A Friday in August, 10:32 AM
The morning is stubbornly bright, the kind that makes you squint and smile. Today is full of them—smiles, I mean.
By the time I bound downstairs in a yellow sundress with lemons on it—one of my oldest, but favourites—my uncle and Raveena are sipping coffee at the kitchen table, no doubt just returning from twin night shifts.
"Ember, hon, hold on!"
"Gotta go!" I say with a smile, slipping my running shoes on, grabbing my farmer's market tote, and slipping out the door with, "Grey's taking me to Goldwen!"
"What? Sweetheart, you can't just—!"
"See ya!"
I'm already gone. Ha!
Greyson is already there, parked outside with his rickety car. He's leaning against the hood in dark jeans and a loose AC/DC band shirt, his cast making him look a touch more tragic than usual. His smile, though, is all I need to see.
Smiles all around. It's a good, good day.
"Hey, sleepyhead," he calls out as I approach, his voice teasing but gentle.
"Top of the morning!" I sing, hopping into his passenger's seat, folding my legs under me, fixing the skirt of my yellow dress, so giddy I feel like I'm twelve.
The drive to Goldwen will take just under an hour, and I make sure to fiddle with Grey's radio until I find an 80s station playing Call Me by Blondie.
I roll down the window and stick my hand out, my threaded bracelets fluttering in the wind as we hit the freeway.
"So, what's the plan?" I finally ask over the roar of the wind, turning to look at him. His eyes are on the road, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch with a smile.
"I figured we'd start with the campus tour. Show you the engineering building. I was reading about it. They've got this giant pendulum in the lobby that's supposed to symbolize something, but mostly it just looks cool from the pictures."
I pretend to mull this over. "Sounds profound."
"Oh, for sure. After that, we can grab something to eat. Apparently, the city has good muffins. Think of it as an early test of your college diet."
"Sounds like the Freshmen Fifteen waiting to happen."
And Pat won't be happy if I get, as he says, pudgy. Well, pudgier.
Part of my mind is busy trying to memorize everything: the way Greyson taps his fingers on the steering wheel, the scent of sun-scorched earth mingling with the farmer's fields we zip past, the sight of his profile against the changing landscape. I want to remember.
As Virginia's capital city approaches, it looms like a bustling metropolis carved out of the quiet rural tapestry we have just traversed. The cityscape is a kinetic canvas of glass and steel soaring into the sky.
"This is it," Greyson announces as he navigates through the bustling traffic. Cars honk incessantly, and people move in streams of purposeful haste, their faces set in the determined lines of daily routines.
I set my head to my arm out the window, my eyes wide to take in every detail—the graffiti-tagged alleyways, the street performers, little shops, the big ones.
Greyson chuckles beside me. "Overload, huh?"
"Just a bit," I admit, my voice a mix of awe and concern. It's like the city is alive, talking to itself, arguing and whispering secrets all at once.
As we pull closer to the university, somewhere in the heart of the city, the environment shifts subtly. The campus is calmer, its lush greenery a nice contrast to the pale limestone buildings and clocktowers.
Greyson pulls into a lot that says HOLLAND'S ARTS BUILDING PARKING.
Next thing I know, we're doing bad, bad things. Like crashing a summer calculus course, slipping into the dim lecture hall, taking two seats at the back.
I try to follow along. Surprisingly, I grasp most of what is being said, a testament to Mr. Henderson's high school classes. Greyson, however, isn't having as much luck. He whispers in my ear, "How do people enjoy this? It's like listening to an alien language."
"Shh, I'm trying to connect with my future self," I whisper back.
Post-lecture, we grab coffee from a stand nestled between the Engineering and Biology buildings. The girl serving us, wearing a tag that reads PhD Biology, Ask Me Anything! flashes a bright smile, her eyes lingering a tad longer on Greyson.
"What brings you to GoldwenU?" she asks, her tone friendly, yet undeniably flirty. She clearly picks up that we aren't from here. Maybe all the stars in my eyes give it away.
"Scouting out the campus," Greyson says, his charm dial turned up to ten. "She's the future student. Engineering. I'm just the tour guide for the day."
The PhD hands us our drinks. "Well, if you ever swing by the biology side, let me know. We can always use more brains." She nods to me. "Love your dress, girl."
I beam at her. "Thank you!" I fiddle with the fabric again. "It has lemons."
"Yeah, yeah, lemons." Greyson grabs my arm and hauls me away as I wave at the friendly girl.
Continuing our tour, we pass by the music building where the sound of an orchestra spills out through the open doors. I stop.
"We should check out the robotics lab next, they've got this arm thing I read about—" Greyson begins, but I am barely listening.
"Wait, I want to hear this," I say, my voice distant as I move towards the music.
Greyson cracks his neck. "Fine."
His reaction pricks at my heart, a tiny thorn of worry that maybe he is upset with me. But I really want to get closer. So, I go inside the heavy wooden doors.
I follow the trail of orchestral music down a hallway lined with faded posters of past performances.
The hall opens into a massive music hall that seems to breathe music. The architecture is stunning. Curving walls that arch over a sea of thousands of empty red velvet chairs. The ceiling swoops, designed to carry sound, I think. On stage, a vibrant conductor leads a massive string orchestra.
"Jeez," I breathe, but my sound is lost to the weeping violins and heavy cellos.
I slip into the back row, the lush fabric of the chair cool. Greyson, following a step behind, lowers himself beside me with a less enthusiastic air.
"It's...big," he says, his voice trailing off as he glances around.
I can't take my eyes off the conductor, an older gentleman with long, wispy white hair down his back. The strings section draws bows in a vigorous, unified motion.
