It feels like more than an hour since I left Lou's house but that's really all it has been and half of that was spent driving around, clueless as to the fact that the place I was driving to no longer exists. It feels more like an entire day since I was here, going off of how drained I feel as I follow Lou inside. She drops her keys in the bowl in the kitchen and gets a couple of glasses from the cabinet, filling one all the way to the brim with cold water and handing it to me.
"You had a long night and a lot to drink, you're sleep deprived, and you've had a weird morning. Drink this and relax. I've got a lesson in"—she checks her watch—"thirty minutes, so don't be alarmed if you see a little blonde kid. It's just Mitchell. Not a ghost."
"Noted." I glug half the water in one go. "This is a ghost free zone."
"Also, don't be alarmed if you hear what sounds like a piano falling down the stairs." Lou fills her own glass and sips it delicately, tucking a loose hair behind her ear and fiddling with her earring. "He's a relatively new student and I'm considering the strong possibility that he's tone deaf."
"I'll keep out of your hair." I finish the water with a gasp and wonder if all the coffee is dehydrating me. "Do you mind if I take a bath?"
"Charlotte, you don't need to ask permission. Make yourself at home, for as long as you're here."
Ten minutes later, I hold my breath and sink beneath the bubbly surface with my eyes closed. I can't remember the last time I had a bath instead of a shower and it is luxurious. The relaxation sinks all the way down to the marrow, the hot water cradling my body like a cocoon, and this morning's panic attack feels like it happened in another lifetime. Lou's right, of course everything will be okay. Better than okay, even. The only thing that has changed is that I've been upgraded from a dated hotel room to a private house share in my favorite part of town and I've saved, like, five hundred bucks. So it's a win-win, right?
Even underwater, I hear when Lou's student gets his hands on the piano. The clashing crash reverberates through the entire house and I swear the floor shakes and dear god, how does she put up with this day in day out? It goes on forever. I don't dare get out of the bath until it's been quiet for at least five minutes, another five minutes before I creep downstairs in fresh sweats to find Lou, alone, head in her hands.
"He's a lost cause, I swear to god," she says when I sit next to her on the piano stool and make an effort not to stare so hard.
"I thought you could teach anyone."
She laughs. "So did I."
I put my thumb on middle C. Press down gently until the hammer hits the string and the note rings out. "Teach me."
It's Lou's turn to stare. I feel her gaze burning into me and she doesn't look away when I look up.
"Okay. If you mean it."
"I do, if you do. When's your next lesson?"
She shakes her wrist to twist her watch. "Not for another hour."
I flex my fingers. "Perfect."
*
My hands have good breadth apparently. Something I didn't know was so important but is apparently vital. The distance between the end of my thumb and the tip of my pinkie finger when I splay my hands is, according to Lou, perfection. I have promise.
I don't know if we're on the same page though. I'm not sure she realizes I'm more interested in her hands than mine, that I hit the wrong key a few too many times just to feel her touch when she corrected me, her hand imposed over mine like a corset training me into the right position.
When her next student comes, I retreat to the guest room — my room — where my phone has spent the morning charging on a spare wire Lou dug out of her bedside cabinet. There are several voicemails from the hotel and the police from this morning, before I turned up, and three of increasing worry from Mom. There's one from Tay, asking if I'm all right and telling me to call my mom back because she's worried about something that's happened in Fisher. My family group chat has been resurrected, over a hundred messages between my siblings and my parents, the six of them uniting to figure out what's going on, and a handful of private messages from Cole. I read through everything and reply to them all, reassuring everyone that I'm fine, I'm safe, I'm staying with Lou until things are sorted out.
Except I don't want things to get sorted out. I want to stay here.
It takes me a good hour to go through all the messages, from The Three Musketeers and Greg's Gals too, which started popping off after Mom called Tay and Tay posted in the group chat and Gaby got involved and the pair of them worked each other up into a panic after Gaby found a bunch of tweets with pictures of the hotel damage. I vow to keep my phone charged at all times from now on because the shit show I've caused by letting it die is not worth it.
