“You were awesome,” Patience says for what feels like the fiftieth time.
“Thanks, Pitter-Patter.” I’m still blushing. Still buzzing. Still high as a kite.
I knew every word to the song and I sang them with a voice full of all the pain and heartbreak I’d felt over the past few days.
“You were meant for me, and I was meant for you …”
Jewel isn’t usually my cup of tea, musically, but I don’t know a teenage girl on the planet who doesn’t know the words to that song. Even if they weren’t born when it was released. It’s the quintessential song of breaking up.
Of lost love.
Of broken hearts and shattered dreams.
“I try and tell myself it’ll be all right …”
Will it be all right?
I look around the cafe table, at my sister, at the guys from the band.
At Jed.
Barenaked Ween have asked me to join, as an occasional lead singer, to duet with Gus and sing lead in “girl” songs.
I’ve agreed. But only if they change their name.
“Barenaked Ween is never going to sing their own songs,” I point out. “Barenaked Ween pigeonholes you as a covers band. And it kind of sounds a bit icky.”
“What should we call ourselves then?” Gus asks, taking a sip of his cappuccino (so nineties). I raise my flat white to my lips and blow. “Hmm. I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
“You sure you want to do this, Connie-girl?” Jed’s eyes are sparkling. He looks so excited. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’re saying you want to do it but … I don’t want you to agree to it just for me. You’ve spent a year doing stuff someone else wants you to do. It’s time you just did what Connie wants to do.”
I think of the next memory I was going to tell.