So, we definitely weren’t talking about it then. Okay.
“You’re not far off, actually.” I yawned. “My whole life, they’ve attracted some real characters. I’ve always been …” Nosey. “In search of knowledge. Older than my age, if that makes sense. So, I used to listen in. Finally, at one point, my parents told me if I wanted to be a part of their dinner discussions I had to learn to discuss things civilly. I started debating with adults at the age of twelve. More than once I fell asleep at the table, trying to hang.”
A soft smiled spread along Devlin’s face and it made my knees tingle. I wondered when he would let me address the elephant in the room, but I’d follow his lead for now.
“You seemed surprised by our weekly dinners. But it sounds like your parents had them too,” he said.
My heart twisted a little at that. “No. Not really. That’s why I learned to argue. It was some of the only time I got to spend with them.” His brows creased. “That sounded worse than I meant. It wasn’t that my parents ignored me. Not by a mile. But they were very much their own unit until they had me. Both in their forties and so in love.” I took a deep breath trying to find the right words. “I was this bonus gift, but not necessarily something they’d always dreamed about wanting. I guess I’m just surprised you’re so close with your parents. Like, what do y’all talk about, if it’s not politics and art?”
He scratched at his chin. “Everything. Sometimes we do talk about that sort of stuff, but mostly they just want to know what’s going on. When you know someone really well you have shared stories. That’s why the dinners are so important to them. They want to always be a part of our lives. They’re just like friends. I mean, it wasn’t always like this. And obviously there are some things we don’t discuss. We obviously don’t go into the lurid details of my sex life, but I mean, most things we talk about.”
Lurid details? “Let’s unpack that,” I wanted to say. Instead, I said, “Huh. I guess I never thought of my parents as friends. Especially not friends that I’d choose to hang out with. They’re just … family.”
“I guess,” he searched for the right words. “I don’t know what I’d do without my family.”
Swoon.
“My parents don’t know me. Not really.” It was my own fault. I kept so much from them. “They know the person they have in their head. I’m not that person anymore.” I sort of trailed off. I wasn’t sure if Devlin knew anything about my past.
“Have you tried talking to them?” he asked softly.
Now it was my turn to change the subject.
“The SWS is my family. But your family are your people,” I said.
He nodded. “When I’m with them, it feels like comfort. Like I don’t need to be ‘on.’ I don’t have to be anything for anybody. I don’t think about what I say, I just speak,” he said.
“The man behind the mask?” I asked.
He dropped my gaze. “Something like that.”
A pang of jealousy cramped my stomach.
This was all just so much to take in with Devlin. It was so far from the image he portrayed day to day at rehearsal. But I supposed the same could be said for me.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
His body went rigid. It was a minute before he answered me. “I guess I didn’t want you to see me differently.”
His confession hit home. His fears were justified. I had already started to see him differently. Internally, I had been obsessing over Erik Jones and not Devlin. I turned toward him, and he mirrored me. It was just us washing dishes, but it felt so intimate.
“You’re a gifted musician. I’m doing this because I want to help you. Nothing has changed,” I said. I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t bring it up again. I could only hope that when he felt ready, he might share more.
He nodded but didn’t add anything else. We’d been holding each other’s gaze again. All night we had been staring at each other like we were trying to figure something out.
He blinked and pushed off the counter. “I’ll make some tea.”
We chatted as he got out the kettle. I found the teacups and set them up. He told me about his struggles with his composition and how close he felt to breaking through. Hearing him talk about his music was something akin to magic. I wondered if the great artists of the past had people that they talked to like this. Did Beethoven have a partner he shared his work with over cups of tea on cold evenings?
When we finally stopped looking at each other, I said, “I guess I’ll get going.”
He pushed his empty mug away. “I’ll walk you out.”
At the door, I got unaccountably nervous reaching for my coat and ended up fumbling a bit.
“Here.” He wrapped me up in my jacket and I liked the way it felt to be buttoned up.
“Thanks.” I blinked up at him.
“It was pretty cold when my parents left.” His hands remained gripped in the collar of my coat, fussing with it to keep it closed.
“It was supposed to storm,” I responded. Were we talking about the weather or was he stalling? Maybe I just hoped he was.
He finally broke away to open the door. Without warning the wind pushed the door all the way open and out of his hands. A punch of frozen air sucked the breath from my lungs.
“Whoa,” I said.
We stared out the door. The tall pines surrounding the house swayed back and forth in the icy sheets of rain falling sideways from the sky. Cold drops of water pelted my face, stinging my cheek and exposed hands. The porch and steps were covered in what looked frighteningly like black ice.
My palms instantly started to sweat. My hands shook as I pulled out my phone to check the roads.
“Thanks again for dinner and everything.” I took one step forward, and in a flash, I was going down.
My foot shot forward as my upper body fell back. Turns out, black ice did line the steps. Before I could even think about the sound of my head hitting the slate stones, strong arms caught me from behind.
“I got ya,” he said.
I looked up into his face and his surprised eyes stared back. He held me like a soldier kissing his bride before going off to war. His gaze moved over my face.
“I guess you’re staying here tonight.” His words warmed me from the inside out despite the assaulting rain.
I gulped.
Sleeping had never been easy for me. Actually, I slept fine if I wasn’t alone. Up until an embarrassingly late age in life I’d sneak into my parent’s room almost every night. Many mornings they’d find me curled up in a ball by the foot of their bed. After that last year at camp, it had gotten worse.
By the time the phone alarm went off the next morning, I’d gotten maybe three hours of turbulent sleep. I brushed my teeth and checked in with my parents. I got ready for my next lesson with Devlin in a fog. I missed my early morning workout, but from the scent filling my nose, I would at least get coffee before we got to work.
I had a few missed texts from Gretchen and Blithe. I quickly replied to our group chat: Can’t talk now, but have I got a story for y’all.
The texts back were not sympathetic, as expected. Patience had never been Gretchen’s strong suite.