I dive headfirst into working on the EP after that, losing myself in details and technicalities so I can forget how much every song makes me think of her. I don’t come up for air until my stomach is growling so loud I can hear it with my headphones on and my back is crying out for me to do something other than sit in a chair. I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen and do a double-take when I see it’s almost 3PM.
The studio time warp effect shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it’s still jarring to look up and realize five hours have gone by in what felt like the space of a few minutes.
I stand up—my spine singing in relief—and take my phone with me to check for messages as I head down the hall to the break room. I know I have some leftovers in the mini fridge, but whether they’re still edible or not will soon be revealed.
I have a text from my mom, which will no doubt be the five millionth not-so-subtle hint that she expects me to have a plus one for my little sister’s wedding in a few weeks, or so help her God, she will find one for me. I open it up, and sure enough, it reads:
Hi, son. Aaliyah and I are doing the seating plan. I will send a picture. Isn’t it cute? Just wondering if there’s a name I should add for you. Don’t worry; it’s not too late! Let me know.
My mother, Sandra Beckman-Salah, is one of the country’s leading scholars of Middle-Eastern studies. She is a no-nonsense, hardass professor with two PhDs, four published books, and a strict enough dedication to formality to use semicolons in her texts, but for some unknown reason, she becomes an irrational maniac about weddings.
It was the same thing when my older sister got married. She acted like it was going to bring the whole ceremony to a halt if I didn’t show up with a date. I was single and didn’t have anyone I felt like bringing, so she talked me into going with the daughter of her assistant professor.
The first thing the girl said to me was that I looked very ‘exotic’ in my suit and that she couldn’t believe I was half-white.
It was all downhill from there.
I check the rest of my texts instead of sending a reply, hoping against reason that if I ignore my mom long enough, she’ll just go ahead and mark me down as solo on the seating plan.
There are a few messages from Nabil about some equipment issue at The Cube Room he’s wondering if I can help with. The texts go from casual to urgent and end with a missed call alert.
I feel like a shit friend, but part of me considers ignoring him too. Getting lost in my work today was exactly what I needed; even this trip to the break room already has me thinking about Paige again.
“Youssef!” Jacob comes into the break room and stops to cross his arms over his chest when he spots me. He’s wearing his ever-present faded jeans and old Radiohead shirt. “We need to have a chat.”
A few years ago, that phrase from him would have filled me with terror. Now I know him well enough to laugh at the way he makes everything sound like it should be followed with a whole orchestra going ‘Dun Dun DUNNN.’
“Is that so?”
“It is so.” He comes closer and reaches for the coffee pot, where the remains of this morning’s batch are still keeping warm. “You haven’t told me what you think of my proposal yet.”
I swallow and consider sprinting back to my studio to lock the door. I’ve been dodging him about his ‘proposal’ for weeks, mostly because I still can’t believe he made it, never mind actually consider how I feel about it.
In a rare display of genuine emotion, Jacob called me into his office last month and told me I have a rare and special talent in the studio and that Schenkman Studios wouldn’t be what it is without me. Then he offered to sell me half the business and make me the heir to the rest.
I know I shouldn’t be considering it at all. Given where my DJ career is headed, it’s not even an option if I want to keep riding the momentum of my EP, but as soon as he said it, there was a minute when I could see the future so clearly it was like a photograph right in front of my eyes: this place, redone the way I’ve always daydreamed about, filled with clients from all over the world and the proper staff to make it happen. I could picture myself bringing it all to life, overseeing the transformation and mastering the projects that really meant something to me along the way.
“Yeah, it’s, um, like I said, it’s a really incredible offer.”
Jacob pours the last of the coffee into his mug. “So why haven’t you taken it?”
I busy myself with cleaning the dishes someone left in the sink. “I just have to think about it.”
He stands there staring at me until I look up from the plate I’m scrubbing.
“Youssef.” His grey eyebrows gather into a frown. “I’ve said this once, and I won’t say it again. You have agift. You have instincts. You have something that can’t be taught. I need someone to help me keep this place going, and you’ve got what it takes.”
Something swells in my chest, something that feels a whole lot like ayesthat wants to get out, but it’s a yes that would also be anoto all the things I’ve spent years dreaming about, things I’m only just starting to achieve.
Those things apparently also make me panic and run out of restaurants, but the idea of giving them up to run this little studio is still too outrageous for me to even wrap my head around.
“Thank you.” I set the dish down on its shelf. “I really appreciate that. I do. I just—”
“You need to think,” he mocks, making air quotes. “All right. Think about it. Just don’t think forever.”
He heads out with his coffee, and I keep working on the dishes. I feel like I’ve already been thinking forever, about everything. All I’ve done since I saw Paige is think, and now that I’ve got Jacob’s proposal on my mind again, I don’t know if even shutting myself up in the studio is going to be enough to keep all the thoughts away.
I get the dishes finished and pull out my phone to read Nabil’s appeals for help again. The Cube Room is only a few blocks away, and whatever electrical issue they’re having might keep me busy for a while. I text him that I’m on my way.
