I nodded. “Without a doubt. It’s always nice when someone shows their true colors off the bat. Saves you time wasted. Although, I wasn’t attracted to him in person, so it likely wouldn’t have gone anywhere even if he’d turned out to be a stand-up guy.”
“Physical attraction is important.” She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed. “Speaking of attractive, what about Troy? What are his true colors? Do you think he’s still that jerk he was in high school?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t figured grown-up Troy out yet. “I’ve always been taught to believe that people don’t change. I can’t say there are never exceptions, though. But I don’t have enough current-day experience to deem him trustworthy.”
She shoveled some chips into her mouth. “That’s too bad, because he’s so damn good-looking.”
“If Troy were as trustworthy as he is hot, we certainly wouldn’t have a problem, now would we?” I chuckled.
We continued chatting as the subject changed from Troy to Kiki. Shala had three kids, one of whom was eight like my niece, so I often looked to her for advice.
Our conversation was interrupted when she looked over my shoulder. “Oh my. Look who’s here.”
I turned to find a smiling Troy walking toward our table.
I wiped the side of my mouth with my napkin. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here? I’m visiting my grandfather.”
“I know…but your days are usually Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
He pulled up a seat next to me. “It’s not an exact science, Dumont. Those aren’t the only days I ever come see him, just the days we go out. Sometimes I pop in at random times—bring him a donut or say hello during my lunch break.” He looked down at my empty plate. “What are you up to…eating?”
“Yeah.” I tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Just finishing up.” The hair on my arms stiffened; the way my body reacted when he was close definitely unnerved me.
“What’s going on the rest of the day here?” he asked.
“We’re doing a singalong later.”
“Nice. How does that work?” he asked.
“I play the piano and sing and everyone else…” I stopped, momentarily distracted by his…face.
“Sings along.” He grinned, finishing my sentence.
“Yeah.”
“What tunes?”
“We usually pick one band or artist and go through a number of songs from their catalog. Today it’s The Carpenters.”
He scratched his chin. “Oh yeah…the brother and sister from the seventies. Tragic how she died. What made you pick them?”
“Their songs are pretty easy to play, and they’re a fan favorite.”
Just then the facility director, Nancy, popped her head into the dining area. She asked if she could pick Troy’s brain about some financial questions. He agreed, and after he excused himself, I didn’t see him for the rest of the afternoon.
The singalongs, which we did a couple of times a week, were usually held at 3 PM. I liked that they made the last hour of my shift go by pretty fast.
Knowing how to play the piano had never come in handy until I got this job. I used to think my years of lessons as a kid had been a total waste, but being able to play for the people here was one of my greatest joys. I chose songs they might remember from their younger years and passed around sheets with the lyrics.
Today’s singalong started routinely enough, as everyone got situated in their spots. After I’d passed out the lyric sheets, I spotted Troy wheeling his grandfather into the room. He’s still here? Not only that, he had a guitar over his shoulder.
What the…?
He parked Mr. Serrano at a spot in the front, close to my piano.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Troy put the guitar down. “I hope you don’t mind. I figured the more, the merrier.”
“You play the guitar?”
“Yeah. I used to teach myself in my spare time.”
“Oh. That’s right. Your obituary mentioned that.”
“I ran home and downloaded The Carpenters’ sheet music and printed it out. Figured I could play along—unless you’d prefer I didn’t?”
What am I supposed to say…no? “Uh, sure. That’s fine.”
“You sure?”
I nodded, although the prospect of him playing alongside me put me on edge. I’d never had to stay in sync with anyone else before. This was supposed to be an informal singalong in a nursing home, not some bizarro-world duet performance.
“Which song are we starting with?” he asked.
“‘Close To You’.” I felt my face heat up.
He nodded and began to sift through his music sheets.
Rather than let my nerves consume me, I forced myself to sit down at the piano and just start. I wasn’t the best singer, but I typically didn’t worry about how I sounded, because as soon as I belted the first notes, my voice was drowned out by every other out-of-tune voice in the room. Except today, all I could hear was Troy—because he was right next to me. And you know what? He had a really nice voice. He also managed to keep up with me. Or maybe it was me managing to keep up with him. Either way, the guitar really complemented the piano, despite my earlier doubts. We were an unlikely musical pairing, but it worked.
I think everyone appreciated the change of pace Troy and his guitar brought to the occasion. All of the elderly women were understandably charmed. We played five Carpenters songs, with plenty of pauses for reminiscing in between, ending on an encore of “We’ve Only Just Begun.” The hour flew by even faster than usual.
After our time was up, I wheeled the piano back to the corner of the room and walked over to Troy.
He put the guitar strap over his shoulder. “It’s four o’clock. You’re off now, right?”
“Yup. Pretty much—after I pick up all these music sheets.”
“Cool. I’ll help clean up and walk you out.”
As I went around the room, I got goosebumps. It felt like something had shifted between Troy and me since the other night.
After the room was clean, Troy waited as I grabbed my personal items from my cubby. Then we walked together slowly out to the parking lot. He gave off a vibe that there was a reason he’d wanted to wait for me.
When we stopped in front of my red Honda Civic, Troy said, “The feeling is mutual, Aspyn.”
The feeling is mutual? “What are you talking about?”
“What you said about me to that chick you were eating lunch with.”
What? My brain raced to backtrack. “You were listening in on our conversation?”
“I was in the hallway outside the dining area—right around the corner at the desk signing in. I couldn’t help overhearing.”
I cleared my throat, fearing the worst. “I don’t remember what I said.”
“Technically, it was half-insult, half-compliment, but I’m choosing to look at it positively.”
I licked my lips. “What did I say?”
“You said you wished I was as trustworthy as I am hot.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
There was no way to deny what he’d heard. I just had to come clean.