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Chapter Forty-Seven

Xavier

I n just two weeks, my life has been turned upside down. My plan up until now was to take a Gap year after graduation, travel, take Finn with me for any of his school breaks, do some volunteer work abroad. Now Salt Vein has a manager, and an album release slated for the fall, and a North American tour starting early this summer at a bunch of festivals and opening for other bigger bands later in the year. Our social media following is still climbing, and our management already has us pre-recording a bunch of videos and clips and social media stuff.

It's weird because the four of us are still pretty much on the same page when it comes to our priorities and where we want this thing to go, which I'm learning for a fresh-sprung group like ours is pretty uncommon. We all want to take advantage of this massive boost, but we also don't want to sacrifice the music for popularity, especially since this particular brand of popularity can be fleeting. And if that's the case, then we want to be able to say we gave whatever fans we made quality music over quantity half-assed garbage. Which is why we stuck hard to our decision to only agree to eight songs on the first album. Think we stunned the execs on that one. And in the end, we prevailed—eight songs.

Through this whole whirlwind, I’m more grateful for Maggie than ever. She hasn’t changed around me one iota. When I feel like my head is spinning or like I can't take any more of the bullshit that comes along with even the tiny sliver of fame Salt Vein has experienced at a rapid-fire pace, she brings me back to ground zero. Calms me down. Makes me laugh. Puts things in perspective. It's making me fall for her even harder. Also, it's scaring me more, too. Because I'm more aware than ever how much I want her. Hell, how much I need her. And conversely, how screwed I would be without her.

And given everything she now has to deal with on top of the baggage I already showed up to the table with, there's no way there won't at least be some pull on her part to move on to something easier. Someone who can meet her on the same level, maybe—without the insanity and smoke and mirrors that seems to come with my world, in whichever capacity it takes shape.

I haven't been to her home yet—met her mother. It's shitty of me to keep putting it off, after I agreed on a date that night in the hot tub—even though, yeah, postponing it is mostly due to how crazy things have been with everything going down with the band. Still, I could have made it happen, and Maggie knows that. And has been patient despite voicing her frustration.

But I can't tell her I'm putting it off because I know what I'll be faced with when I do go—concrete proof that her world is normal and happy and perfect. A glaring contradiction to my messed-up, fake, complicated world. Further proof that she should be with someone better than me. Harder for me to deny the truth, once I'm faced with tangible proof that I'm right.

But the date has been set now, and she told me in no uncertain terms, she's holding me to it this time. We're going to her house for dinner on Thursday. Backing out is not an option.

"Are you writing a song?"

I look up. Finn walks over to me, where I'm lounging on the couch in the upstairs sitting room. He's wearing my favorite Dino PJs. They're so classic Finn.

"Nah." I pause my strumming. "Just… messing around. Thinking."

"Oh." Finn climbs up beside me, nestling against my chest.

I keep strumming random chords on my guitar. "What are you up to, buddy?"

"Nothing." He burrows closer, thumb sliding into his mouth—something he barely does these days unless he's super tired or upset.

I shift the guitar slightly to accommodate him better. "You sad about something? "

His shoulders lift in a tiny shrug, thumb still firmly planted between his lips. Then he pulls it out with a wet popping sound. "I had a new nanny today."

My fingers freeze against the strings for a split second before I force myself to keep playing. "Not a new nanny," I clarify. "Just someone who was spending some time with you to see if maybe you guys get along."

He strokes his fingers along mine as I keep strumming a slow rhythm, then peers up at me. "How come?" he asks. "Why do the ladies keep coming to hang out and see if we get along?"

I pause my playing. "Because," I say, setting the guitar aside to give Finn my full attention, "Maggie is going to have to spend more time working on her cool dioramas and taking classes and stuff, so she can sell them to people who want to buy her art and put it in their homes, remember?" I brush his hair off his forehead, trying to catch his eyes. "And we want to make sure the new nanny is someone you really like hanging out with, right?"

Finn doesn't respond. His thumb slides back into his mouth, his other hand dropping limply into his lap. My chest tightens.

"But Maggie is still going to keep coming around," I add quickly. "She still wants to come and hang out with you sometimes, even when you have a different nanny. Because you're one of her favorite people."

Finn's thumb pops out with that same wet sound. When he speaks again, some of the sadness has lifted from his voice. "That's what she told me too. Maggie said I'm one of her favorite people in the whole wide world."

I can't help smiling. It's so typically Maggie—saying exactly what Finn needs to hear and meaning every word of it.

Finn runs his finger back and forth along the smooth curve of my guitar. "Is Maggie your girlfriend?"

I scratch the side of my neck, watching him for a second. "Yeah, buddy. Maggie's my girlfriend," I say finally, through a grin.

"Do you kiss her?"

"Sure. Sometimes."

Finn shifts his whole body and leans back to look up at me, his face scrunched, lips downturned. "Ewwww. Gross. "

I laugh and poke his chest. "Agree to disagree."

He shakes his head firmly. "Diss-cuss-ting."

"You know what's disgusting?" I lean in.

"What?"

I scoop Finn up and flop him onto his back against the cushions. His eyes widen as I yank up his dinosaur pajama top.

"This!" I dive in and press a sloppy raspberry right into his belly.

The sound echoes through the sitting room as Finn squeals, his whole body convulsing with giggles.

"Xaaaave!" He squirms and writhes as I plant two more raspberries on his stomach, his laughter reaching a fever pitch.

When I finally free him, Finn sits up with an exaggerated sigh, pushing his messy curls off his forehead with his palm. I pull him back against me, wrapping my arms around his small frame. We sit in comfortable silence, the setting sun casting long shadows across the Turkish rug.

Finn's fingers find the fabric of my T-shirt, rubbing it back and forth between his thumb and index finger—a soothing gesture he's done since he was a baby. "Xave?" he asks after a while.

"What, pal?"

"I don't want Maggie to leave." His voice sounds small and quiet.

My chest tightens. I let out a heavy sigh, resting my chin on top of his head. "Me neither, buddy."