Friday’s party was just fluff for us, the kind of gig we didn’t brag about but weren’t too proud to accept when it came packaged in a nice bank roll. We played two one-hour sets, doing mostly older Marauders tunes off our albums that people were familiar with, mixed in among popular dance party covers, and even a few special requests, much to the delight of Belinda, our host, and her champagne-injected friends. We knew Belinda didn’t love our music particularly, but she had a mega crush on Tom and had been asking us to play for one of her parties for months. Apparently, the girl had lots of parties. Belinda’s dad wasn’t in the picture. Her mother’s career took her away from home for a few days at a time several times a month, and she trusted Belinda to keep it under control. Word down the grapevine was that Belinda did just that; she hosted a good party but seemed to know when to call it a wrap. As in, before the police had to come and break things up.
I’d warned Tom not to let on that he was moving until close to the end of the party, so as not to ruin Belinda’s night. But much to my chagrin, she’d taken one look at Sebastian and hadn’t seemed nearly as upset about Tom’s pending departure as I’d expected. I did my best not to notice how much she was enjoying herself, even when someone requested “Super Freak” and Tom crooked a finger at her, inviting her to come up and share a microphone with him. She couldn’t sing, but she made up for it with moves that would make Madonna blush, especially when Tom graciously let her use him as a prop. Sebastian, to my relief, stayed back and let Tom have the honors all to himself.
The tip, though, was more than we’d ever made off a party, so yay. Go get her, Tom.
Tom and I sent the rest of the band home right after the party was over, and then brought the equipment back to the studio, leaving it stacked and ready to reload for Saturday’s gig. My street was pretty safe, but there was no tempting fate when it came to our gear. When everything was safely stashed inside, we sat on his tail gate and talked about the future. Mostly his, because mine wasn’t changing a whole lot, other than losing him and possibly Ani. Part of me didn’t want to hear the details of his new job, his new apartment, about the Washington State family members I’d never met, mainly because every word was like another note in his farewell song to me. But I could tell he needed to talk, so I let him. Everything he said sounded so grown up, so final, so certain, but I knew Tom well. The tightness in his voice might have been simply because he’d enjoyed singing Super Freak a little more than necessary, but it was more likely because he was facing the future a little bit afraid. I just sat beside him, holding his hand while he talked, my head resting against his shoulder, wishing we could stay like that forever.
Saturday morning, I woke up late, having crawled in bed sometime after two. I stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen for coffee and was surprised to find Tom and Jordan sitting at the island, heads bent toward each other, talking quietly. They stopped suddenly when I walked in and I grinned. “What are you two gossiping about?”
I opened the refrigerator, hoping to find some kind of juice, but settled for a plum instead. I took a bite, the sweet, tart burst of flavor a delicious way to wake up my taste buds. I eyed the two guys, neither of whom had said anything since my interruption.
Tom hit me with that wide-mouth smile of his and I shook my head. Barnacles, I was going to miss those teeth. I picked up the empty coffee pot and held it up. “Why didn’t anyone make coffee?”
“It’s noon, Squeak. You want coffee, make it yourself.” Jordan pushed up off his stool and held his hand across the counter to Tom. “I have a few things to wrap up before tonight. I’ll see you around.”
Tom shook Jordan’s hand, nodded, and then focused his attention on me as my brother headed down the hall to his bedroom. “Want to head over to Siena Cafe and get some of Mama Dosh’s coffee? It’s Saturday.”
“Yes!” I bounced up and down a few times in my excitement, my curiosity over whatever they’d been discussing quickly waning. Saturday at Siena Cafe meant the best homemade cinnamon rolls on the planet, as well as some insanely good coffee. “Can I invite Ani to join us?” I didn’t pick up on any vibe that he wanted to be alone with me, and Tom knew full well that Siena Cafe was one of Ani and my favorite places to hang out on a Saturday.
“I already called her,” he said with a smile. “You have ten minutes to get ready.” I circled the island and hugged him, kissing him on the ear. He was so accustomed to me assaulting him in one way or another that he hardly even flinched. He laughed as I sauntered away, singing “She’s a very freaky girl….”
A knock on the bathroom door told me my time was up, and when Ani poked her head inside at my invitation, I was just putting on my last coat of mascara. I figured my uber-long lashes were God’s compensation for the freckles and I played them up big time.
“You ready? I’m craving me some elderberry coffee cake today.”
I gaped at Ani. “Not a cinnamon roll? It’s Saturday, dude!” I was just teasing her. Every time we went together, I got the cinnamon roll, she got her coffee cake, and we shared.
***
“Hi kids,” Mama Dosh greeted us warmly. The place, a small warehouse converted into a funky coffee shop, was hopping as usual. “Fresh batch of sweet rolls coming out in ten minutes. Want to wait?” She came around the counter to hug us, but paused in front of Tom, a chubby hand on his cheek. “How you doing, honey? All ready for your big move?” How the woman kept up with everyone’s lives was beyond me.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He gave her a quick hug.
“Seattle is getting itself a prize, that’s all I can say.” She eyed a group that came in after us and bustled back around to the register to finish taking our order. “Can I get you started on some drinks while you wait for the pastries?”
Miraculously, we found an empty table, but with only two chairs. Ani and I squeezed together on one, each of us with barely more than a butt cheek on the seat. “You can sit on my lap, Tish,” Tom offered, patting his thighs.
“Perv,” I retorted, but took him up on it anyway. Maybe if we made someone uncomfortable enough with our PDA, they’d leave in disgust and we could snag another chair. “Just don’t touch my tush, okay? That would be crossing the line.”
“You’re sitting on me, Tish. I kinda have to make contact with your booty.” But he raised both hands in the air and laughed.
“So how did it go last night?” Ani asked. The party had been exclusive so she hadn’t attended—Ani knew Belinda by reputation only—but she always asked about our shows. She was extra curious about last night, though, as she had yet to officially meet Sebastian, or hear him play.
Tom and I regaled her with a few of the highlights of the night, and before long, our pastries were ready. Ani and Tom insisted I stay and hold our table while they got our food. I was good with that; I’d gotten a song idea about drinking alone in a crowded coffee house. I began furiously typing the lyrics into my phone before the idea slipped away.
“Need an extra chair?”
I’d recognize that voice anywhere.