An Accomplished Musician

        Matt and I are walking along the water’s edge in the rain. There’s a business card in my pocket of my favorite jeans that’s poking me in the inguinal canal, and when I see a trash can, I fish it out and throw it away. “Don’t need that anymore, huh?” he asks with a knowing smile, catching a glimpse of it.

        “Trash,” I answer.

        He hums something, water dripping off the brim of his baseball cap with swooping Juilliard J and the blond shock of hair that hangs out from it, some melody he’s working on, and the conversation goes off on crazy tangents. We talk about our favorite songs. The best meals we’ve ever eaten. That makes us then think of the best paintings we’ve ever seen—in person, books don’t count—and other art you see in real life only, and Matt asks if I’ve seen the Chihuly installation, which I haven’t, since I’ve only been in town a couple of weeks.

        “I haven’t, either,” he says, “Somehow I’ve missed that.” “Why’d you say it like that?” I interrupt. “Eye-ther.”

        “’Cause, dork, remember? I’m from the East Coast.” Matt smiles and bites his lip, makes like he’s going to push me into the water. I yelp. The whole girly thing, playing mouse to his cat.

        He rubs his wrist. “You’re a solid girl,” he chuckles. Then he starts to sing, “You say eether and I say eye-ther, you say neether and I say ni-ther. Let’s call the whole thing off!” Of course, his pitch is perfect. “Do you want to go?” he asks suddenly.


        “To the Chihuly installation.”

        I tighten my hood around my face as the rain really starts to pour down. I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Yeah, okay.”

        “Come on,” he says, offering me his hand. So familiar. “Let’s go find a place to have some chai or something.”