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Walker sighs. “I know I just…I don’t want to make this any harder on you by them judging me and who I am being a reflection on who you are.”
“You are the best person I know. And if they can’t see that, can’t look past all of the exterior things that they turn their noses toward, then it’s a reflection on them.”
He squeezes my hand, keeping his eyes on the road as traffic gets a little heavier, some construction work ahead closing one of the lanes.
“So tell me what to expect. What am I walking into? Who’s going to be there tonight and tomorrow morning?”
“For dinner tonight, it'll just be my parents, Beth and Christopher. But tomorrow, who knows how many people will show up. Baptisms are a big deal for them, so probably lots of family friends, fellow congregation members, Christopher’s parents and grandparents. But I wouldn’t worry about any of them. Between the service and ceremony, there won’t be much talking to be had.”
If my plan goes as I hope, we will arrive at the very last minute before it all starts, be one of the first to talk to them after, and dip out very quickly, citing the show we have that night as our reason we need to scoot so soon.
Minimal conversations, minimal contact with people who think I’m never going to see the gates of Heaven.
“I know you said your parents haven’t reached out since everything came out online, but did you ever hear from Beth?” he asks.
I shake my head. I didn’t expect her to. I called her that morning after I was bailed out and was heading into rehab, so at least someone in my family knew where I was, but it was an uncomfortable conversation. I know she loves me, and she will always be supportive of me even though she doesn’t approve of my choices. But I know my addiction makes her uncomfortable, so it’s not something she’s going to voluntarily talk to me about.
“If it gets to be too much tonight, you just say the word and we’re out. I’m following your lead here.”
I rest my head against his shoulder, eyes staring out at the road in front of me, trees whizzing by in my peripheral.
“When am I going to meet your parents?”
“You want to meet them?” he asks.
“Of course.” I straighten up. “It’s gotta happen eventually. And I want to meet the people who raised you.”
The way Walker treats everyone around him with respect, actively listening when they’re talking, the protectiveness that he has for the ones he loves. I want to see who nurtured those qualities in him and helped shape him into the man he is today.
And after meeting Jane a while ago, I’m even more curious.
“Well, my mom actually already asked when she gets to meet you and would love to video chat with you sometime.”
“Really?”
He nods. “And she said she’d love to have us for a visit sometime.” His cheeks flush and I can see how happy the prospect of me meeting his parents makes him.
“Do you think she’ll like me?” I ask, voice betraying the shyness I feel asking him that question.
Walker takes his eyes off the road to look at me, letting me see the truth with which he says, “She’s going to love you. Trust me.”
I don’t have a great track record with parents, but if they’re anything like their son, then I’m sure I’ll love them too.
“Take me to Pittsburgh,” I say, and he smiles, breaking the hold on our hands and reaching over and giving my thigh a hard squeeze.
A low, steady drum beat floats out of the radio and Walker’s spine straightens as if struck by lightning, dislodging my head from its resting place. “Turn that up,” he orders me.
I do as he says, reaching forward for the volume dial, turning it to the right, the song growing louder around us.
It takes me a moment to place the song until the guitar crescendos, before breaking into the chorus. “Slow Ride” by Foghat fills the car, bringing with it a look of pure joy over Walker’s face as he starts to sing along.
His voice rings out, strong and raspy, exactly as he sounds when he wakes up in the morning or as we lay in each other's arms in post sex bliss. Walker’s head bops back and forth with the beat, hand bouncing in the air playing along to the drums.
I settle back, enjoying watching him belt along with the song. His voice is amazing and I wonder why he only sings backup vocals on any of their music. Not a knock against Nikolai’s talent, but Walker’s got a voice on his too. He has a richness and fullness to his sound that serves the rock track well.
He whips his head over to me, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to serenade me and I wish I could capture the happiness of this moment and savor it forever. He reaches out and pulls my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the top of it during the guitar solo before dropping it and singing along to that part as well.
I laugh, enjoying the weightlessness that fills my chest, listening to him sing and perform for me and me only. There are thousands of people all over the world who have seen Walker on the drums night after night, listened to his albums over and over, but no one gets to see this side of him. No one gets to see this performance, no fancy lights or stage equipment, no drum kit to sit behind. Just the radio and him driving down the highway.
