Page 41 of Only You

They stared at each other, and she could practically hear what he was thinking, that she could ask him for help, just as she knew her eyes were asking him to be patient. Being friends was enough for now. It had to be. Yet…

‘I just feel like… once we cross that line, it’ll be all I ever think about with us. That I’ll spend all our time together looking for a way out and if I’m wrong…’

She didn’t dare look at him as she spoke, the words barely coming out above a whisper under the weight of all that she didn’t say.

Why did it matter if all they did was work on a solution unless she wanted something more?

She cleared her throat to fill the silence.

‘Besides, the memories are already occupying 90 per cent of my brain. It’s better if I don’t let them take up any more. ’

Her tone was joking but her words were truthful.

She thought it would work like the regular memories, first being prominent but fading as new ones came in.

Instead, it felt like it was more like a box set of films that she could rewind and play in complete clarity, Demir and Selene sliding cleanly next to Sabine, Damien, Sarah and David often leaving Dani with a migraine.

Her mind felt like it was expanding to accommodate the new information.

All the lives – and the feelings they were drenched in – weighed on her like a hangover.

‘You should make memory palaces,’ he said.

She raised her eyebrows as she stared at her faint reflection in the water.

‘It’s a technique that helps people remember events in their life by creating a place in their mind specifically for that memory or set of memories.

Makes them easier to carry. And instead of trying to remember everything, you just remember the thing that made it special. ’

‘A memory palace,’ she murmured before meeting his gaze.

Her heart squeezed at the understanding look in his eyes with a smile that matched Selene’s perfectly.

She wondered if he saw parts of their past in her too.

Who were they without it? Or did it even matter?

The thoughts came faster and faster, but she forced herself out of the spiral, focusing on the warmth in his gaze.

They could have been a million people, but they weren’t. And while there were remnants, Jones wasn’t like anyone else they had been before, and it made him that much more tempting.

‘So, if I want to remember today, I’ll just have to remember how you taught me bass,’ she said casually.

‘I haven’t done that,’ he said.

The word yet hung between them, just waiting for a little push.

‘I haven’t seen you play since that day in class.’ She nodded to the bass in the other corner of Jones’s living room, partially hidden by a curtain. ‘Care to correct that?’

Jones chuckled before standing up. He grabbed his bass and started tuning the strings as he returned to her side.

‘Deal,’ Jones agreed. He picked up an amp that was tucked away in the corner and plugged the bass in. ‘But you have to sit closer if you actually want me to teach you something.’

‘Just the basics,’ she said, scooting until she was right next to him, their knees within inches of touching. ‘But play something for me, just so I know what I could be doing.’

‘Sure,’ he drawled, tuning the instrument until the sound was just right.

He launched into a breezy, romantic song.

He strummed effortlessly, breathing the song into existence.

His fingers were an extension of that action, and she could only imagine the hours it took for him to make it look so easy.

She felt a tug in her chest as she rested her arm against the couch, staring at him in awe.

She had heard plenty of skilled musicians; she was surrounded by them every day.

But a part of her had gotten used to people playing for the accolades or to be number one, even she had to give into that mentality to be where she was.

So, to see Jones play for the joy of it, no more, no less… he was mesmerising. He always had been.

‘Okay.’ He removed the guitar from his neck and held it out to her. ‘Your turn.’

‘Yeah, because I definitely want to follow that ,’ she commented as she eased the bass strap over her head.

The weight of the instrument was heavier than she expected, and she had to straighten her back to counterbalance it.

It was strange having to support the instrument with her shoulder instead of her arms and legs like with her cello.

She thumbed the frets curiously, not used to those either.

‘We’re going to leave it unplugged until you get the hang of it,’ he said. ‘You ever played a bass before?’

‘Just a little bit of acoustic guitar,’ she replied.

‘Well, the concept is basically the same,’ he said.

He walked her through the different notes that the frets marked, some tips for strumming and plucking.

She listened attentively as she would in any other music class.

She picked up on his instructions pretty quickly and soon he was scooting back to let her run through a basic scale.

‘Pretty good,’ he said. ‘Although, you don’t have to pluck so literally. It’s more like a slide.’

‘Like…’ She slid the side of her thumb against the string the way she would play an acoustic guitar, but she grimaced at the wobbly sound.

‘More like…’ He leaned over and slid her thumb up from the second string, so her thumb rested against the first. ‘Imagine it like your fingers doing the moonwalk.’

She snorted. ‘Really?’

‘Give it a try,’ he pushed. She shrugged before doing so. Surely enough, the note was smooth, just like his had been. ‘Good. Now, alternate your middle and index finger… Good… Now do that for each string.’ She did, and he clapped.

‘I think it’s hardly worth a standing ovation,’ she said as she rested her fingers against the body.

‘No, but it is a good first step, one you picked up in…’ He looked over to his kitchen clock. ‘Roughly five minutes. Pretty impressive if you ask me.’

‘I just think you’re easily impressed,’ she said, mentally basking in the praise. ‘Now, what’s next?’

‘Now,’ he plugged the bass into the amp, ‘we get serious.’

He walked her through various beats and the sound of each note, repeating it until she had the E and A notes somewhat memorised.

