“We had some nice times in there. You know, like family meals or whatever.”
“I seem to remember some of those family dinners ending with our parents fighting though,” Lacy says thoughtfully.
“Sure, they had their blowups. But there were some good memories too. I mean we had that one awesome Thanksgiving meal there. The whole turkey, stuffing, all of that. The works.”
“You remember that?” Lacy asks incredulously, her eyebrow raised.
“I’d never had a sit-down Thanksgiving meal that had been home-cooked before,” I reply with a shrug.
“I guess with Nanette always wanting to follow her rock’n’roll boyfriends on the road, you didn’t get a lot of home-cooked meals, period.”
Lacy’s voice is soft as she eyes me knowingly. I want to deny her assertion but what would be the point? Lacy knows it’s the truth. She understands, to some extent, what it’s like to grow up with Nanette. She understands the forces that shaped me. I suddenly feel uncomfortable under her gaze. Thankfully, my phone buzzes, distracting me from the moment.
“Oh shit,” I say as I read the text on the screen.
“Everything okay?” Lacy asks.
“This buddy of mine got dumped. Wants help writing a song to woo his girl back.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“Yeah, not my usual style. Plus, he wants it to be folksy.”
“Folksy?”
“I mean, that’s the genre of music he’s known for.”
“Wait, who’s this buddy of yours?” Lacy asks, giving me a suspicious look.
“Blake Chandler.”
Lacy greets this announcement with a peel of disbelieving laughter. Her whole body shakes, and I notice how her chest rises and falls with the gasps of mirth as she tries to catch her breath. It’s pretty cute to see someone so small have that kind of full-body laugh.
“Blake Chandler is a ‘buddy’ of yours? And he wantsyourhelp writing a song?” She finally asks, wiping tears of hilarity from the corners of her eyes.
“Is thatsohard to believe?” I ask with a grin, not sure if I should be offended or not.
“Sorry, I guess I just forget that you’re playing in the big leagues. I mean, he’s got what, like six Grammys under his belt?”
“Four wins, two nominations,” I say with an affirmative nod.
“But wait! When you say ‘his girl,’ you mean, Jen Gibson?! Ilovethem together!” Lacy screeches, looking downright horrified.
“You really do keep up with the celeb gossip, huh?” I can’t help teasing her.
“Shoot, I really thought they would stay together,” Lacy says disappointedly. “They were such a cool odd couple. Her being a little punk and him being all folksy. Wehaveto help him write a song so he can get her back!” She continues eagerly, her face brightening.
“We?” I ask with a grin.
“Of course! Like you said, you can’t do romance—”
“Hey, I just said it wasn’t my usual style, not that Ican’tdo it!” I protest, cutting her off.
“You mean in songwriting or in your personal life?” Lacy asks with a grin.
“Both,” I say stubbornly, even though I’m not sure I believe the words. Romance is sonotmy thing. But to have Lacy suggest that Ican’thandle romance at all? For some reason, I felt the need to correct her.
“Anyway, romance isn’t yourusual style, and we’ve still got half a dining room of wallpaper to strip. Finish your sandwich and let’s get to it!”