OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

one-hundred-eighteen.

JUNE 9th, 2000, LOS ANGELES, CA

"I FUCKING HATE L.A."

Reagan let out a laugh at Chris's remark, reminded of how she'd spent months proclaiming the very same thing until she'd tired herself of repeating it. The sentiment was still there and she was relieved that another Washington-native shared the feeling that she couldn't escape.

"Welcome to the club," she told Chris, stretching her legs out on the couch and folding her arms over her stomach.

"Seriously, what's with the smog? It looks like the atmosphere is caving in," Chris scoffed from her place on the floor. She leaned up against the couch, her elbows resting on her knobby knees. She'd bitterly traded in her torn jeans for shorts, accommodating to the heat wave presently laying thick over Los Angeles.

"I would have moved back to Olympia a long time ago if it wasn't for my job," Reagan said. "And . . . Dave," she added as a quiet afterthought, having not forgotten that she couldn't remove Gracie out of her ex's general territory.

Chris didn't linger on the mention of his name. A wry smile lit up her face as she turned her attention back to Gracie, who was sitting across from them with her bass guitar propped into her lap. Her auburn hair kept falling into her face as she leaned over the bass, plucking at the strings with determined concentration.

"How am I supposed to teach her to play when she won't let me?" Chris asked, tilting her head back to stare at Reagan.

Reagan chuckled. She'd presumed that Gracie would adore the idea of Chris helping her to practice bass-playing, being that Chris was well-versed in the art, but her eight-year-old was stubborn. She'd been insisting that she could do it on her own since the moment Chris had first tried to demonstrate.

"You're not here to teach her. You're here to celebrate my birthday," Reagan teased.

"Oh, right! I totally forgot." Chris smacked herself sarcastically on the forehead. "How does it feel to be thirty-one today?"

"The same way it felt to be thirty."

"If it helps, you still look twenty-five."

Reagan had to disagree. While she tried not to spend too much time nitpicking her appearance in the mirror, the lines that had popped around her eyes and the stray gray hairs she'd plucked from her head had felt more prominent than they actually were. They were all signs that her life had flown by a lot faster than she'd thought it would.

She'd never cared to make a big deal out of her birthday, though that year, she'd invited Chris down to California in hopes that her company would be of some comfort. She would have asked Kate to tag along, but her sister was reveling in being newly engaged, having finally been given a diamond ring from Christoper that past May.

Chris had been more than happy to make the trip in order to brighten up Reagan's birthday. She'd promised that it would be low-key, consisting of drinks shared at the house and quality time with Gracie. She'd even forced Reagan to take the Friday off from work, insisting that the day be filled with nothing but their mutual laziness. Gracie had even missed school for the occasion.

"Hey Gracie," Chris called out, "you're playing a G major when I think you're looking for a G minor."

Gracie glanced up with a huff. "I can do it, Aunt Chris."

Chris held up her hands in surrender and looked back at Reagan, who was chewing the inside of her lip to keep from grinning.

"She gets that bitchiness from you," Chris whispered.