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I give her a wobbly smile, unsure of what she means. She knows nothing about me. “Oh, thank you?”
“Yeah, I miss my combrillas. As I got older, I lost them.”
I have no idea what she’s referring to. She probably has dementia or something. “Um, I’m sorry about that.”
“Me too.” She sighs wistfully. “Your lashes are so nice and full. Helpful little tools. Sperm in the eye burns like hell.”
If I was eating something, chewed bits of saliva-infused food would be sprayed across the room right about now. Oh my god, did she mean cumbrellas? Like, cum-umbrella?
“Best days of my life,” Ruth waxes poetically about her dick-sucking years.
Before I can come up with a response, Remi tunes his guitar and Gram pokes the mic to make sure it’s on. They are sitting on a pair of stools behind microphones, and Remi is holding an acoustic guitar.
“Alright, you old farts, let’s show these youngsters how we do.” Gram pumps up the audience, who hoots and hollers. I even hear a “Whoop, whoop, whoop!” from the back of the room.
Remi starts the guitar riff to Cracklin’ Rosie, and Grams does her best Neil Diamond impression, with her grandson on back-up vocals. They are having a blast, and as I look around the room—bouncing Isabel on my lap—everyone else is raving too. Charlie has the ends of his boa in his hands, flinging them to and fro—even he’s having fun.
My chin trembles.
It’s Remi. He brings so much joy to everyone he meets. He’ll gladly give up his free time if I need him. And on his days off, he visits his gram and they entertain the residents here. Every time he looks at me and gives me a sweet smile while he strums away, dazzling everyone, these feelings intensify.
The eclectic set list goes from Neil Diamond to Frank Sinatra—Charlie’s favorite—to Lady Gaga. Rounding out the encore is an acoustic version of Blister in the Sun by Violent Femmes. With each song, this thing in my chest gets stronger.
I’ve been floating on the denial river with a gaping hole in my canoe since he started. There is no way my head can rebuff my heart anymore. In the end, the truth always comes out.
I’m falling for him. Hard.
Chapter 16
See How Good I Take Care of You
Mae
“She’s down.” I meet Remi in the kitchen after putting a very sleepy Isabel to bed. “All that dancing really took it out of her.”
“I know.” Remi gives me a half-moon smile while he heats up a dish of leftovers for dinner.
Pulling out a wine glass, I offer one to Remi and grab the Cabernet. “Thank you for bringing us today. That was … something.” Amazing. Fun. Pure joy.
“It was.” After setting the timer on the warmed oven, Remi pops the cork and pours us both half a glass while we wait for our food. “I’ve been itching to take you and Isabel. I just wasn’t sure how you’d react.” He looks into the red liquid as if he’s deciding on what to say next. “If you’d reject the idea or—”
“We had a lot of fun.” The wine is smokey on my tongue, making me warm. “You and Gram are quite the pair. Have you always been close?”
He told me once that he moved here to be with his sister and that his mother’s side of the family lived here. Assuming Gram is on his maternal side, I wonder where his mom is and if he’s as close to her. Though I don’t want to pry, I’m tempted to ask.
“Yeah, she’s why I’m passionate about music. She taught me how to play piano growing up.” His eyes drop to the ground. Dark eyelashes fan over high cheekbones, and I wonder if they are as silky as they look. “My father didn’t like it. He said starving artists don’t build empires.”
“Well, that’s a shitty way of putting it. Has he ever heard of famous musicians? They build plenty. If you’re passionate about what you do, who cares what anyone else thinks.” I almost slosh the wine from my glass. I’m so incensed that a parent would tell their kid that.
Remi sniffs out a small laugh. “He said they were the exception and there was nothing exceptional about me.”
A red haze falls over my vision. How dare anyone say that to Remi? He’s utterly remarkable in every way. I don’t need to personally know the man to surmise that the only thing his father’s exceptional at is being a fucking douchebag.
“He wanted his sons in his practice.” He shakes his head. “A happy little family business.” Even though his face is soft, his tone has an edge to it. “Problem is, I’d never be happy there. I hated Los Angeles.”
Don’t ask, don’t ask. Do. Not. Ask. “What about your mom?” Fuck, I asked.
He stiffens, and I know I’m prying too deep. We’ve been orbiting each other. Gravity pulls us together, but reality is what keeps us apart. After the atomic bomb disguised as an epiphany I had today, all of my boundaries have been breached.
