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Of course, I understood that my getup probably wouldn’t fly in Spain, but it was certainly acceptable for the day we had ahead of us, and even more acceptable for how little I cared if people thought I looked like crap. “This isn’t Madrid, and they aren’t pajamas.”
Her arms flopped down to her sides as if she hadn’t known that before I said it.
Ah, shit.
Between the coffee machine, the dishwasher, and the clothes, she must have felt totally useless. And that wasn’t a rude assumption to make. I knew Kai. She put in enormous amounts of effort to simply live life, just to be confused by it all anyway. That’s what I loved about her. She went out and did all the fieldwork so I didn’t have to, and then we got to chat all about how none of it made sense. Her input was practical experience, mine was logic, and our varying perspectives made for some interesting discussions. It was honestly the fuel that kept me going.
But I’d made her feel completely stupid. I was sure of it. She had that look on her face.
“Everything is weird, Jojo. I don’t know how to do anything. How am I supposed to be an adult here? I don’t even know how to register to vote or…load the dishwasher.” She swung her arm out to the side.
I approached her to mend my mistake. “Kai, you just got here. You’ve been gone for years. Things are bound to be weird. Besides, your clothing options are much more suitable for LA than mine. I just simply don’t care what I look like.”
“Yes, you do, Jo.”
I puzzle-pieced her head under my chin, hugging her as I spoke. “Why would I care what I look like when I’m constantly next to you? You are the very distraction that allows me to be such an invisible asshole and I love that about you.” She let out a giggle as her body relaxed. I decided to continue gently just in case she needed to hear it. “You know, you don’t need to ask permission for things, Kai. If you want to put your feet up, or buy a percolator, or leave a mess on the floor until after you’ve had your coffee, just do it.”
I released her, and she looked up at me.
“Yeah.” She stared at me with wide eyes as if to cover up all the gears turning in that head of hers. I might’ve made her feel bad again, but I felt it necessary. “Sure. I know that. I just, uhm, I don’t know.” She flipped me a fake, toothy smile and turned back to her things.
“You can keep your guard up if you want, for a little while, if that makes you comfortable. But you don’t have to.” For being the more emotionally open one, it did surprise me how tall her walls sometimes stood. It was almost like a guessing game. She was so incredibly open that one wouldn’t expect how much she actually kept inside. It was her little secret, and on the occasions she permitted it, mine as well.
“I didn’t really notice I was doing it, actually. I guess I thought I was being respectful.” She went rummaging through my closet and pulled out one of my T-shirts and an identical pair of sweatpants to mine. She paused, looking at them. “I used to have to ask permission for things.” By the way she said it, it seemed she was just realizing it, or perhaps recognizing it, for the first time. “I used to have to ask permission because I never knew what would set Javi off. And after that, well... I’ve been mostly alone these last two years. I had this, like, super rigid routine that I did every day without fail to keep myself busy. Now I don’t need it anymore, and everything outside of it feels foreign. I gotta get used to being around people again. And fancy kitchenware.” She chuckled softly, covering up her monumental admission with a little joke and a laugh.
It did not go unnoticed that she was about to wear what she considered to be pajamas in public, but I still waited to see if she’d ask permission to use my clothes. I hoped she wouldn’t. I hoped she’d never ask for anything she wanted ever again, that she’d simply take it.
“I want these today,” she said, holding the clothes in my direction. A declaration, not a question.
I offered her a small grin. “Progress.”
She tucked herself behind the closet door and began changing as I turned away and moved some cables around on my desk without reason.
“You know, there’s no problem with wanting to look nice,” she said from behind me. Speaking up. More progress. “So, I’ll do the whole depressed musician thing with you today, but you can’t always use me as an excuse to keep being a loser.”
I heard her shuffle back out into the room, and I turned around to show her I was offended by her comment, though I wasn’t. “I do not use you as an excuse to be a loser. I use you as an excuse to go at my own pace.”
She bent her arms and put her hands on her hips, cinching the T-shirt that hung over her loosely. “Your dilatory, indolent pace.” She shifted her weight from one hip to the other.
I was never a huge guy, but I was big enough for those sweatpants to bunch up at her ankles. My skinny jeans, though too long, actually fit her almost tightly, a fact she often reminded me of when I made her upset and she wanted to smack my ego back down to earth. But my oversized clothing absolutely swallowed her up. She was hardly intimidating, standing in front of me covered in loungewear, poking fun at my lack of ambition.
Though, I knew she was kidding. As unchanging and uninterested as I painted myself to be, the fact of the matter was that Oli, Noah, and I had written and produced countless songs that were quite successful and were working on an album projected to do just as well. We had a whole business going. Originally, we kept up with merch, social media, production, creation, management, everything, all by ourselves. It wasn’t until that became truly impossible that we hired a few people to help us.
So, no, I wasn’t lazy or indolent or even dilatory in my efforts. My focus simply went to other places. She knew that. Just like I knew how hard she had worked ever since I’d known her, despite not knowing how to use a fucking coffee machine.
???
“Jeez, Jonah. This stunning creature comes all the way from Spain to meet us and you can’t even afford to gift her some nicer clothes?” Justin said, slapping between my shoulders.
“Kai, this is Justin,” I grumbled. “Our manager.”
Fucking prick. I was excited for Kai to finally meet Noah and the team. I was excited for her to see the studio too. It was pretty standard and definitely nothing fancy, but I knew she’d love seeing how everything worked. Justin was the only part that worried me. He was excellent at his job but, my god, did he suck to be around. He was the quintessential frat boy who lived too long and had too many good connections. If only his dad weren’t so well-known, I would’ve never had to meet this fucking guy.
Kai smiled falsely at him as she folded her arms over herself and tugged at the sleeves of our T-shirt. I attempted to apologize with the glance I sent her.
“She knows who I am,” Justin said. “I’ve been your manager for a year. There’s no way I haven’t come up. And I certainly know who you are.” He surveyed Kai. “I’ve seen that Instagram of yours. Shame these pajamas don’t show off your best assets.”
Kai’s eyes widened as she jumped back a step, her arms tightening across her body. I saw it then. That vacancy. Almost two years later and there was still something missing from those eyes. My heart shattered at the sight of it. She was still fucking there. Broken Kai.
