Broken Pretty Things by Amber Faye

Chapter 32

Three weeks before Logan’s party...

We usedto do this a lot. I’d play the piano, she’d sit next to me, sometimes add a couple of high notes that didn’t really add to the melody, but that’s OK. I’ve been playing for nine years, and she learned on and off for one year. Sometimes, after one drink, she’d hum or even sing along while I played, and those were my favorite evenings.

Even more now that I know I’m in love with her. And, at the same time, even less. A lot less. Because Cole is here, and so are Aurelia, Larissa, Logan. They’re all sitting, shouting out requests. Aurelia has been trying to get me to play something by Lady Gaga, and I actually learned it last night for her. When I play the opening few bars, she leaps to her feet and squeals, hopping across the room in her impossibly high heels and kissing me on the cheek. Everyone laughs. The atmosphere is nice.

“Sing,” I say, nudging Andie in the ribs. She’s sitting next to me at the piano, but facing the opposite way. Probably making moon eyes at her boyfriend.

“No, no,” she laughs, nudging me back. “I don’t know the words.”

“What do you know the words to?” I ask, getting onto the chorus. Pop songs are often pretty easy, and when I add an extra dramatic flourish to the next bar, Aurelia screams the words and spins on her heels, making Larissa cough with laughter, getting up to join her.

“You know every song I like,” Andie is still laughing. Her eyes glitter in the light. My father had a literal chandelier fitted in this room, which should be gaudy as hell. She makes it look classy. Her hair frames her face in careful waves. She’s wearing pretty teardrop earrings that glint. I wonder if Cole gave them to her, and I have to look away.

“I want to hear you sing,” I say, quietly, just to her.

“Bossy,” she says low, either accidentally misunderstanding the monotone in my voice, or deliberately. I have no idea if she knows how I feel. I didn’t even know how I felt. Then, “White Gold,” she says. “By Metric. But only if you sing it with me.” I nod, moving to the next verse. Aurelia is still wailing the words. My voice isn’t particularly great, but I can hold a tune and I’ve always been able to project. Her voice, alone, is pretty, soulful, but quiet. When we sing together, though, combining my steady volume and her thoughtful vibrato, I get chills.

I lift my fingers, lift my foot, and let the silence ring out. “Why!” Aurelia cries. “You never play what I say.” I shoot her a smile. It always makes her stop whining. She smiles coyly back at me, and moves to sit on Larissa’s lap.

Then I settle into the right position and start to play a new song. It’s much slower, more delicate. Andie sings, softly, and her breathy tenor clutches at my lower stomach. I play reverently, nothing like the stylized, throwaway way I played before. When Larissa laughs and says something, I want to wheel around and tell her to shut the fuck up. Actually, what I really want to do is ask them all to leave. I want this to be just us.

It used to always be just us.

And I didn’t appreciate it enough.

I join her at the chorus. The room is large and echoey, and with my accompaniment she feels braver, and sings louder. I give her the verse alone, and then we sing the chorus together again. When the song rings out, fades, I feel lightheaded. I lean back, crack my back.

“I feel like I need a cigarette after that,” she jokes, and I smirk without making eye contact, but I already know I’m going to be thinking about that comment for the rest of the day. Was she making a sex joke? Did singing with me, just now, feel as sensual to her as it did to me? My heart is hammering, and I calm down the way I always do.

With more music.