I can’t look up and make eye contact with her, even though it’s probably the right thing to do. My eyes follow the steps she takes as she passes me. I wonder if she’s sleep walking or if I’m even awake. Maybe I’m dreaming and she’s not really here - standing in my general vicinity - half naked.
I swallow hard when she sits down and tucks her legs underneath her. Does she not see me sitting here? Of course she doesn’t, I’m invisible. I need to find a way for her to see me, the real me on the inside and not the graffiti’d man she sees when she looks at me. I see the way she looks at my arms. I have no doubt that the wheels are turning in her head wondering why someone would cover their arms with ink. All she has to do is ask and I’ll tell her. I’m an open book once you crack my cover.
I clear my throat, but that doesn’t get her attention. What the hell? “Hi,” I say loud enough to cause JD to adjust in the chair. I wish he’d wake up and leave now that she’s here. I want to bask in her presence without an audience.
“Hi.” Her reply is soft, quiet. Is she afraid to wake up the log-sawing machine?
I look over at JD and shake my head. “Sorry. He’s not usually like this.”
“It’s okay.”
At least she’s answering me. It means that she’s actually awake, although I’m not sure I am. I look back at her and see that she’s rubbing her arms. She’s cold. I get up and go to the closet and pull out a blanket. Sitting down, I unfold it and lay it on top of her.
“Thank you.”
I nod. “Why are you up?”
She looks up at me. Her eyes are sharp. “Do you want me to leave?”
I swallow hard, catching myself from squeaking out an answer. “No, not at all. It’s just that it’s late, or early depending on how you look at things. I thought I was the only one still functioning.”
“I couldn’t sleep. What’s your excuse?”
This is the most she’s spoken to me since I’ve met her. “I have a hard time unwinding after a show, especially when I know we’re stopping soon.”
Katelyn looks at me but doesn’t say anything. No acknowledgment or anything. The awkward silence follows. It shouldn’t because I have so many things I want to ask her. Actually that’s not true. I know what her favorite color is, her favorite food and how she takes her coffee. I’ve paid attention these past few months, learning how she functions and what makes her tick.
I don’t know what to do or say. This is where I fail. This is where I’ve had my status as a drummer work to my benefit. Most women I’ve gone home with don’t care about what’s on my mind or how I like my coffee. They aren’t looking for a meaningful conversation. They just want one thing.
I don’t want that with Katelyn. I don’t want her to be someone that I just bring home when the urge is there, because with her even breathing, the urge is there. I want to know her, inside and out. I want to learn how to fall in love with her as my partner.
I can’t keep staring at her or off in to space. I don’t know how to proceed. I don’t want to push her into talking to me. I pick up my book and flip to the page where I left off. The words blur in my mind. I’m not going to make heads or tails of these pages as long as she’s sitting one cushion away from me.
Katelyn adjusts and lets out a long sigh. I close the book, setting it back down on the floor.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Raise Quinn by yourself.”
I turn and face her, but keep my eyes focused on the outside. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t raising him by himself. I know there are things that only a mom can do, but I try to be both. I’ve read a lot of books on how to be an effective parent and provide him with the right tools, but it’s hard. I’m the only parent he knows. Our situations are different. He didn’t lose his mom the way you and the girls lost Mason.”
“Where’s his mom?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know? Doesn’t she call?”
I shake my head. My finger starts playing with my lip as I process her question. “His mom… she showed up one day and just left him on my living room floor. He was three days old.”
“Wow. Why didn’t you marry her before all of this happened?”
It’s not going to matter how I answer this question. She’s going to see me as the quintessential rocker who sleeps around. I couldn’t be farther from that image. I shake my head and let out a small growl in frustration. I cover my face with my hands, rubbing my hat back and forth.
“Quinn is a product of a one night stand –”
“So –“ she starts to interrupt me, but I hold up my hand asking her to stop. I need to have this all out so there’s no misunderstanding.
“His mom drugged me. After a show, we went to the bar and I’ve never been much of a drinker, but that night I got hammered. I remember waking up with her, but I don’t remember anything else. Few months later, she knocks on my door with a carseat carrier and kept calling him it. She clearly didn’t want him and honestly, neither did I.”
“What did you do?”
“Called my mom and told her I was in trouble.”
“Hi, honey.”