Last year marked the first when I didn’t have to prioritize the bills that came in. It was an indescribable relief to be able to pay everything right away, but there were still a lot, and balancing our budget was a monthly struggle.
Nicky turned to me with a frown. “I was blind as a bat when you helped me with Gideon—when I thought he didn’t want me—so I’ll cut you some slack for not seeing the solutions. But we can always make compromises, Anthony. Don’t forget that you’re not alone at the Initiative anymore.”
“You’re already working full time,” I pointed out.
“And?”
Didn’t he fucking see? And he called me blind. “My hands are tied,” I grated out. “I can’t work less. You can’t work less—but hey, if you think you’ve got everything figured out, please enlighten me.”
I knew that came out bitchy, and his look told me he knew it too.
Mannaggia.
I groaned and scrubbed my hands over my face.
“All right,” he responded casually. “I’ll fuckin’ enlighten you. Just off the top of my head—and this is about saving time and money so you can make room for a relationship, yeah? You can trade your rusty gas-guzzler of a truck for something cheaper that you can still transport gear in. You can stop turning to takeout as soon as Nonna’s leftovers are gone. I can take some classes from you if you take over my paperwork duties, shit you can do from home. And next semester, we can schedule your classes on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, which would leave you with Thursday and Friday to work on your goddamn couch. Or in Nashville. You can also quit tying yourself down every Saturday when you repair instruments for no money at all. It’s become a dumb-ass chore. You barely even like it anymore.”
I blinked.
“Last but not least, we can squeeze in another contract with one of the public schools in our district that already wanna transfer their students to us,” he said. “You know we’re sitting on a gold mine, Anthony, especially with our credentials and the quality of our classes. If there’s one thing schools like, it’s to make budget cuts. But if they send their students to us, they can slash their own music programs and still boast about a fantastic opportunity for anyone who wants to learn an instrument. And for every school we take on, our income becomes a little bit more stable because of government funding. If we expand and open a second location—madonn’, we could be running all the Park Slope schools’ music programs.”
Before I could even begin to process what he’d said, he stood up and checked his phone. “Listen.” He leveled me with a serious look. “Do I think you should rush into something with August and Camden? No. All’a youse need time to think and whatever. And you need to come home with us on Monday and clear your head. But don’t tell me there’s no way to make compromises. August and Camden aren’t Charles—they’re not asking you to give up everything and move across the country.” Then he gestured toward the others waiting offstage. “We have twenty minutes before we gotta box everything up again. Think you can pull yourself together enough to sound decent, at least?”
Ouch.
With a quick shake of my head, I filed away his mind-numbing rant for now and stood up. “I was nicer to you when you were hugging your pillow and crying into your ice cream, thinking Gideon didn’t want you.”
He scowled. “I didn’t cry.”
“Sob.”
Let the music guide you, Nonna always said.
It didn’t guide me as much as it centered me. It helped me find focus and sort through my thoughts.
It was what I needed today, so I didn’t tag along on any sight-seeing. I didn’t drive back to the ranch either. I texted August, telling him I was staying at the festival to get into the right mood and that I’d see them after the show. And once we’d rented all the cars we needed for the day, Nicky drove off in my truck, and I got on the bus.
For several hours, it was just me, earbuds in my ears, a pen and notepad, a pack of smokes, and some food and soda I’d bought on the way back from the rental place.
Before coming down to Nashville, I’d complained about the monotony of my life. How my existence had become predictable and dull. Now it was suddenly the opposite, and I was finding a way to bitch about that too.
I shouldn’t. I should let the uncertainty shake me up and keep me in suspense for a while.
We got bored so easily, and yet, as soon as something unfamiliar happened, we did everything to work things out as quickly as possible. For what? So we could get bored again?
It was okay not to know where we were headed.
I left my seat somewhere in the middle of the bus and grabbed my duffel near the front. After changing into a pair of new jeans and a black tee, I started pacing the narrow aisle and thinking about the first song on our setlist. Everyone would be back soon, and I wanted to make some changes. Maybe add a chorus to highlight the message?
It was beautiful irony that the song was about not knowing what state of life you were in. About having a long way to go and being lost. About leaving in the morning… But despite the songwriter’s lack of direction and state of uncertainty, it wasn’t a sad tune. It was rock ’n’ roll at its finest and had
