“Really? I’m an only child. I can’t imagine having a huge family like that—it must have been awesome!”
Relaxing his stance, he leaned his tattooed forearm onto the dresser and crossed his feet. Jackson came over and sat next to him. Will unconsciously began petting Jackson’s head. It made my heart warm. “Actually, I don’t have twelve brothers and sisters. I have one brother and eleven sisters.” He paused. “I’m dead serious. My brother Ray is the oldest and I’m the youngest with eleven girls in between. I swear my parents just wanted to give Ray a brother, so they kept having more babies. By the time I was born, Ray was sixteen and didn’t give a shit. On top of it, they all have R names except me. It’s a fucking joke.”
“You’re kidding? Name ‘em,” I demanded.
In a super-fast voice Will recited, “Raymond, Reina, Rachelle, Rae, Riley, Rianna, Reese, Regan, Remy, Regina, Ranielle, Rebecca, and then me, Will.”
“Surely they could have figured out another R name?”
“Well my brother was named after my dad, so my mom felt like I should be named after someone too, being the only other boy and all. So I was named after my grandfather… Wilbur Ryan.”
“Oh my god!” I burst into laughter. “Your name is Wilbur?”
“Hey, woman, that’s my poppy’s name, too.”
Still giggling, I said, “I’m sorry, I just expected William.”
“Yeah, it’s okay. Everyone does.” He smiled and winked at me again.
The winks were making me blush. “So you don’t like your family?”
“No I love ‘em, they’re great. Most of them are married with kids. I have so many nieces and nephews I don’t even know all their names. When I go back home, I just call them by some physical trait like freckles, dimples, small fry, things like that. They love me. My family doesn’t get the music thing though. They always thought I was a little weird. Instead of G.I. Joe, I wanted records. I’m totally self-taught and I can pretty much play anything. During the holidays, I bust out a bunch of cheery holiday songs that my family can sing along to. They tell me things like ‘You’re so fun, Will, with your guitar music,’ but to them it’s not a serious thing.” The buzzer rang. “That’s probably Dustin.”
We both walked to the speaker. I pushed the button and said, “Hello?”
“Dude, get down here, I’m double-parked.”
“Dude?”
“Oh. Sorry, dude, can you tell Will to get down here?”
“Sure.”
I looked up at Will who shrugged. “He’s from California.” Like that explained everything. “Come on.” He motioned toward the door. “You should meet them.”
When we got out to the street, I saw Will take a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, tap the bottom, and grab one out with his teeth. “I thought you quit?”
“I did.” He tossed the pack to one of the guys leaning against the van, then took the unlit cigarette from his mouth and tucked it behind his ear.
He pointed to his ear. “That one’s for looks.” He turned toward the van. “Hey, guys, this is Mia, my roomy. Mia, this is Dustin and Nate.”
Dustin had long, brown hair and a skinny, wiry build like a typical drummer. Nate was taller and thicker with a shaved head. Both guys smiled politely at me as we shook hands. “I saw you guys play at The Depot the other night. You were so good, but you have to get rid of Pete.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Dustin said.
Nate chimed in. “You wanna be our singer, Mia?”
I knew he was joking, but I answered him anyway. “I’m too shy.”
“She can play piano for us, though,” Will said.
“Well, I’d have to think about that,” I said, glaring at Will.
I had never even thought about playing music live or with a band. Growing up, I played at more than a few stuffy recitals, and in high school I had some fun playing in cafés around town in Ann Arbor, but that was as far as I ever planned to take my music career. The thought of playing in New York City among the overwhelming talent seemed more terrifying than thrilling.
Will grabbed the guitars and small amp from the back of the van. He handed me the acoustic. Heading back into the building, he shot the guys a look and yelled, “See you Saturday.”
I waved. “Nice meeting you,” I said, then followed Will back toward the stairs.
They both shouted, “Bye, Mia!” in silly voices.
When we got back up to the apartment, I opened the case I was carrying and admired the black Gibson acoustic guitar inside.
“My dad’s guitars are away in cases. I have two stands if you want to use them?”
“I would love that, Mia, Thanks.” He went into his room and began getting settled. I brought the stands in. “Perfect.” He took them from my hands.
“You can play in the living room whenever you want.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, definitely, except for when I’m giving lessons.”