Then, he got another bass to play a simple bassline for her to copy.

She felt self-conscious about being able to hear herself over him – he didn’t plug the second one in – and started to fumble.

Jones was patient, restarting with the same patience as before, slowing down until she got it.

Still, she could hear her notes, and it sounded so… bad.

‘Can we stop?’ She had held back the question for as long as she could, but she was moments away from ripping the cord from the bass and the last thing she wanted was to damage anything.

‘Sure.’ Jones immediately put down his guitar and set it aside just as she did hers. ‘If you’re tired, we can wrap this up.’

She sighed, picking at the loose thread on her jeans.

Truthfully, she could probably go another hour or two if she wanted, but she just couldn’t take it.

She had been studying music for over ten years, had won all the right contests, played with state-level bands.

It had been a very long time since she sounded so mediocre.

‘I sound so rough,’ she said.

‘You literally just started learning two hours ago,’ he pointed out.

‘I know, I know,’ she said. ‘And I know I’m not going to sound perfect or anywhere near like you, but I sound like I’m in an elementary school band, learning a nursery rhyme.’

‘Still good in my book.’

‘How are you so positive?’ she asked, annoyance slipping into her tone.

‘Why are you so negative,’ he countered. ‘You just started. You have to give yourself some time.’

‘The thing we don’t have,’ she snapped, bitterness coating her words.

‘Exactly,’ he said without missing a beat. He pulled his guitar back on his lap, strumming a much quicker bassline than they’d practised with. ‘Why waste it being disappointed that you’re not perfect?’

She gritted her teeth, a wave of frustration running through her, and she couldn’t tell if it was aimed at his laidback attitude or herself.

She rubbed her temples, which brought minimal relief, as she heard muted notes filling the air.

She strained her ears trying to recognise the song but couldn’t quite figure it out.

The question came reluctantly from her, but she knew it would bother her more if she didn’t ask. ‘What are you playing?’

‘Listen,’ he said. He sat up and played full out. She tried to make sense of the beat but couldn’t quite place it. It was naggingly familiar though, something she was sure her dad would recognise.

‘I can’t figure it out,’ she said.

‘Yes, you can.’

‘Jones.’

‘Listen,’ he urged. ‘Close your eyes and listen.’

At first, she narrowed them defiantly, his instructions bringing out a stubborn streak in her.

He returned her gaze, his mouth pulling down in frustration but his eyes gentle.

They were always gentle, and it drove her crazy.

Did he ever get angry? Maybe he was more like Sabine and Demir, with their feelings under lock and key, while she was Selene and Damien, hers much closer to the surface.

Not that it mattered as she tried and ever so clearly failed to keep up her walls.

She closed her eyes all the way, crossing her arms but listening as he started playing again.

The sound was definitely older, easily Seventies or Eighties.

She unconsciously started bobbing along, finally finding the rhythm.

Just as she got comfortable, he stopped.

She scrunched her eyebrows, about to tell him she hadn’t figured it out yet, when he played a very distinctive set of notes.

The memory of her dad dancing in the front seat to the song on the drive to school came to her like lightning and she could suddenly hear the whole song.

‘“Never Too Much”,’ she said, opening her eyes. ‘Luther Vandross.’

Jones stopped playing, staring at her with wide eyes that did not answer her question.

For a moment, she was sure she got it wrong, but his smile instantly washed away her worry.

He lifted his hands from the guitar and slow clapped.

She shook her head at the dramatics but was preening on the inside.

Now, she felt like she was back on track.

‘You only picked up bass the last two years of undergrad,’ she said, remembering the titbit from one of their phone conversations.

‘Yes,’ he confirmed.

‘How in the world are you so good?’

‘Oh, that’s easy,’ he said. ‘Fucking up. A lot.’

Her jaw dropped at the answer, and something close to a pained but understanding laugh spilled out of her.

She related completely but was not used to someone saying it so bluntly.

She found herself facing the ceiling minutes later when she calmed down, the laughter making her lie down.

She felt a tap on her foot and looked over at Jones, whose gaze had become fond and tender.

Something definitely not friend-like, like they’d silently agreed.

Still, she met it head on, finding that she didn’t really mind that.

‘I get that you have to drill like crazy to do what you do,’ he said, ‘but this is supposed to be for fun. Don’t stress about making it perfect. You have time to get better.’

She bit the inside of her cheek to avoid asking the question, ‘Do we?’ She pushed it far away in her mind, knowing that the only ones with that answer were the powers that be.

‘It’s a bad habit,’ she said instead. ‘ Being perfect, not trying.’ She winked at him, and it was his turn to laugh, dispelling the knot forming in her chest.

‘In the meantime, I’ll show you how to play “Return of the Mack”,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

‘I don’t know. Isn’t this how all the coolest bassists play?’ She pulled the bass into her lap and went through her very basic plucking. ‘Oh! Could you teach me how to play “I Want It That Way”?’

‘Absolutely not. You’ll have to learn that on your own.’

Just as she had in the museum and for a hundred years before that in probably a hundred different scenarios, she laughed and let her worries slide away, allowing him to become her sole focus.