I'm halfway through a reply to them when my cell phone rings in my hand, Ashley calling.
"Hey, Ash."
"Let me get this straight," she says, launching straight into a continuation of the message I sent her and Connor. "Your hotel room got destroyed so now you are staying with the hot MILF you have a major crush on? Like, she invited you to stay?"
"Mmhmm." I grin."She called me her friend, too, and she said she cares about me."
She squeals; I have to move the phone away. "Oh my god. Are you sure she doesn't see you as, like, a daughter?"
"Oh my god, I fucking hope not."
"I can't tell if your luck is excellent or terrible."
"A bit of both."
Saturday is Lou's busiest lesson day. I can hear her third student bashing about on the keys now.
"You know you've got to be extra careful now if you do actually wanna make a move," Ashley warns. "Things could get hella awkward if you're living under the same roof for the next ten days and after two you tell her you're madly in love and want to fuck her brains out and she's like, oh, Charlie, you're a kid."
"She wouldn't say that." I pause. "She calls me Charlotte."
Ashley cackles. A proper evil witch cackle that's at odds with everything else about her: in person, she is small and mousy and unassuming, barely five two with the build of an eighth-grader who gets picked last for everything in gym class because a strong wind could knock her over. "I bet you like that."
"More than I thought I would, I have to say."
She lets out a happy sigh. "Well, whether it's a crush or an actual potential fling, enjoy it while it lasts."
"I'll try. Though I don't actually enjoy having crushes. It's fucking painful."
"Ugh, tell me about it. I'm so sick of pining for unavailable hipsters in Portland. Literally everyone but me is in a relationship - everyone."
"Um, hey, hi, hello, I am not."
Ashley scoffs. "Give it a week and you'll be shacking up with your new roomie!" I'm about to interject (though with what, I don't know) when she says, "Hey, speaking of next week, what's the deal? I kinda figured Con and I would, I don't know, crash in your hotel room like the old days but that's obviously not on anymore. Do you reckon Lou would mind if we stayed for a couple days or do we need to take a raincheck?"
Fuck. I hadn't even thought of that. I throw a hand to my forehead, heartbeat racking up again. "Shit. I don't know. I'll ask her."
"No pressure — I'm sure we can figure something out if she's not comfortable with that, which she is well within her rights not to be — but yeah, that'd be great if she didn't mind. I am definitely still coming, even if I have to pitch a tent at the lookout."
It's so good to hear Ashley's voice — free from judgment and full of enthusiasm — that we end up talking for a full hour, and I know that when I see her, there will be infinitely more things for us to talk about. We haven't had a proper debrief in years, not since we met up after we graduated from separate colleges in the same month, before I became filled with existential dread, a fear of failure, and the worry that I'll never live up to whatever potential anyone ever thought I might have.
Lou's final lesson is at one thirty. Her schedule is taped to the fridge and I have a photo of it on my phone. At five after two I hear the click of the front door and the thunk of a car door and the crunch of tires pulling away from the house, and I head downstairs knowing that she is free for the rest of the day. Her weekday lessons accommodate her students and their school timetables, packed with extracurriculars; her weekend lessons accommodate her. Which means nothing after two, when she likes to have her lunch.
"Your one o'clock was very impressive," I say, leaning my hip against the counter where she has a loaf of bread two plates out ready to make sandwiches.
"My one o'clock?" She furrows her brow. I want to push my finger into the dent that appears above the bridge of her nose. "I didn't have a one o'clock."
"Uh oh. I hate to break it to you, Lou, but you might have a haunted piano." I plant the heels of my palms on the counter to push myself up next to the sink, my socked heels swinging against the cabinet below. Lou watches me with an amused look on her face.
"I had a twelve thirty and a one thirty," she says, "and I like to play between students."
"Oh. Yeah, that makes more sense than a ghost. Or a mega talented ten-year-old," I say. "In which case, you are very impressive."