"It's really beautiful," I whisper, leaning forward. It could break hearts. Mend them. Create them.
Greyson shifts beside me. "You really like this?"
I nod, not taking my eyes off the stage. "You don't?"
"Sure."
The subtle strain in his voice catches my attention, and I turn to look at him. His expression is resigned, almost annoyed. Maybe it is giving him a headache.
"We don't have to stay long," I say, though a part of me aches at the thought of leaving.
"No, it's fine," he says.
I beam and turn back to watch, to listen, to feel. As the piece reaches its crescendo, the conductor's arms rise dramatically, the orchestra following his lead into a thunderous finale.
When the last note echoes into silence, the absence of sound feels like a sudden chill. The conductor bellows, "All right, I've had enough of you. First violins, practice the sonata before fall term, please, else I'll start the year with a migraine."
A laugh lets loose from my lips. I cover my mouth with a hand, grinning.
I heard nothing wrong with the music. At all. How fascinating.
The conductor's hand, still wielding his baton, signals for a pause as the musicians begin packing away their instruments.
"Hold on, everyone. Before you all scamper off to enjoy what remains of your summer, we owe a round of applause to our senior pianist who, bless him, took time out of his summer break to assist rehearsal."
My gaze drifts down as the conductor gestures past the stage. There, with a shiny black grand piano I hadn't noticed, is a young man adjusting the key cover.
"Mr. Rhoden, please join me up here."
When Mr. Rhoden does, my lips part in shock.
"Fuck, is that my cousin?" Grey murmurs.
Michael, in slacks and a black button-up with rolled sleeves, walks up three stairs to the conductor with a nod.
Adio said Michael majored in music with a minor in math. It's all coming back to me.
I want to go up and ask about Adio, to thank Michael for returning my hat from that day with the hospital visit. I'm already shifting when Grey leans closer with a whisper.
"Did you come here on purpose?"
What? No. I shake my head, unable to tear my eyes away from Michael. Tall, broad, bronzed and talented. Wow. I think Adio said something like that too, once—that his son knew how to do almost anything, and do it well.
Michael raises a hand to the orchestra as he steps up to the stage, his posture relaxed, confident even, then pockets both hands.
"Play me next, Michael!" a girl calls out from the back.
After a few snickers, another throws in, "What else those fingers do, huh?"
I cover my giggle with my hand. Sheesh. Bold, bold girls. Hell, I admire it.
There are multiple catcalls and whistles after that.
"Stop harassing the pianist!" the conductor snaps. "Go away! Shoo!"
With laughs, they all start packing up. Michael stays with the conductor, speaking with voices much too far and low to hear.
"Ember."
I find Greyson watching me, an unreadable expression on his face. "Hey. Sorry. What's wrong?"
His gaze flickers toward the stage before returning to me. "You're not planning on running off to join the band, right?"
I laugh, the sound light and slightly nervous, though I'm not sure why. "Orchestra," I tell him. "Tempting, but no. I don't think they'd take me unless air violin counts." I mime it for him.
Greyson glances back at Michael and the conductor. The students are nearly gone, ready to escape. "Well, ready to go, then?"
"You don't want to go say hi? I mean, he's your cousin," I say, pointing to the stage. "I'm sure he'd be happy to see you."
And I want to say hi, too. Badly.
Greyson reluctantly nods, and a little thrill dances in my stomach. I have never spoken to Michael before, not really, and the prospect now tingles with a mix of excitement and nerves. Adio always spoke of Michael like he thought his son would scare me away or something. It's kind of funny.
Grey narrows his eyes at me. "Are you crushing on my cousin or something?"
I swallow, taken aback by his tone. "His dad was in pain when we were working the back fence last week. I helped Adio get to the hospital. I just want to ask how he's doing."
Grey squints, a frown settling deep between his dark brows. "Just seems sudden, you getting all interested. Are you looking for a rebound after Brandon?"
I feel a sting at his words, a pinch to my heart I didn't expect, a reminder I didn't want.
"I care, Grey. That's all."
He seems to chew over my words, his jaw working side to side. "Okay, I'll go talk to him. You stay here."
The way he dismisses me dims every light in my chest.
I draw my legs up to my chest under my dress, wrapping my arms around them as I watch Greyson walk down the dimmed aisle toward the lit stage.
The hall feels a lot larger as I sit here alone. I hug my legs tighter, my chin resting on my knees.
From this distance, I watch Greyson exchange a handshake with Michael, their conversation mostly one-sided. Grey does all the talking, then points back to me. Michael glances my way, but the light is in his eyes, and I am too far away.
Just in case, I raise my hand with a smile, and wave. But I don't think he sees me.
The conversation on stage wraps up, and Greyson starts back towards me. Michael and the conductor gather a few papers, then are gone.
"Michael says his dad's fine," Greyson says as he sits down beside me. "That's pretty much all I could get out of the guy. Talking to him is like pulling teeth, fuck."
My chest eases slightly. I'm glad Adio is all right.
Greyson sighs. "I'm sorry for earlier. I guess I just... Maybe I get weird about family stuff. It's not you."
I look at him then, seeing the apology in his eyes. "It's okay." I try to smile a little. "Maybe we both need food lest we get grouchy."
"Excellent idea," Greyson says, standing and offering me his hand.
I grasp it, letting him pull me to my feet, and then I take my hand back and throw my tote strap on my shoulder. As we walk out of the music hall, I can't help but look back toward the quiet stage.
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Thanks for reading We Sleep at Sunset.
Laurel's Fun Facts #19: your left lung is about 10% smaller than the right.
—Laurel Montaze—
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