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The beef and cheese and onion and ketchup and mustard set off a thousand and one good memories in her mind of hitting the drive-thru with her dad. Of searching through couch cushions for change so they could get something off the dollar menu. Of picking up her brother and sister from school and treating them with what her tiny paycheck from the local coffee place would allow.
Back then a cheeseburger had been atreat.It still felt like one now.
“Ooh!” she said, taking the lid off her shake. “Do you do this? Are you one of these?” She dipped a couple of fries in the milkshake and ate them.
So fucking good.
It tasted like home and happiness and another h-word that meant good things.
“Doesn’t everyone do that?” Asa asked with a soft chuckle.
“Nope. Not everyone.” Zara dipped three more fries. “Some people don’t think it tastes good.”
“Well, some people are idiots,” he muttered.
She snickered.
This was exactly what she needed. She hadn’t known that an hour ago, but there it was.
She grinned at Asa and he eyed her warily.
Part of her understood his hesitation. She’d just been crying and puking not that long ago. But cheeseburgers and milkshakes soothed all wounds. Mostly. The rest—the long-term stuff— she’d take care of her other favorite way; by writing about it.
“What did you play?” But because her mouth was full it sounded like, “Whada oog progh?”
Some burger escaped and dropped into her lap.
Whoops. That was embarrassing.
Asa’s mouth curved into a full smile and he shook his head with a sigh. “You are a straight up menace right now. Act like you’ve been somewhere, Artist of the Year.” He handed her a napkin.
She swallowed despite her urge to laugh out loud.
“Sorry,” she said, wiping her face. “I asked what you played? In your rock band?”
He eyed her, amusement flickering in his dark brown eyes. “When you say that it doesn’t sound like you’re making fun of me at all,” he said with a touch of sarcasm.
“I’m not!” she protested. “I swear.”
“Sure,” he said, like he didn’t know if he believed her. But he answered her question anyway. “Bass guitar.” His cheek twitched. “And I wrote the songs and music.”
“Do you still play?” she asked.
He rubbed a napkin across his lips before answering. “Not really. I play piano a couple nights a week at this piano bar downtown.”
Interesting.
So he’d gone from bass guitar in a rock band to nearly nothing.
She tried to remember if Nikki had given her details about any of this but she didn’t think she had.
“What was the name of your band?” she asked.
“You’ve never heard of us,” he said, dipping his chin and shaking his head.
“Why do you think that?” She could guess but she didn’t want to. She wanted him to say it out loud that he thought she didn’t listen to his style of music. It’s what everybody thought.
It was strange to have so much of herself out there for public consumption and yet have people get so many things wrong about her. They had all the pieces but they’d chosen to put them together in a way that fit their own idea of who they thought she should be.
