Page 72 of Wish Upon A Star

I sing it out, all of this, into the song.

“As the world keeps spinning round, you hold me right here right now,” and I feel my fortune, my luck, this incredible experience of finding this man, at this time in my life.

As the song ends, I expect him to let his guitar go silent, to talk about another song, or to ask me a question…instead, he transitions immediately into a new tune.

I recognize it immediately.

“Come What May” fromMoulin Rouge,Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman.

Of coursehe’d know this song. And of course, he’d assume, correctly, that I know it, too. I mean, the lyrics of the chorus?I will love you until my dying day. Come on. Obvious choice for someone like me, right?

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to this song. The whole movie, of course, but this song in particular. On repeat, during chemo. I know every note, every word, forward and backward.

It’s a little too on the nose, suddenly.

Fortunately, Westley’s part is fairly long, which gives me time to get myself under control. I don’t have to play, or try to recall the lyrics. Just close my eyes and push down the shakiness in my soul.

All too soon, it’s my turn.

My eyes open.

I’m singing to him, somehow. Is it love, between us? I don’t know. What is love, anyway? How do you define it? How do you know?

I’ve known Westley for days. We’ve talked about this a dozen times already and I’m no closer to an answer, to understanding. But I know, as I sing this song to him, that thisisreal, between us.

It means something.

Our harmony fits naturally. In this song, he can let the real depth and power of his voice really explode, hitting the long holds easily, and he never looks away from me. Never flinches. At some point, his guitar goes silent, one hand clenching the neck, the other flat on the bridge, and he just sings with me.

My soul vibrates with the weight of this moment, singing this song with Westley.

If you sing, or if you’ve ever performed with someone, you know what I’m talking about.

When you’re in the zone, when you justknowyou’re hitting your notes perfectly, when the music isn’t just in you, butISyou. Youarethis moment, this song, these words, this pure and perfect harmony. It’s like the whole world narrows, and becomes a tuning fork, and it’s humming to a secret, specific vibration and you’ve matched that frequency and every single last atom of your being is awash and afire with truth and beauty and music and soul and meaning and harmony. You could cry for the beauty and significance. Your soul is on the cusp of detonation with the expansive heat and volatile beauty of the experience.

There’s silence, when it’s over.

“Would you sing me something, Jo?” Westley asks, after a long moment. “Anything. Whatever comes to mind.”

I nod, and it may look like I’m thinking, but I’m not. I don’t have to. I’m just deciding if I have the courage to do the piece.

For him, with him.

In this studio, being recorded.

I swallow hard. “I…there’s a song I’ve been working on.”

He sets his guitar down and pivots to look at me. “I’d love to hear it.”

I hesitate. “It’s…” I sigh. “I wrote it, and I’ve been working on putting music to it for…well, a long time. I wrote the words when my leukemia came back the last time, and I’ve been tinkering with the music ever since. I don’t know if it’s any good, but…”

He holds my gaze. “Jo.” It’s a scold.

I smile, laugh. “Okay, no apologies or explanations. Got it.” I swallow again. “I should warn you though, it’s…it’s not exactly a feel-good song.”

He nods. “Understood.”

I breathe in slowly, deeply. I have the lyrics on my phone, and I bring them up and set it where I can see it, just in case. I know them by heart, but I’ve never actually played the song for anyone, not even Bethy.