She bows her head like she doesn't know how to take the compliment, letting out a quiet thank you. "I'm making a sandwich. Cheese salad. Do you want one?" She holds up a block of white cheddar, the proper stuff, not the American slices that contain approximately zero cheese.
"Yes please."
We walk down to the end of the garden and beyond. The sun is out again as though the storm never happened, the dock patchy shades of beige and brown where it's starting to dry out. Lou wipes a dish cloth over the table and chairs she keeps out here, a perfect spot to view Fisher's main beach a mile away if you have a pair of binoculars. Without, I can just about make out that it's pretty empty. When I take a seat opposite Lou and scoot my chair forwards, I accidentally knock into her knees. I intentionally stay there.
"I have a question to ask you. You can say no."
"To the question? Or to the prospect of being asked a question?"
"The first."
"Then ask away. I'll deliberate," she says.
I let out a short, quiet laugh. "A couple of my cousins are coming to Fisher on the eleventh, for a couple days. They were going to get a room in my hotel or crash on my floor, but that option is slightly impossible now. I know I'm already being an imposition, b—"
"You're not being an imposition, Charlotte. And if you're about to ask me if your cousins can stay here for a couple of days, that's fine."
I lean forward. "It's fine? Are you sure?"
"Yes. There's a sofa bed up in the attic, and Issy's working in New Hampshire all summer so her room is free, too."
"Wow. I didn't think you'd say yes so easily."
"It's been nice having people around. I know how much your cousins mean to you, especially here in Fisher. I don't want to take that from you, not when your trip has already had a hiccup or two."
"Thank you." I burst into a grin, whipping out my phone to let The Three Musketeers know that the plan is a-go-go. "You have no idea how much that means to me. I feel so weird asking, though. I mean, you've only known me, like, five days."
"Yes, but you're hardly a stranger. I know your provenance."
The word makes me laugh. "You make it sound like I'm a work of art."
Lou's eyebrows twitch. The left side of her mouth tugs up but she doesn't say anything, letting the words sit between us. I flush hot and cold at the implication. Is she calling me a work of art? Or is she just reveling in letting me overthink her word choice? God. She will be the death of me, the way she can pluck at the string of my emotions with a single word.
"So." She covers her mouth as she bites into her sandwich, a dollop of mayonnaise dropping onto the table. She swipes it away with her thumb, flicks it into the water. "I think it's my turn to ask questions."
"What do you want to know?"
"You've had three girlfriends, right?"
"I have." I tip my head to one side and eye her up, wondering where she's going with this line of interrogation.
"Are you the dumper or the dumpee?"
"Ha." I take a bite. Busy myself with chewing for a moment while I decide how vulnerable I want to be. It doesn't take long to figure that I'm about as vulnerable as I could be, here with Lou, so I might as well be honest. "I'm always the one who gets dumped. Always the one getting blindsided."
"Blindsided? You never see it coming?"
"Nope." My chair is still damp from the storm. I can feel it soaking through my shorts. "I don't do flings or, like, situationships. When I fall in love, I fall hard and fast and I am excellent at getting my heart broken. I'm also excellent at not knowing what's good for me."
"Tell me about them. Your exes."
"You're curious today."
She shrugs. "I'm interested. When was your first girlfriend?"
I look at my plate as I talk, pressing my fingertip into chip crumbs. "Freshman year of college. I was eighteen, making my first foray into dating and everything since I figured out the whole lesbian thing"—I do jazz hands when I say lesbian, I don't know why—"so I joined my college's queer society. Met Anastasia. She was immensely cool and, like, super secure in her sexuality. We were friends for a bit before we started dating and I fell madly in love, of course, she was my first girlfriend."
Lou rests her chin on her fist. "How long did it last?"
"Six months. Total whirlwind."
"How'd it end?" she asks, right as I take another bite. I don't rush my chewing.
