wish you would.”

That
had my attention. “You do?” I asked, surprised.

“Of course I do, Brooklyn.
You’re my best friend.” She walked over to sit beside me on the bed. “I know I can be selfish, believe me. But I also know that my self-absorption is the only reason you’ve let me stick around this long. I figured out a long time ago that if I pushed you, I’d lose you.” Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at me. “And I can’t lose you, Brookie. But sometimes I wish you’d let me – or
anyone
– in, because you can’t keep it all locked up inside forever. Nobody’s that strong.”

I was
shocked speechless. I wanted to shake myself for being so blind. Lexi wasn’t ignorant, self-obsessed, or totally uninterested in me. In fact, she’d figured me out long ago, understood how I functioned, and decided to stick around anyway. For the first time in years, I felt the telltale signs of tears prickling at my eyes. Placing my guitar next to me on the bed, I reached over and pulled Lexi into a hug.

“I’m kind of an idiot, huh?” I asked her after a few minutes.

“It’s okay. I’m kind of a vapid narcissist. So it all evens out in the end,” she giggled through her tears. “Great, now I’m going to have to completely redo my makeup! If you have any more sentimental bullshit to unload, now is the time. I refuse to redo it again after this.” Lexi winked at me as she hurried out of my room, no doubt headed for the numerous beauty products littering her vanity.

I rolled my eyes and felt a smile spread across my face.
I had a best friend who actually gave a shit about me. And I was ready to kick some musical ass.

***

By the time Lexi and I walked into The Blue Note, open mic night was well under way. A boy wearing a dark fur vest and white leather pants wailed into the microphone on stage, accompanied by a willowy girl with shoulder-length dreadlocks who occasionally beat her tambourine in time with the chorus. I immediately felt like I’d been transported back to the 1970s; it was painful to watch.

Lexi stifled a giggle as we sat down at a small round table near the back of the room. I settled my guitar case on the ground by my feet and surveyed the
club. It was dark in the audience, the only light cast by flickering jar-candles that had been placed on each tabletop. Dim halogen lamps illuminated the stage, creating a halo around a solitary stool and microphone stand.

Lexi headed to the bar to grab our drinks while I staked out our table; more people poured in through the front door with each passing minute, and the seating was limited. The club
may have felt intimate, but was bigger than it had appeared at first glance. There were probably close to a hundred people scattered around the different booths and standing at the bar.

Watching as the room quickly filled, I began to reconsider coming here.
Maybe performing wasn’t such a good idea after all. I could always try a coffee shop or – what had Dr. Angelini’s other suggestion been? Oh, right. A street corner.

Lexi arrived back at our table just as the next act stepped up on stage. A girl dressed in all black, covered in tattoos, and flaunting multiple facial piercings
approached the mic. It was no great surprise when she began screaming out the lyrics to an angst-ridden Alanis Morissette song.

Sipping the lemon drop martini Lexi had gotten for me, I decided this wasn’t the right venue for my debut. I wasn’t nearly angry enough at the world to fit in amongst these performers. Nor did I have a fur vest or dreadlocks.

“Guess what?” Lexi
exclaimed, a huge grin spreading across her face.

Oh shit.
I knew that look. I felt a leaden weight drop into the pit of my stomach, dread mounting in anticipation of whatever she was about to tell me.

“What did you do?”

“While I was up getting our drinks, I may or may not have signed you up to perform! Isn’t that great?” She was giggling uncontrollably at this point, no doubt amused by the murderous expression thundering across my face.

“Lexi! Why would you do that to me?”
I whined.

“Because I knew you were about two seconds from bailing as soon as we walked in and saw Sonny and Cher up there—” she nodded in the direction of the hippie couple who’d just left the stage, “—reliving the
ir seventies glory.”

I didn’t respond; I hated when she was right.

Thankfully, several more acts were called to the stage before my name was announced, giving me time to gulp down my martini and slightly calm my ragged nerves.

“Let’s give it up for Brooklyn, everybody!” The MC was a blur as I walked
to the stage and settled onto the stool, holding my guitar to my chest like a lifeline. My feet didn’t quite reach the ground, so I propped them up on the bottom rung. Lowering the microphone stand so it was level with my face, I looked out at the crowd. The dark room was a blessing; I couldn’t see anyone’s faces. It would almost be like I was back in my room, playing alone.

Almost
.

“Hey, you guys, I’m Brooklyn. I’ve never done this before, so cut me some slack, okay?” There were some appreciative chuckles from the audience, helping to put me at ease. “I’m going to sing one of my favorite songs for
you tonight. This is
Blackbird
by The Beatles.”