Emery [bxb]

79

A peeved Emery is venting about his latest music assignment while I'm organizing the parts for a new bookshelf installation.

"Five-four time. Absolutely ridiculous. There's no melody, the rhythm is completely random, most of the notes are so far above the staff I need to pause just to figure out what they are, and it's in five-four time. This is utter bullshit."

I glance at him and chuckle softly.

Living with a musical prodigy is intense. I dream in music now. All Cows Eat Grass. F-A-C-E. Great Big Ducks Fly Away. Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge. Respect the markings. Mind your volume - no, 'dynamics' - from pianissimo to fortissimo. There's a special place in hell for people who move more than their elbow. When his fingers are too badly purpled and striated from the strings, I cook - or rather, try to cook - dinner. I suck. Except at making mac n' cheese; apparently, Emery loves how I make that. It boggles my mind, but I accept the flattery.

Em is amazing, though. He makes this delicious broccoli salad with bacon, broccoli, shredded cheddar cheese, red onion, mayo and whatever other ingredients he uses to brew this complete witchcraft decadence.

Sometimes he buys Brie cheese just for laughs. It's actually really fucking good, and Em laughs when I moan exaggeratedly over it.