Samidoesn’tcomeouton the balcony. Not that Saturday night. Not any of the next several nights.
She answers texts, but we’re in this strange spot where even though she’s on my mind constantly, we don’t have the kind of relationship where I can ask searching questions. I text her once for a recommendation on a sandwich shop, which she answers with the name of a place near our complex but nothing more.
I try again a couple of days later with a question about the best running routes near the Grove, and she responds minutes later with a link to a local online magazine that lists Austin running trails.
I getreallypersonal one day and text,Haven’t seen you lately. How’s it going?
She eventually responds with a thumbs-up emoji.
I’d take it as a strong hint to leave her alone, but this standoffishness doesn’t jibe with the girl who kissed me in my kitchen, or the one who sat talking with me on our balconies, or even the one who slipped her arms around my waist for a happy hug because I was at her show. The only thing I can think to do is to work even harder getting my hours in so I can cut out on nights when she’s performing.
The next chance isn’t until Thursday, when they’re the headliner in a smaller club. This time, I wear a plain white T-shirt and buy a new Pixie Luna shirt as soon as I walk in and slip it on. I like my glittered one. I’m not washing it.
I settle into a place at the back and spot Madison before very long. Once again, I don’t draw any attention to myself. I forgot to ask Ruby if the other roommates know I know about Pixie Luna. Besides, I want to enjoy the set without feeling like I’m under roommate observation.
This time when they perform, it’s great, but not quite as high energy as their Saturday show. I wonder if they feed off the size of the crowd. But this crowd loves it anyway, dancing and getting into it like I’ve seen at their two prior shows.
I know all the words now since Sami’s vocals keep me company to and from work every day as I parse them for more insight into my prickly, adorable puzzle of a neighbor. I’m pretty good at drawing conclusions, and I have some. But also, I’m trained not tojumpto conclusions.
If I had to guess what Ruby has hinted at a few times, what I’ve seen from Sami with my own eyes, and most especially what I hear in the lyrics, my guess is this: she dated a guy with a similar background to mine. Prominent family, good connections, money. It went poorly. She thinks a lot of it has to do with the family, connections, and money. She thinks it’ll happen again.
There are still too many gaps in all of that, gaps I want to earn her trust enough for her to fill in. Gaps I want to understand. Because I want to understandher.
Every time I see her on stage, I’m more sure of it. But also every time I talk to her on the balcony, or share a meal with her, or make out with her in my kitchen.
Sami doesn’t stage dive this time, but a few times I notice her scanning the crowd like she’s looking for someone specific. I weave from the back of the crowd to the middle, and sure enough, the next time she does her crowd search, her eyes snag on mine, and she smiles for a brief flash before she throws herself back into character and her song about why she wears big boots. (Answer: They speak louder than words.)
This time when their set is finished, I only poke my head backstage long enough to catch her eye and flash her a thumbs-up. She waves, and I disappear. I have to get back home to work a couple more hours.
There’s no Sami on her balcony that night even though I check a few times.
This is a long game, something I’ve gotten better at playing. I’m not the guy who was used to getting everything and working for nothing anymore. I’ll put in the time and watch for a signal that she’s ready to figure out what this thing is between us.
Pixie Luna’s next show isn’t for another week, and it’s a multi-band night. Big venue, mixed crowd, and they’re right in the middle of the bill. It’s on a Wednesday, and I have a major client meeting the next morning. It’s a startup that recently secured a funding offer from a venture capital firm. VCs always try to convince startups to use the VC inside counsel. It gives them more control. This meeting will include the startup’s entire board, and the VC will definitely attempt to sway them into ditching us and using their attorneys.
This is the kind of thing the firm will send a senior partner to observe, and my dad will definitely delegate that to someone he trusts to give him an objective report. I’ve spent two weeks preparing for this meeting and days practicing my counter arguments for when the VC makes their pitch, playing out every scenario and coming up with a rebuttal.
All of this means I shouldn’t go to Sami’s show on Wednesday. I should use every minute I have to prep so whoever my dad sends can bring back a report when I nail it in the board meeting. I wish I could text Sami and ask her if she wants me to be there, but I’d put a fat stack of cash on her answer being something like “Do what you want.”
On Tuesday afternoon, I stare down the stack of work I’ve been putting off, and reality sets in; I can’t take two hours out the night before a major meeting to go see a girl who tries not to see me while she plays a set of music I already know by heart. I can’t.
I picture her eyes sweeping over the crowd tomorrow night, looking for my white Pixie Luna T-shirt, trying to spot my head above the sea of faces. Will she care when she doesn’t see it? I’ve made a point of being the guy who shows up ever since losing Gram. For friends. For family. I’d do that for Sami if I was sure it’s what she wants.
Do I owe her an explanation if I don’t make it?
I do the only thing that kind of makes sense and send her a text.I see you’ve got a show tomorrow night. Looks like a big one. Good luck!
Around the time she gets off work, she texts back a gif of Dwight Shrute fromThe Officesaying, “Thank you.”
I have my answer. That’s basically a “So what?” Nooh, you won’t be there?Oryou should come.Just an impersonal gif.
Got it. Super got it. Should have gotten it about ten times before now.
Guess I’ll have more time to prep for work.
I stay late at the office. Past the-gym-is-closed late all the way to only-drive-thrus-and-bars-are-still-open late. I try my luck with a fast-food salad and pull into home around midnight with a plastic container of slightly limp iceberg and grilled turkey that doesn’t even have the good ranch dressing to go with it.
I’m ready to call the whole day a bust except when I get out of my car, I notice Sami on her balcony. She leans forward and peers down at me. I wave. She waves.