"She said I was too intense and inexperienced and it wasn't working out. Gutted me at the time, but she was right. It wasn't working," I say. I mean, obviously. We broke up more than five years ago. "I didn't see anyone for about a year after that, until near the end of my sophomore year. I had to do a group project with a few others in one of my government classes. Isla was one of them."
"Pretty name."
"Pretty girl."
Lou smiles.
"We dated for about a year," I say before she can ask. "We were supposed to go to Vegas together at the end of junior year, once she turned twenty-one. I was planning to move in with her for our last year of college but she broke up with me during finals week and ended up going to Vegas with this other girl, someone she'd sworn to me she wasn't into."
"Ouch."
"Mmm. Now they live together in San Antonio." The breeze pushes my hair into my face and I struggle to pick it out of my eyes, squinting in the direction of the sun. Lou leans across the table and moves it for me, tucking it behind my ear as though it's something she's done a hundred times before. I am rendered speechless by the caress. By the ease with which she does it.
"And the third?" Her voice is smooth as honey. Mine cracks.
"Zahra. We met online. It was, like, six or seven months after Isla broke up with me and I was ready to meet someone else so Gaby and Tay — my friends, the ones I lived with in Austin — got me to download like, three different apps." I take a break to finish off the first half of my sandwich, something to do with my hands and my mouth besides spilling my history of romantic disasters.
"How'd you like them? The apps?"
"Zahra was the first girl I matched with. We talked on Hinge for a week straight before we exchanged numbers and I deleted all the apps, so I can't really say. She's the only person I ever spoke to."
"That's sweet," Lou muses. "How long were you together?"
"A year." My eyes stray to the water, watching as a family speed by on a boat. I wonder if they're heading to the other side of the lake, off to explore Duckstein Island. "I thought she was the one. We went to New York together. Spent a week at her aunt's place in the Hamptons."
"Nice."
"You have no idea. It's a whole other world." I hadn't realized how well-off the Abadis were until then. I didn't care that Zahra had money, but it really drove home how different we were when we spent a week living in the lap of luxury and it was so normal to her.
"And she blindsided you too."
"Yup." It's easier to talk when I'm not looking at Lou. I keep my focus on the lake. The ripples on the surface in the wake of the boat. A robin that flits from one tree to the next. "It wasn't long after we got back from New York that Zahra told me she'd got a job in Atlanta and she was going to be moving." I press a hand to my chest and say, "I thought she was asking me to go with her. Queen of being unable to read the signs. She was breaking up with me."
"That must've been difficult."
"Yeah. But it's been a year now. I bounce back pretty well. As hard as I fall, I can let go almost as easily when things fall apart."
Lou has finished her lunch. Mine is only half eaten. I pick up the second half of my sandwich and say, "Well, there you go, my entire dating history. Short and sweet. What about you?"
"Just James."
"Just James? No-one before him?"
She shakes her head slowly, her gaze drifting away as she watches a magpie fly across the lake. "I was kind of a late bloomer. We met when I was twenty, it was casual for a couple of years. We got together properly when I was twenty-two. I got pregnant at twenty-three. By twenty-four, we were married and we had Issy."
My age, I think. I can't imagine being a married mom at my age. I can't even hold down a job. "How'd you meet?"
Lou purses her lips, sighs through her nostrils. "College."
"Wasn't he, like, fifteen years older?"
"Fourteen."
"Mature student? Or..."
"He wasn't my professor," she says, confirming the insinuation of my ellipses. "I'd heard good things about him so I snuck into one of his classes." The beginnings of a nostalgic smile twist at the corners of my mouth. "Met him in the bar that night. We kept bumping into each other, kept having these intense intellectual debates that I did not feel well-equipped for and, well, the rest is history."
"Wow," I say. What I think is she doesn't mind an age gap. "And what about since he died? Nothing?"
"A few flings. Dalliances, if you like. But nothing more than that." She picks at the hem of her sweater, pulls her ponytail over her shoulder, drags her gaze from the water to me. "Never met the right person."
*
i hope you're enjoying the story! if you have any comments/questions/constructive criticism, please throw it my way!