He pops the injured party into his mouth and beams up at me. “This one is a triceratops, and this one is a brachiosaurus, and that one is a stegosaurus. My favorite. They’re herbivores, but T. rex is a carnivore and he eats other dinosaurs.”
“So, that’s why they’re cheering?”
“Yep.”
“Solid reasoning, my dude.”
When the dinosaurs are, once again, extinct, and the dishwasher is loaded, we relocate to the sofa. I have my guitar; Aiden has Jerry and a package of kale.
“Hey, Ruby? Could you teach me how to play guitar?” Aiden asks.
“Sure. Did you know your dad plays?”
“Yep. That’s why I wanna learn too. Dad’s the coolest. He said he used to play with you.”
“He did. That was a long time ago. Why don’t you getJerry settled back in his home, and we can go to the music room?”
“Ok.”
I smile wistfully as memories of a much younger Ruby and Liam come flooding back. With those memories comes a deep heartache. While I was quietly falling for Liam, his brother was actively breaking my heart. A girl never forgets her first heartbreak.
I grab my things and head up to the music room to wait for Aiden. He arrives a short while later and sits beside me on the sofa. I hand him my old guitar, covered in all kinds of half-peeling stickers. I still can’t believe Liam kept it all these years.
“It was yours, right?” he asks.
My brow furrows. “Yeah. How did you know?”
“Dad told me.” He shrugs. “He talks about you a lot.”
My heart flips. Liam and I have always had a special connection, but I often wondered if it was one-sided. Moments like this remind me that, even if it’s not romantic affection for his part, Liam cares about me.
I inhale a fortifying breath and clear my throat. “Ok. So, let’s start with how to hold the guitar.” I position myself with the proper posture, feet flat on the floor and back straight, which is the complete opposite of how I usually play, but it’s how I learned, so we’re going to do things the right way. When I write my songs, I sit crisscross with my back hunched. I don’t recommend it to beginners—or anyone, really.
“Ok, so… feet flat, back straight, then put the guitar across your lap and hold it in place with your arm while the other hand grips the neck between your thumb and forefinger like this.” I show him what I mean, and he instantly mirrors my position. “You got it. You’re a natural. Now we’re going to work on strumming. Do you know what that means?”
“Like this?”
He haphazardly rakes his fingers down the chordsand back up, like most kids do when they first get their hands on a guitar. The sound it elicits isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever heard, but it leaves a lot to be desired.
“Kind of. We’re going to use a pick for this part.”
“What’s a pick?”
I reach into my pocket and produce a small triangle of pink glittery plastic with rounded corners, placing it in his hand. It has my monogram signature on it, naturally.
He turns it in his palm, inspecting it closely.
I pull out another one for myself. “So, you’re going to hold it like this.” I pinch the plastic between my thumb and the side of my forefinger, keeping my other fingers tucked out of the way so he can get a clear view.
He struggles to position it in his small hand, growing more agitated with each attempt.
“It’s ok. It’s hard at first. Let me show you.”
I help him get it where it needs to be and hold his hand as I slide it down the chords and back up again, repeating the motion several times.
He beams up at me. “That’s so cool!”
“That’s the easy part. Now you have to learn how to place your other fingers on the chords. Are you up for it?”
